The Homestudy

The toilet's clean. The pristine white porcelain fixture gleams in tribute to Mother's third rule of housekeeping: A sparkling clean toilet will gain you the pardon you need for your numerous domestic administration errors. Today I need all the help I can get.

The windows have been washed with vinegar water and rubbed dry with newsprint. The oak flooring shows the results of a whole day spent waxing and polishing. Lemon Pledge scents the air. The bed is made and the dishes are washed. A lace tablecloth graces the ancient oak table sitting in the bay window, while a cobalt blue vase sits in the center holding fresh roses from the garden outside. A loaf of newly baked bread cools on the sideboard. Jean Paul Rampal flutes softly over the stereo. A giant teddy bear sits on the rocking chair in the bedroom awaiting a child. All seems ready but we are still apprehensive.

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My husband and I have a good marriage, challenging jobs, interesting lives, but no children. Yet over a candle lit dinner not so long ago, we abruptly realized we'd forgotten to add children to our lives. We'd always intended to start a family. It is the reason we'd married.

Now we're in the midst of the adoption process. The adoption agency caseworker is expected at any moment and all is ready for the crucial homestudy visit. At least I think all is ready.

Edward, the social worker from the state adoption agency, drives into the yard in one of those nondescript government cars, maybe a 1990 sodden gray Ford sedan. I'm nervous and Ben is too. Edward has just driven 120 miles from a large city, over mountain roads just to pass judgment on our home and on us. He looks calm. It seems very important that he be calm.

Edward is dressed in gray woolen slacks with a gray woolen turtleneck sweater. He wears gunmetal gray loafers. His hair is (can you guess?) salt and pepper. We have given a lot of thought to our apparel, and are dressed in our own versions of what we think the fun loving, stable couple who love children and deserve to be made parents of some lucky child might wear. Ben has on Levi's, a blue plaid western shirt, and cowboy boots. I have actually chosen (being under this kind of scrutiny will make you do, and say, things that would normally horrify you) to wear my teal tee shirt with the little Mickey Mouses dashing about. This supposedly will show that I have a playful nature. The silver hoop earrings with amethyst crystals that I've chosen to wear were intended to show that I was in touch with the times and flexible.

Edward shakes our hands, smiles his noncommittal government smile, and strides into our home. He sits down at the welcoming kitchen table and hauls out the thick unwieldy file that represents the sum total of Ben and my lives. This file holds our photographs; our birth certificates; our fingerprints; our marriage license; all the education and career certificates and diplomas that we have ever earned including the report card from the sixth grade on which I earned an F in spelling; our individually written biographies; our physicals psychiatric profiles; and letters of recommendation and support from four people.

It has not been an easy task to find among our friends four persons who could write a coherent letter, who were willing to do so, and who would without question write letters favorable to our adoption plan. Many of our friends were just beginning to enjoy and explore life after raising their own children. Their general response to our new goal was one of incredulous disbelief. Finally a few graciously agreed to write letters.

Our dear family doctor of 25 years wrote: "...In my opinion the Millers are both healthy enough to survive raising a child to adulthood. However I am distressed to find that they both are exhibiting the first signs of senility. The first sign of senility is the expression of the desire to allow any person of an age lower than 35 to enter your home and stay there for longer than two hours..."

A friend who ran a group home where we often spent family holidays sent, "...At first Ben and Emma seemed to be a bit panicky and frightened as the kids started appearing with their nose rings, purple hair and creative vocabularies, but now they appear to be at home with the kids. In fact the kids look forward to their visits and attempts to teach social skills. They all wanted to tell you about the Millers so I have included some notes from the kids..."

She included these notes:

"...The Millers are pretty nice. They do have funny ideas though. They want us all to sit at the table and not in front of the TV when we eat. They think every one should wear shirts and shoes at the table. They ask us to wash our hands before we eat. We still like them though..."

"...We like Mr. And Mrs. Miller pretty good. They need a kid to teach a bunch of stuff to. They taught me to play chess. I even beat Ben once..."

"...These people know more about the rules than that Miss Manners I had to read about in school. They should pass these rules on to someone, but not to me. Maybe some kid who likes that sort of thing, but not me..."

An old school chum wrote:

"...The Millers would make perfect parents. They always knew exactly what to do in the face of any problem I ever had in the raising of my two boys. They are renowned experts in child rearing and I for one would like to see them have their own problems to solve..."

I worked with the fourth friend who agreed to write a letter.

"Dear Sirs,

Please give these people, the Millers, a kid. They are desperate to use this method of ruining their lives and have been driving their intimate friends, business associates and all of Trinity County crazy with the details of their search for a family. Any child who was placed with this couple would have an interesting life.

I have known the Millers personally for 20 years and to my knowledge they have never been arrested for throwing wild parties, using controlled substances, or child molestation.

Mrs. Miller (Emma) is an honest, fun loving person with a skewed sense of humor. She reminds me of Roseanne as she appears on the television show of the same name. Mr. Miller (Ben) is stable and supportive. They are basically informal and spontaneous at home. I am sure family life in their home would be much like the TV home life of the Conner family.

Please put Trinity County out of its suspenseful misery

Respectfully, (Name withheld on request)

Edward went through all of this information. He refused a cup of tea and then asked each of us what was the one thing about our spouse that annoyed us the most. Here was an easy question. I would like to pay the bills once a month and Ben wants me to pay them the day they arrive. I complained that Ben is compulsive about paying bills. Ben said I was always falling asleep on long car trips and he would rather I stayed awake and talked so that he didn't fall asleep. These didn't seem to be monumental faults and I was pretty sure our home study could survive them.

Then Edward closed up the file saying that he would let us know in a few weeks about the results and started to walk out the door. In that entire visit he had never once left the kitchen.

Six months later we were the proud parents of three children and I know in my heart it was because I had the courage to shout at Edward as he started out the door, "Come back, you haven't seen the toilet!"

Credits: Gerry Dee Maxey