Wednesday, April 27, 2011
You know, for something that has totally consumed the last two and a half months of my life, I expected it to be a little, I don't know...greener. Ah well, one more step down. On to a social security number!
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
I filled out all the appropriate paperwork on Collin's behalf, including the questions that made me laugh out loud like, "Do you plan to commit espionage while in the United States?" or "Did you sympathize with the Nazi party in the 1930's?" When I came to the "applicant's signature" section of the form, I left it blank because, well, he's three. Thinking logically, or so I thought, I signed instead on the line that said "signature of person preparing form, if different from applicant". I thought that was me. I mailed the form and other required documents to our semi-local Citizenship and Immigration Department. And waited. But not for long. Ten days later, the whole kit-n-kaboodle was returned to me with a rejection notice that read "applicant has not signed form". And another *sigh*. To make a very long story short, we cleared up the application fiasco and a month later got a notice that Collin was due at another USCIS office for fingerprinting. Yep, fingerprinting. For my three-year old.He was a little apprehensive at first, unti I assured him for the 47th time that no one was going to "poke" him. After that, he thought the big biometric scanning machine was cool. Until the agent showed him his biometric fingerprint and tried to tell him it was a picture of his finger. Then he looked at us both like we were completely crazy and asked if it was time to go home yet. Are you feeling my pain yet? No? Well then let me tell you about round three of the green card marathon. Last week, I got a letter that his application was no longer being processed because I needed to provide proof of his Haitian Citizenship. Say it with me now... *SIGH*
I admit, by this point I was getting a little snarky... My response, which of course had to be in writing, went something like this: "Dear Sirs, My son was a victim of the CATASTROPHIC earthquake that decimated an ENTIRE country. The building that housed Collin's birth certificate, if it existed to begin with, which I doubt, literally crumbled to the ground. Ergo, no bith certificate. Nada. Zilch. Zip." Okay, I may have edited it to sound less like a whiny teenager and more like a grown up before I sent it. But that's what I wanted to say. Stay tuned, I don't think our merry-go-round ride is quite over yet...