Tuesday, September 7, 1999

Morning:

One Monday, we hit the wall.  We've eaten 10 meals in this hotel.  We've pushed strollers through parks, shops, government buildings, onto buses, up stairs, down escalators in this rainforest climate.

We've rotated the same three outfits for 11 days.  Our babies have no schedule.  The TV is full of Asian stuff, and we just want to go home.

Just 2 more days.

We've passed some time shopping.  Shopping here is a contact sport.  Every price is negotiable.  It's institutionalized.  How much? you ask.  The clerk punches a number on a calculator.  You take the calculator and punch in a lower number.  Until you agree, or you walk away.  But even then it's not over.  The clerk will chase you down and make an even better offer.

I'm getting better.  Cindy wanted a silk embroidery called "The Hundred Children" for Kaylee's room.  Price: 1800 Chinese.  800, I punched.  I walked away at 1500.  Clerk chased me down: 1350.  Sorry, I said.  A little later, I grabbed the manager: 1000?  I punched.  No, he scoffed. Five minutes later, the clerk intercepted me: What is your final offer?  1000, I punched.  1150, she punched. Split the difference, I gestured.  1125. Deal!

Afternoon:

Kaylee's legal.

On Tuesday, we gave to the U.S. consulate a pile of 17 documents gathered for two years across the U.S. and in three Chinese cities.  And the U.S. government said it recognizes Kaylee is our daughter and we can take her home.  Everyone was nervous and, as each of us passed the document review and interview, we slapped high fives.

I've sent a picture of Cindy and Kaylee outside the consulate moments after the good news.

We hit the road Wednesday, but we're all already flying.