After a year of filling out documents, making plans, and waiting, our adopted son, Feyissa Thomas, is home. We crossed the threshold of our doorstep last night after about thirty hours of combined traveling (and about five hours sleep out of the last forty).
So bright and early at 7:30 this morning he came tromping downstairs from his room with Sarah, and things have been in a mild to major state of chaos since.
When Candace and Sarah first came home, they roamed the house flipping switches, pressing buttons and going through every closet, drawer and cubby they could get to. And since they were five, there were a lot of places they could reach -- either normally, or by climbing or hauling a chair to the needed spot. We used to describe the situation as "toddlers on crack", but a better description might be "first graders without boundaries".
Feyissa Thomas is all they were and more -- he is very nimble and dexterous, and completely lacks any understanding of what he is, and is not, allowed to do. Just a few minutes ago, for instance, I saw him attempting to wrench the door to the under-stairs storage room open, despite it being held fast by a flip-lock. Undoubtedly, we'll next find our video camera disassembled, or the contents of the refrigerator out on the front porch. The only solution seems to be to follow him around, saying "no" a thousand times a day.
I seem to recall it took about two months to teach the twins the basic rules (not that they don't elect to ignore them regularly, but at least they know). Sounds like it may be a tiring remainder of the summer.