Hello world. It is I, Kittie. And I have just discovered that the Canadian government is insane. Or maybe I am, who knows. Since we last talked we have adopted a dog, I read more Jane Austen than was healthy for me and discovered that I read about 20 books in the past six weeks.
And we kept up with the immigration work. See, because we can file for permanent resident status now. Which means we had to fill out forms again. And answer questions we had already answered. Where have YOU been traveling in the past ten years? Provide the exact dates, please.
I got so excited I just kicked the speakers off the desk. Good thing this isn’t my place. Where was I?
Yes. It is easy, at least for countries outside of the EU, to determine the date you entered those countries, provided you weren’t stupid enough to get married so you had to get a new passport (like I did) or had to get a new one because your old expired (like my husband’s did). So. Lots of searching for old documents, receipts from airlines. Because I knew exactly when I had been to Canada the last time and when I had left. Too bad my husband doesn’t keep a journal, I have to get him one. From Hello Kitty.
He also made the mistake of reproducing before we met. How dare he. He doesn’t have custody and definitely does not intend to bring those children along. Yet he had to magically obtain information about their schools, their height and weight and whatnot. How that was supposed to work when him and the mother aren’t even on speaking terms… Well. We managed. And he only had to declare in writing – for each child individually – that he will not smuggle them in somehow. Maybe baked into a cake. And that he had to do witnessed by a barrister. Which, how he observed, does more than just make coffee, although he was offered some after the business part had been done.
Our police records from Germany have been sent in and just need to be translated by yet another half skilled individual that charges a lot of money. Our birth certificates were sent in so they can see that we were actually born and not put together in some underground lab. At least I wasn’t. And my husband was born in a swamp hut, like all ogres. Marriage certificate. Check. His divorce papers. Check. SIX pictures of each of us. Passport pictures. We paid over 100 buckaroos for that. At Wal-Mart for crying out loud. And the best is yet to come.
For the lovely people to go and LOOK AT OUR PAPERS we had to pay a fee. 550 dollars. Per person. 1100. Yes. Lovely. I will look over papers all day if this is the kind of money that can be made with it.
Unfortunately my work permit doesn’t allow me to work in the health sector, with children or for the government. I am appalled. So I have to reconsider my plans, because since working with the criminally insane should fall under those restrictions, so I can’t possibly work as a digital media designer anymore.