And Lift-Off!...or not.

We'd come down off the high of knowing that Abe, in the eyes of the Ethiopian courts, was finally ours and had managed to celebrate and buy plane tickets and reserve a guest house in Addis Ababa and packed our many bags, thanks to the generous work of our friends Carolee and Pattie, who Ted nicknamed "Radar O'Reilly." Really not sure what I would have done without these friends, the same ones who threw us the amazing Welcome Home, Abe party a week after we got back.

I'm a pretty fastidious traveler, having done a lot of it in my lifetime, on planes and trains and buses and ferries across the Nordic seas, many times totally on my own. This was both of our first times to Africa, so we were pretty excited about that. We were flying out of LAX, which is typically an hour long drive from our house through harried traffic in downtown L.A., so we decided the easiest thing to do would be to have a friend drive us to Union Station (only a ten minute drive) and then take the $2 Flyaway bus to LAX.

We had it all planned perfectly. I'd showered at the very last minute, knowing that it'd be a pretty long time before I'd get the chance to do that again. I'd put on my brand new black stretchy pants ("yoga pants" for those more hoity-toity than I am), pulled my hair back in a bun, and only moisterizer on my face since traveling with mascara is the worst. I had my carry-on stocked with all our important documents, including both our passports, as Ted has misplaced his on occasion.

We unloaded all our bags at Union Station with plenty of time for the flyaway bus. We were so giddy and excited and eagerly answered people's questions about where we were going with all that luggage. We even took a photo with this kind fella who was working the station that day:
Can you believe this guy? He was awesome! Just as giddy as we were! We gave him a generous tip for helping get all our bags on the bus, and we smiled the whole way to LAX.

We jumped off at our terminal, unloaded our bags and set up a 'home base' near the electronic ticket check-in where I waited with our stuff while Ted went to check us in.

He stood about 30 feet away at the kiosk for what seemed like forever. I was starting to grow a little anxious. All I could see was him shaking his head back and forth, trying over and over to move things ahead. He must have put our credit card in and out of the slot 50 times. I had no idea what was going on.

Finally, Ted slowly put the card back in his wallet and walked slowly towards me, his head hanging in what I can only guess was shame. He approached me and slowly looked me in the eye. I asked quietly, "Um, what's going on?"

"It keeps saying we are not allowed to check in more than 24 hours before our departure time."

The neurons in my head started misfiring. I stared at Ted blankly. It started to make a little bit of sense. We stared at each other as we figured it out. We pulled out our itinerary and saw the proof of our idiocy.

We'd arrived to the airport exactly one day too early.

Both of us had lived alone in foreign countries. We'd both managed to keep ourselves alive and fed and clothed and relatively safe for years in foreign countries, even going so far as to make friends and travel to other foreign countries with these friends. So how did this happen?

And more importantly, what were we supposed to do now? We were too embarrassed and ashamed to call anyone to come pick us up. So we got on hotels.com and tried to book a room close to the airport with a shuttle service so that we wouldn't have to face the embarrassment of going all the way back home. After the shock of our oversight had worn off, we spent the next two hours sitting in the airport trying to figure out what to do.

We finally sucked it up and called our friend Susan, telling her the truth, and asking for a ride back home from Union Station. She laughed and laughed and laughed, and I'm pretty sure I could hear her laughing on the entire bus ride back to the station. As she pulled up to pick us up, the laughter got louder and as we loaded all our luggage back into her car, all the while avoiding the confused gaze of the friendly station worker, she kept saying, "You have to blog about this! You must! What an incredible chapter of this story!"

Except I couldn't. I was too embarrassed. We made it back home in time to go to bed. I woke up the next day and took another shower and put on the same clothes. I sat in front of the computer, completely unsure of what to do with myself and read the comments left by the kind people cheering us on the day before, the wrong day. I felt like such a loser. So did Ted. He piddled around in the yard until it was time to go.

I don't remember a whole lot about the actual day we left. After the day before, it felt pretty anti-climactic. I think I just felt relieved to finally have our boarding passes in hand and to be allowed onto an airplane, the actual right airplane taking us to bring home our son.

