Jul
23
So, it’s fair to say our lives have been a bit of up and down for the past couple of days. You have to admit, it’s never boring.
Yesterday continued that trend. We had two errands to run: first, to the travel clinic to get all our necessary injections for our trip to pick up our daughter, and second, to the agency to talk about the stupid bureaucratic logjam we’re currently in… but at the same time, on a happier note, to drop off the first present we can give to our baby girl.
So we were up and out really early yesterday, because our city’s travel clinic doesn’t have the facility to deal with some of the more “unusual” travel opportunities and the injections and drugs required. So we had to drive into the next city, which is bigger and their clinic better equipped.
We were feeling pretty upbeat, mostly because we were so frigging tired from the emotional day before. So we happily went into our appointment at the Public Health office and listened attentively to all the information they had to offer about prevention of infection while we are in Ethiopia. (But we also absorbed next to none of it, so it’s a good thing they sent us off with a folder of information.) And because of our somewhat tired and giddy moods, we happily agreed to whatever injections were on offer.
And an hour and 3 needles apiece later, we left with arms full of typhoid, yellow fever, and polio injections. And a paper bag containing an apparently bland raspberry beverage to fight off cholera and other intestinal distress. Or something. I have no idea.
So Typhoid BDH and myself headed off to the agency, where we met with our 2nd consecutive fab case worker. (After a really rough start with this agency, we’ve had 2 great case workers in a row! Yay!) And that is when we handed over this:
Once a child is legally declared to be adopted, their family can send along a package of toys and whatnot for the child, that will travel with the next person in the agency to visit the transition home in Addis.
Now, you’ll remember a while back, just after our referral came through, there was a meeting of the Mystery Baby Welcoming Committee in which discussions were had as to who would be accompanying Pooh Bear Picture Frame to Ethiopia as part of the Special Advance Travelling Welcoming Sub-Committee.
Well, after much deliberation and discussion of the various merits of all members of the Committee, and having it pointed out that whoever goes must fit into a ziploc bag of limited size, the Committee came to an agreement. And so, we have the following, en route to Ethiopia in short order:
The package contains one photo of mom and dad (us) in a soft plush Winnie the Pooh picture frame (that is also a music box, playing the Winnie the Pooh song), one photo each of mom and dad for the wall beside baby’s crib, two onesies with “Canada” logos on them, and Giraffe lovey blanket which also doubles as a rattle (giraffes having been a bit of a theme for us during this whole process).
I know everyone wanted to go along, but a ziploc is not very big. Besides, our daughter’s only little. She can’t read. She can’t play with much stuff yet. So we thought these were all things that were fairly drool- and gum- friendly, for the time being. We’ll maybe send along another package later, as she’s able to grip things and such.
And, package delivered, we headed for home.
And this is when we began to notice the “flu-like symptoms” that come with these injections of nasty diseases. Not to mention, the serious discomfort in your arm that comes with the intramuscular yellow fever shot, which makes lifting your arm in any fashion fairly uncomfortable, if not downright painful, and rendering it, and you, mostly useless for the remainder of the day.
Good thing there were storms to watch from the porch last night. The pouring rain and thunder mostly drown out our whining and complaining.
Jul
23
Okay, so. You guys know I live in a very suburban neighbourhood. New development, trees, nature, blah blah blah.
So imagine my surprise this morning when I stumble outside in my pajamas to take out the garbage, and I see a bevy of RCMP.
Yep. The Mounties were on my street.
Now to some, this is no big deal. In some areas and some provinces, the Mounties are in charge of policing, everything from speeding tickets to murder scenes. But here in Ontario, we have 3 levels of policing: municipal (our city police, who handle traffic and “everyday” crime, as well as vice and homicide); provincial (the OPP, who handle traffic on major roads and highways and more in-depth, more serious crimes) and the RCMP, who we almost never see, and usually are at the top of the food chain handling major crime issues like organized crime, major investigations, and interprovincial/federal stuff. (That’s a basic breakdown — of course I am sure there are finer points to it than that. Gimme a break. It’s early.) So having the RCMP show up is a fairly big thing. Or, at least, surprising.
They were down the street, a car and an SUV, flashers going, officers in vests. Across the street from them were a couple of SUVs and the officers in gear were talking with the occupants of the cars. And at first, I did not realize they were Mounties — I just saw the cop cars, and came inside to tell BDH. He went out to look and saw they were Mounties.
So, we were getting BDH packed to go to work and standing in the foyer. We saw the RCMP vehicles drive away, and the regular SUVs came up and started parking along the street in odd places. Nobody in the regular cars got out. BDH had to go to work, so he got in his car and drove away.
A few minutes later, I get a call from BDH. He pulled around the corner (our street is kind of shaped like 3 sides of a rectangle) and saw the Mountie cars had pulled up to a house and were talking to the (we assume) female occupant of the house on her porch. The house is a new one, one of the last ones built on our street — used to be a show home, so whoever is in there has cash.
I saw the other regular cars drive back down the street, stopping so the occupants could talk to each other, and then they all drove off.
So now, we’re speculating like mad. What could be happening on our quiet, very residential street?
We MUST know. And yet, we likely never will. Damn. I mean, it’s not like you can just walk up to the RCMP car, mid-sting operation or drug bust or whatever, and tap on the window and say, “Hullo there! What’s up?” No matter how cheery you might be.
I wish The Mayor was home. He TOTALLY would have been up there on the porch with those guys.
