Chilling with the Translator

Our attendant was an adorable young lady and we were her first family to assist. She was pretty fluent in English, textbook style, or at least British style. I found myself trying to explain words or phrases only a few times. Mostly, we conversed freely. And she was very sweet.
Because Ivan displays some very classic signs of Autism, Charlie and I spent good chunks of our visits discussing his behavior. We would openly talk about his lack of eye contact. We would comment on his stymieing. We would wonder aloud about what a particular behavior or action would be providing him with.

"I wish I knew what that swaying dance does for him."
"I wonder if this is a self soothing behavior or a stimulative one?"
"What do you think he gets out of that?"
"Has he made unprompted eye contact with you, yet?" (The answer was no. Always, no. He did not make unprompted eye contact.)

Our attendant actually became worried that we weren't interested in continuing the adoption. I laugh really hard here every time I think of this because WE WERE SO INTERESTED IN THAT KID IT WASN'T EVEN FUNNY. She just didn't understand where we were coming from in our banter about him. We were filing away his every little tick to research later. We were documenting his every shift and sway and hop while thinking of a dozen different ways we could incorporate stimulating activities into his day at home.

"I wish I knew what that swaying dance does for him." Was our minds racing with thoughts like "I bet he'd love the swings in the back yard." and "Maybe he'd enjoy gymnastics?" and "I hope you can learn to appreciate dubstep because Mommy's gonna be dancing with you at home, kiddo."

She couldn't get over how excited we were over every little thing he did. He would do something new and Charlie and I would exchange a look of "DID YOU SEE THAT?!?!" and her face would fall a little and show concern that we were losing interest when the reality was that we were thrilled.

Over lunch one day, I remember discussing with Charlie that I'd love to witness Ivan have a meltdown in the safety and security of the orphanage. I'd wanted to see what his anger or upset looked like and to see how the staff worked with him. Our attendant looked horrified, "Why would you want to see that?"

"I'd like to see it so I can have an idea how to help him."
"But you would not... provoke him?" She asked, still shocked.
"NO. No, no. I don't want to provoke a tantrum. It would just be nice if he happens to have one where we can witness it."

I'm still not sure if she understood. We did, in fact, get a glimpse of a tantrum while we were there. Ivan didn't understand what was going on the night the staff let us feed him dinner. We'd asked if we could stay for his dinner time and watch (from the visitation room) how they managed meals. We had hoped to see how he eats and how the staff handles him during a meal. Instead, they offered to let us feed him. He'd already left the visitation room and was seated at the table, though. He knew it was dinner time. Then a staff person collected him and lead him back to the visitation room. He began crying and fighting against her because, the poor kid, he wanted dinner. He did not want to visit. The lady explained to him that he was having dinner in the visitation room and he was fine but Charlie and I both had a "Well, that was a tame tantrum but it was nice to see it." chat afterward. Our attendant asked about it and I remember telling her that it's very good to know that he can be talked out of a fit like that.

Our translator made the trip much easier. Because we were in a touristy area where the majority of people have some functional English, we could have probably managed on our own. We were able to get groceries and dine out and be tourists fairly well on our own. However, our attendant was fun and peppy and willing to do just about anything we suggested. She managed the taxi rides to and from the orphanage each day. She would order for us in a restaurant that didn't have picture menus. (There is one dish that is popular there called the "Shopska" salad. I know I like this dish and it's easy to find on a Bulgarian menu because it looks like "WONKA" in English.  The missionary family had a hearty laugh when I asked for the 'Wonka' salad when we ate with them. ha!)

Our translator handled all our interaction with any orphanage staff. She made it possible for us to gather information from Ivan's Baba. She also made sure we were fully informed about any paperwork that we signed while we were there.

Also, she was just a pleasant person and by the end of the week, I think she may have understood that we were actually very excited about Ivan even if she didn't understand why.