March 11, 2008: Finally sitting on the right airplane, on the right day, two idiots in love.

Where We've Been

Learning about "The Two Germanys" art exhibit with Julie at LACMA. We also are crossing our feet at most times.

Desperately trying not to throw up from walking through this sculpture at LACMA which is supposed to bring a feeling a calm and inner peace. Lori had heart palpitations, got sweaty, and had to leave very quickly before the massive steel walls fell on top of her. Even walking through the room a few hours later brought on nausea and just looking at this photo brings a certain amount of stress. Weird.

Really wishing we had a guitar, or banjo, or ukulele. Just anything with strings would do.

Standing in this line at the DMV to bust the El Camino out of lock-up. Warning to all Los Angelinos: if your car is left on the street for more than 72 hours (even in a perfectly legal spot right in front of your own house), the city is entitled to tow your car. No ticket, no warning, just your friendly neighborhood tow. Welcome to L.A., everyone!

Spending a fair amount of time in the car, chilling with our sock on the freeways.

Practicing our "we're so over it" expressions with the loveable Judah, who is actually younger than Abe.

Astro-turf and monster pillow fest at Chris and Heather's, with several other cute babes.

PS: Yes, we own a 1972 El Camino.

"It's done," Mary said.

I've been having a hard time coming up with just the right reflection on the past year. It sounds trite to say that I can't believe it was a year ago today that we got that phone call from Mary, the one that made me drop the phone as I went sliding across the dining room floor to yell for Ted, the call that filled my head with giddy elation and a high that lasted for days.

I will never ever forget breaking down and sobbing as Mary told us, "It's done" and then standing in the kitchen with the California morning sunlight streaming in as I called my mom. I will never forget seeing Susan out of the corner of my eyes come into the kitchen while I was on the phone with my mom and hearing her SCREAM with both her hands over her mouth as Ted told her the news. I cried again as I hugged her.

I paced and paced and paced around as I made call after call. I had never felt so light. We managed to get ourselves showered and dressed, and while Ted played basketball at the Hollywood Y, I sat outside a coffeeshop talking on the phone and checking the dozens of comments that were coming in on the blog. Every time I drive past this small shop, I get sentimental as I remember the love from fellow bloggers that day. Later that afternoon, I had lunch with my lovely and hilarious friend Staci at a French bistro-type place filled with beautiful things. She gave me that day a hat and mittens for Abe that ended up appearing in Abe's adoption announcement a few weeks later. That was a great hat.

The next few hours were a blur. We'd been given an expensive bottle of champagne for our wedding from our next door neighbors which we'd been saving for a special occasion. This day was the day to open it up. We drank down the whole thing and went to bed that night with thoughts of one certain little sugarplum dancing in our heads.

One week later, we were on a plane to bring him home. As wonderful as our referral day was, the first time we saw Abe's face, it truly didn't compare to March 3, the day everything was finalized. It was only until this day that I felt I could truly breathe deeply, knowing, as Mary said, "It's done."

Our Own Rooney

One year ago today, a dream came true.

You can read it here.

Ishmael Beah

I just finished this afternoon an amazing book, A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier, by Ishmael Beah. I found myself last night sobbing at the resiliency the human spirit and the redemption that is found through the consistent, selfless love from compassionate aid workers.

Highly, highly, highly recommended. Here, you can watch a short interview with the author.

Favorite Oscar Moment

I never make it through the Academy Awards without crying at some point. Last night, this was my favorite moment: Man on Wire won best documentary.

Sunday Lovelies

We're having trouble finding the right church for our family, and after a very busy week for all of us, this is what we ended up doing this Sunday morning. Ted even brought home a maple bar and apple fritter from VooDoo Doughnuts to go with our coffee and paper. It was a lovely morning.

Adding to the loveliness was finding a wonderful bit of writing at Bright Beating Hearts. This community of bloggers is lucky to have the soulful, talented Mama Dog in its ranks. You can read it here.

Finally, a very happy birthday to my friend Autumn, mom to the magical Rhett and beautiful Mezmur. I'm lucky to have her. This post was really sweet.