Oh no he didn’t

When I was very young and growing up in Canada, long before I even knew what a green card is, I watched Green Card, the movie with Andie MacDowell and Gerard Depardieu. It’s still a great show, even after all this time and while getting ready for our interview today scenes from that movie kept flashing through my head. I imagined they would take us into separate rooms and ask the GH what brand of moisturizer I use. I knew he would respond, “Why the heck would I know that, I don’t use it?”

Instead I made a last minute run to kinko’s to photo copy everything I was taking in because I finally read the part that said take copies or they may keep originals for their records. I didn’t want them keeping originals of the kids birth certificates and our marriage license so I scrambled to be ready in time to leave. On Friday we went in for the kids to be interviewed for their citizenship certificates, which was a sad failure and another story for another time, so I assumed my interview was at the same place. Until we were on the freeway, 20 minutes away from appointment time, and I happened to glance at the letter again. I braced myself for the inevitable eye roll of death as I told the GH that we were going to the wrong place and would he please step on it and merge onto that other freeway over there because we had to drive another 15 minutes south and we were gonna be late. He really liked that bit of information, it was the pleasant cherry on top of the part where I told him it was at 8 when it was really at 11, and he had to go into work for half an hour and scramble to get everything ready for the painters because he had thought he would be able to go in in the morning after the interview. not have to wait until mid afternoon. And the part where I forgot the file with all of the documents in the stroller in the house and he had to turn around and go back for it. He was really pleased by this time and I honestly don’t know when or how I turned into such a ditz. Perhaps I’m just so conflicted about this permanent residence issue because I miss Canada, and I’m subconsciously sabotaging the whole process.

Miraculously we arrived just on time, and the guard at the gate. (Did you know you have to go through a metal detector when you enter a Federal imigration building? Well you do.) what was I saying? Oh yes, the guard at the gate has an uncle in Canada and was very friendly and chatted away with us about how lovely Canada is, and big bears and moose. But we had to hurry because our appointment was now, so we found the right room and checked in at the appropriate counter, and then, as is normal for these situations, we sat down to wait for half an hour and watched CNN. (A mine in Utah caved in, it looked terrible.)

Finally it was our turn and they apologized for the delay, the people in front of us had needed an interpretor, which takes longer. Somehow, unbenownst to me, the Boy had managed to bring with him a gun constructed of pipe cleaners, and a hood with a mask that his aunt sewed for him. We all trailed along behind the adjudicator and entered her office. I saw her glance at the Boy before she said, “How cute.” Behind me, the Boy was wearing the hooded mask and brandishing his weapon. The GH looked at him and smiled affectionately while saying, “MY LITTLE TERRORIST!” He said the T word, in an immigration office, to a government employ, and then I died, after whispering, “Don’t say that word here.”

I guess Americans are allowed to make terrorist jokes in offices, just not at airports, because in spite of the best efforts of my guys to get themselves arrested she approved my application, the green card is in the mail. Finally.

Big sigh of relief.