Our court appointment to finalize Minor’s adoption was scheduled for last Tuesday morning. I have often marveled at the photos posted on the Holt bulletin board marking finalization celebrations: siblings decked out in matching red, white and blue outfits, and relatives numbering in the double digits posing with the judge while holding American flags. Ours was a bit more prosaic. As I may have mentioned before, Husband and I are not overly sentimental people; or, rather, we can be sentimental about our own children, but not on command. So during the classic adoption moments that are supposed to unfold like a Hallmark card, all soft focus and sweet words, we tend to seize up.

On Tuesday this meant spending most of the morning grumbling about the impossibility of getting four humans up, fed, bathed, dressed, and out before 7:30 a.m., especially when one of the four still poops explosively and had to be given his second bath in twelve hours. Really, it should be an Olympic event: the quintathlon! Unlike the biathlon, no guns are allowed, no matter how they might ease the transitions.

The courthouse is about an hour away, given traffic. We passed through the metal detectors and up to the second floor lobby, where the docket was posted. I did not see our names, just one divorce case after another. Our attorney found us quickly, though, and handed me the adoption decree. With Minor clinging to my leg, I stood in the middle of the foyer, held the paper as steady as I could, and signed…something. I hope it was the paper to keep him, and not the one to give him away. Then I went chasing after Minor while Husband signed the same paper.

They ushered us into the judge’s chambers. While I was struggling with Minor, my purse, the baby backpack, and my camera, he recited a few words — I heard Minor’s Korean name, pronounced oddly, and his new name — and then it was over. The judge asked if he could hold the guest of honor. Minor does not always go to strangers willingly, but he melted into the judge’s arms and snuggled right into his shoulder.

Is it just me, or does the judge look a little startled by Minor’s enthusiastic response?

As we left, Husband apologized for the drool stain on the judge’s robe. He was nice about it and, probably thinking ahead to all the divorce cases, said it was still the best part of his day.