Adoption Journey — Day 109
Right now, my front porch is crawling with student painters. A lovely bunch of kids. They’ve been hired to paint my porch, rails and trim for a ridiculously low cost. It’s a job I did not want to do, and it had to be done. So, thank goodness for Student Works Painting!
Me, I am catching up on two days’ worth of chores not done while we traipsed to and from Toronto. Yesterday’s trip was much more successful than Friday’s, and so we’re moving ahead once again in the paper chase.
Before heading out yesterday, BDH called the Japanese consulate and confirmed EXACTLY what we needed to process our request for a police check. We were told to bring a passport and a letter from our social worker. We had both, plus letters from the agency and myself as insurance. We were COVERED, dude. But one unexpected bonus was that the woman on the phone said there was no charge for the police check! Better than fair, I thought, given all the money we’ve had to spend to get this one stupid document, but I’d believe it when I saw it. I was half expecting we’d get there and they’d charge us something for it. Paid by money order. In YEN. Skeptical much?
So we set off, late again due to an appointment to get some maintenance on the big car. We took the little car, which usually only gets driven to and from the grocery store and little errands like that. It needs some work, but we can’t afford it right now. Like A/C fluid. And some other minor repairs. And new brakes. Meh, so it was going to be a little less than a luxurious ride.
We once again took the GO Train to Toronto. We had to run for the train, but made it. And this time, mercifully, BDH didn’t forget his wallet at the ticket counter. (Although I did ask him every five minutes all day long where his wallet was, so…) And once we got to Toronto, it took us 5 minutes to walk up from Union Station to the Consulate building. We thought, if we can get this done quickly, we can catch the next train home and still have the bulk of the day to ourselves.
The woman who was working the wicket at the consulate was remarkably efficient. The letters we had seemed to be just fine, although Mr. Crabby Civil Servant from the other day OF COURSE saw us and had to come over and inspect everything — for the love of dog, if we were up to something, trying to pull something over on someone, why the heck would we be asking for a POLICE REPORT? Sheesh. Anyway, we filled in some very simple forms and signed them in triplicate, and then we were sent to a little room to do fingerprints.
Fingerprints at the Japanese consulate is sort of a loosey-goosey process. For instance, they tell you how to do it, from behind glass, and you do it yourself. Seriously — you do your own fingerprinting. No police-trained police-type person comes in and guides your hands and makes sure it’s done right. And this means there are likely smudges and errors, and the person checking them over is just a civil servant with likely no knowledge of the intricacies of fingerprint identification technologies. So in my mind? It’s just a formality. Because foreigners going into Japan to live (at least when I lived there) got fingerprints taken so they’ve got a decent set of fingerprints on file somewhere that they could use if they really needed to. Because honestly? The ones I did were a mess, and yet they passed muster with Mr. Crabby Japanese Civil Servant just fine.
So we were done. They told us they’d call us in about 6 weeks when we could come back in and pick up the completed report (yay! 6 weeks is way faster than I thought!) and so we were free to go. Off to the train. We had a little wait time, so we picked up a teddy bear for Mystery Baby and some Cinnabons for the agency staff. And then the train came and we headed for home.
We stopped off at the agency to bring the cinnamon buns (which I am sure they make with crack because they are SOOOO delicious and after you have one, you crave more forever after) and to say thank you for marshalling the troops and getting a letter done for us on Friday with such short notice. I take it the cinnamon buns were a hit, because we got an email about much love and sugar highs about two hours afterward. 🙂
And then we went home and crashed in front of the TV with our own personal box of cinnamon buns. It was, with all the running around both yesterday and Friday, and all the yard work we did on the weekend, a very busy few days. We needed to unwind and decompress.
Nothing says “mission accomplished” like sticky cinnamon sugar all over your hands and face.