Today, we had our first big family outing to Indianapolis for the boys' appointment at the international adoption clinic at Riley Hospital. Emily kicked things off with some fun temporary tattoos, explaining we'd start with 2 tattoos per boy in the morning, then get another tattoo after the visit with the clinic. Emily was kinda banking on the marginally dishonest tactic of using the English word "doctor," thereby providing complete but encrypted information about the itinerary. Care to guess one of the few words the boys picked up at the orphanage? The tattoos weren't met with the sort of enthusiasm one might hope for, but at least they provided some light at the end of the tunnel.

We stopped at our favorite Ethiopian restaurant in Indianapolis on the drive in. Dave and Em typically order 2 combo platters when we're oh-my-god-pull-over-i'll-just-eat-roadkill hungry. Since it was shortly after breakfast, 2 platters would surely be enough for everyone, so we ordered 3, guaranteeing leftovers for home. We then proceeded to cram lentils, collards, cabbage, potatoes, and injera down our gullets, obliterating any hopes for leftovers along with any notion of moderation.

Our arrival at the clinic was actually rather drama-free. An Amharic interpreter worked with us during the visit, and the pediatrician was 100% awesome. Explaining to the boys all the steps in the exam, and often demonstrating procedures on herself before moving on to the boys, she extracted nothing but smiles from the kids the whole time. The only real bummer was reserved for Dave: the fresh (though certainly ripe) stool samples this new father proudly collected immediately prior to departure were barely too ripe and would require recollection for prompt processing at a lab in Bloomington. Fortunately, an official "sampling kit" soon arrived, washing away any and all disappointment. This was no ad hoc saran wrap sampling effort of yore. Its clinically professional appearance stated loud and clear, "I'm the real deal. I sample poo." Christmas came early for daddy.

On to the phlebotomy lab. Riley Hospital for Children may call it a "blood draw lab," and other children may be deceived; our boys understood right away that something would be "otomy"-ed, and this was no happy occasion. Though clearly uncomfortable, Amare held his own, sitting stoically in Dave's lap while the nurse coaxed five vials of the goods from his arm. Over in Emily's corner, Zenebe managed not to flinch, instead investing all his energy in a full-throated wail readily identified here. Soon enough, all the samples were complete, and both boys selected yo-yos from the consolation toy bin in the blood lab. We were a bit concerned that the the boys might have mistaken the hamburger-shaped yo-yos for actual hamburgers, but so far they have seen use only as toys. If anything changes, Dave will update the blog with details of the subsequent "sample collection."