Visit to Canada and a week off

We pulled up at the US/CANADA border crossing last night at about 10 PM (much earlier than I thought we would) in a Prius full of 14 Pottery Barn boxes.

Twelve cars idled ahead of us; plates from all the NE states and a variety of Canadian provinces give us something to look at. Anticipating declaring the stuff and fidgeting nervously, I watched us generally keep up with the pace of the lineup next to us.

Bob, taking advantage of an opportunity to drink something, grabbed a bottle of juice out of the snack bag at my feet (Mango Acai from Trader Joes) and promptly dropped the cap down the gap next to his seat. He groped for it, chuckling, as I held the capless juice. When his hands came up empty, I handed him the plastic bottle and he watched me as I bent over in pursuit of the damned cap. I am certain I provided a show to the neighboring car (full of grinning college-age guys from MA) when my head kept disappearing from view, but I didn’t much care (at a border crossing, guys? Really?). When I found it, I handed it to Bob out of view of the morons. I figured I would let them think what they wanted.

Our turn came after a total of 15 minutes. We pulled silently up to the window (on electric power only) and after the standard questions of “Where do you live?” and “What is the purpose of your visit?” the grey-haired official asked us for our passports.

After perusing them quickly, he said, “I see that you are both born in Montreal, but as you are driving a car with US plates, I must ask you to tell me your status in the United States before I let you into Canada”

“We’re dual citizens,” replied my husband, clearly surprised. Normally, our citizenship is directional; when going INTO Canada, we’re only Canadian and out, we’re nothing but red-blooded Americans. We had to be told only once by a grumpy border official that when asked the citizen question, we must CHOOSE,  never say dual.

“US Passports?” the official asked, holding out his hand for the proffered small blue books.

After taking a quick look, he regarded Bob.

“In an effort to save some time for my US counterparts,” he said, handing back Bob’s passport held open to the first page, “you might want to pay attention to these four important words.”

Bob looked, laughed and sheepishly read, “Not valid unless signed.”

“Have a nice evening,” said the official, dismissing us.

As we drove off, we laughed about the power of distraction; we hadn’t declared ANYTHING because he never asked the final of that regular laundry list of queries: “Do you have anything to declare?”

Tomorrow, for visiting day, I will get my hands on my daughters for the first time in 25 days. Bob and I are hanging out at my parents’ home now (they return from a genealogical convention in Utah late tonight) and will be driving to camp EARLY tomorrow morning to hang out and then take them to Ottawa for a few days. This IS the third summer my kids have been at camp and apart from an initial visit to unreasonably bitchy and overtly pathetic, I’ve been doing fine.

Right now? ITCHING to see, smush, kiss and just look at my daughters.

So, given that I have NO access to a computer until next Thursday, I won’t be updating this until then. May all of you have a lovely week. See you on the flip side!