The practice is somewhat different. It involves the assumption that any challenge can be presented at the very last minute, and a solution can magically be presented from the kitchen, the filing cabinet or presumably, a body orifice.
It’s my own fault. During their formative years, I took to carrying one of those enormous mail-sack versions of a handbag that every mother seems to get stuck with. (How men manage to ‘do’ childcare with just two pockets is a long conversation for another day.) No matter what the challenge, I had the emergency response kit tucked in the bottom somewhere. Hungry? Have a packet of (slightly furry) raisins. Thirsty? Sippy cup. Bored? Book, toy cars, Polly Pockets. Bacteria for science project? Remains of a mouldy sandwich wedged in the mobile phone pocket. Frankly, that bag had everything but a silky cape, and I have the spinal issues to prove it.
Time and location have not altered the reality. I have ranted at length about the challenges that expat life adds to the table – creating a family tree (with copious photographs) on a timescale that even DHL’s international service and a second mortgage can’t fix. Failure was not an option, so with some cavalier use of Google images, my children now both have illustrated family timelines with a little creative license. If using extras to fill the places of the stars when they are indisposed is good enough for the Oscar ceremony, it’s good enough for me.
2012 has seen the blossoming of the Wiggy One, with a sudden interest in socializing, traveling the world and even going to college conferences (gasp). For many of you, this may seem like a normal stage of teenage growth and not cause for disturbance, but as Wiggy’s time-honored strategy for adapting to a new environment involves adamantly refusing to speak to people for the first three months, it is quite the sea change. Predictably, as with anything new, he fails to understand the timescales necessary for certain tasks to be completed, and relies on the superpowers yet again.
This time, it was bureaucracy. So startled were we in his interest in going to Turkey and Greece with his history group that we failed to realize that his passport and visa were tied up in the Green Card application process. Not only were we not in actual possession of his passport (with accompanying visa), but the aforementioned passport was only valid for another 4 months. Entry into Turkey required 6 months validity. Re-entry into the US would the require a new visa. We had 8 weeks to achieve all of the above, 4000 miles away from the nearest passport office.
Thus ensued a frenzy of activity; tracking down non US passport photos (Costco, for those of you in a similar predicament, are helpful, quick and cheap. And are really happy to do retakes..), filling in forms, finding UK citizens to countersign (no easy task when they are required to have known you for two years, and we move every three..) and spending days at in line at the Post Office spending a fortune on tracked, insured, countersigned, personally delivered, gold-plated, fingerprints and inside leg measurements required for delivery type postage.
We managed it, with a mere two weeks to spare, thanks to the efficiency of the US Immigration Service and the British Embassy in Washington DC, and the Wiggy One trooped off to pastures new with a newly minted Green card and passport and instructions to never, ever let them out of contact with his skin. I would have staple-gunned them to his torso if I could.
I must give credit where it is due. He had a very jolly time experiencing rather more of what Greece and Turkey had to offer than was advertised on the tour brochure (how does one inadvertently manage to book a 15 year old on a wine tasting tour??), and arrived back tanned, relaxed and carefree. Oh, and luggage free too.
I should probably pay British Airways for the lesson to teenage global nomads. If it’s not in your hand, don’t count on it being there when you get to the other end of the journey, no matter what the airline might tell you. Sure enough, he arrived back on US soil, safe and sound, still clutching his wallet, passport, Green card and a book. And absolutely nothing else.
British Airways should have listened to mother..