That’s not a phrase that any Canadian wants to hear.

When we were pouring cement two weekends ago, Best Man was regaling us with his golf exploits (Best Man frequently takes the summer afternoons off to “network” on the green) and mentioned seeing military jets , CF-18’s, flying overhead.

There was an air show in Edmonton because ordinarily, we wouldn’t see military aircraft up here, and of course the conversation turned to America and it’s lust for the oil sands just to our north.

“You sure it wasn’t the Americans coming to secure the oil sands?” my husband asked him.

Best Man just laughed.

It’s not really a joke. Canadians are pretty sure the day will come when the U.S. redirects its might north and simply takes from Canada what it now coerces from them via treaties and secret agreements.

However the only Americans landing today were BabyDaughter and I. The final piece of the immigration puzzle is an interview and handing over yet another photo for our permanent residency cards*.

MidKid had heard that the interview could get intimate and picky.

“What color is your husband’s toothbrush?”

I could draw a map of his “identifying marks” more easily than recall that.**

I do know that some couples are called upon to “prove” the legitimacy of their union but short of setting up a camera in the bedroom (which Rob nixed and wouldn’t do us justice anyway), how do you prove you are truly married in all senses of the word?

If that were to have been an issue, it would have come up before now anyway.

The interview mainly consists of the following:

Are you a criminal?

Do you actually live here?

Do you have the $490 dollars?

Welcome to Canada.*

 

*So we are now officially permanent residents of Canada with all the rights minus two (voting and running for public office). I was handed a document that entitles us to live here but not doesn’t grant us reentry should we leave before the PR cards arrive.

Why would we leave? I hate that my mind goes there but I had to ask the woman what would happen should I be needed to go back to the states because I have an elderly/dying father.

“You would have to go to the Canadian Embassy to get a travel permit for reentry.”

Oh. No problem. It’s a mere three-ish hours away from my folks’ home being located in Chicago.

For the next five weeks then I’ll just hope my dad doesn’t get worse or die. Like the good old days when my late husband was in the nursing home and then hospice. I just uber-planned. I had lesson plans months in advance and a weeks worth of emergency sub plans. I sometimes wonder now if I am not a bit too contingency oriented. Always knowing where the exits are located and what to do after evacuating. Side effects.

**I was not called upon to prove intimate knowledge of my husband. Though I was prepared to do so.