Saturday, February 24, 2007



Obviously February is an auspicious month for us. Not only is it Julian’s birthday today, but it is two years since the first Postcard from Provence and a year since the New York Times article appeared and turned our lives inside out.

On Thursday evening I was out playing trio sonatas and Julian was supposed to write his letter of motivation for the adoption dossier. When I returned he was exactly where I had left him, at the computer at the kitchen table, his eyes straining from behind his ten euro imitation tortoiseshell glasses.
“Did you do it?” I asked as I scraped up the rest of the delicious pasta sauce he had made for himself.
“No. But I resized all my thumbnails.”

“My wife and I are very much in love..;” he dictated the next morning. My appointment with Mme Ferrer and her collection of plastic bottles was at 2pm. “Perhaps they don’t want to know that. Let’s start again. What have I said so far? Family is very important to me. I have eleven nephews and nieces. I feel I have a lot to offer a child. My wife and I are very much in love….”
A few tears and a lot of James Taylor songs later, and with the help of a dear bilingual friend, herself adopted, a long passionate missive from me, and a short touching one from him clicked through the printer. We had the doctor’s reports, the copies of birth and marriage certificates, the bulletins no 3 thingies (whatever they are) and it was time to take the photographs.

“That orange shirt of yours. You have to wear that.”
“But I thought you liked this shirt? I wore it specially…” I fingered the buttons of my Galeries Lafayette long sleeved vest.
“But you have to look smart, a bit more tailored, that one’s a bit hippy and floppy.”
I rummaged around in the wardrobe and found the crumpled CP Shades shirt in burnt umber of which Julian was particularly fond and which I bought when I was pregnant as part of my Big Belly Preparation Shopping Spree six years ago.
“That’s lovely. Relax. Say Mum.”
Julian, his corkscrew curls flying out every which way from behind the Nikon, touched the button on his camera thirty times in quick succession, capturing a streak of sunlight across my left breast as if to highlight my mothering instincts. The images were transferred to Photoshop. All of them looked like I had some strange skin rash, but hey, I thought. Most people just stick in a passport photo done during the weekly shop at Intermarché. Whatever. One was chosen and I was done, Next came Julian’s session. Just as there has been in his recent paintings, there was a light in his eyes I haven’t seen for many years. He was laughing just as he did all night in a small tent in Devon the night we met.
“You look beautiful, darling.” I said fumbling for the right button on the camera.

Closing the envelope of the dossier I realised I hadn’t seen Julian for about an hour.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Taking more pictures” I heard the click of the self-timer coming from the living room. “I want to look young and I’ve got chicken skin on my neck. I’ve got to look like a young father so they choose me.”

“And now?” I asked half an hour later.
“Airbrushing the chicken skin out of my neck.”

“Don’t forget the paper bag!” Julian called after me as I left for Avignon.
“What for?” I asked.
“To bring baby back in”

Mme Ferrer, her plastic bottles standing behind her, an allegorical display of all the discarded children waiting to be filled up with love, read our letters. Her eyebrows rose at the mention of our successful careers, lower lids squinted at our medical history, and eyes clouded at our obvious desire to share our lives and our love with a child.
“You have written a very beautiful letter” she said.“I admire you.”

Nine months (and a gruelling home study) from now we will hopefully have permission from the French authorities to be parents. February, it seems, is also the month where we became symbolically pregnant.



Anonymous Maggie said...

Oh Ruth, how sweet and touching this post is! I love how, with your big hearts, you and Julian, have cracked the heart of the "bottle lady". Remember as you go through this very real, though not physical pregnancy, not to become discouraged by either the details or any complications. There is a child at the end of this! I am so excited for you.

4:05 PM  
Blogger Mouse said...

Ruth, Julian, you made me cry such sweet tears of joy for you guys!
And I don't even know you!
I wish you, Love and Laughter and Dreams Come True...

7:33 PM  
Blogger Beth said...

Your happiness makes me happy, and your account is really touching. Congratulations on taking this first step!

3:00 AM  
Blogger Louis Boileau said...

Wow, Ruth!! This is beautiful. So happy for you and Julian! Wish Julian a very Happy Birthday. Best of luck with your new adventure. He or she will be a very lucky child to grow up in such wonderful household.


3:26 PM  
Anonymous kimberly said...

Oh, Ruth, how thrilling! I'm so happy for you and Julian, and for the child you will one day welcome into your home and hearts.

Belated happy birthday wishes to Julian, and to Postcards from Provence.

1:12 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Ruth and Julian,

I happened upon Julian's postcards, and thought, "how fantastic that I can receive such a beautiful small piece of Provence every day!" Of course buying one seems impossible, but I keep trying...At any rate, I did not expect to become involved in your lives in such an intimate way, from my point of view (although completely anonomous from your point of view). I wish ou both the best of luck with the roller coaster adoption process. You seem like lovely people, and I hope you receive every happiness. I'm sure since you don't know me this well wishing is kind of meaningless, but I figure if enough anonomous people wish you well it will have a cumulative impact in a positive way.


2:39 PM  
Blogger ruth said...

thank you all for your touching comments and support on our adventure. I agree with you jenna, I think the well wishing does have an effect. We are all one, anyway, no? Even if some of us remain anonymous and others splurge their lives on to the web!

what has so surprised me is people's comments about what a wonderful life we could offer a child. To us alot of the time it's just our life, with all the bills and problems and mess. However it is good to be reminded that there is much rich soil here.

anyway VERY early days yet!

2:45 PM  
Blogger Zinnia Cyclamen said...

You certainly will offer a child a wonderful life. When I read your last post, my first thought was 'wow, fantastic!' and my second thought was 'I wonder if they would adopt me?' (My third thought was 'don't be silly, you're 42'...) I had been wondering how the adoption process would work for you, I'm so glad you're posting about it. Some UK-based friends of mine are going through it, they have received approval for three children and are now waiting for the right sibling group to come along. I do so hope it goes well for you. The child/ren who become your family will be lucky indeed.

8:11 AM  
Blogger muddy red shoes said...

just tell the powers that be to read your blog, look at Juliens work and put that lucky baby in the bag.xxgood luck

3:30 PM  
Anonymous Natalie said...

Ruth, I just want to add my enthusiastic agreement to what everyone else has said. Lucky baby, lucky you and Julian, lucky us for being able to share some of your lives via this wonderful blog and Julian's paintings.

6:04 AM  

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