Do YOU Know Where Your Husband Is?

"Welcome to Canada, where is your husband?"

Not the greeting I had expected to hear, and certainly not from a woman Border Agent in the middle of the Alaska/Yukon wilderness. After a day and a half with two preschoolers just out of sight enough to torment each other with the precision of a neurosurgeon, an interrogation into the whereabouts of my spouse just about did me in.

Here is how the conversation proceeded from the time I roared up too fast in the Mini-Van, O'Jays blaring from the open window. My desired, although not necessarily voiced, responses are in parentheses.

Agent: "Welcome to Beaver Creek. Are these both your children?"

Me: "No, Ma'am." (They are in fact, nobody's children after driving all this way with them kicking me in the kidneys).

Agent: "Do you have the birth certificate for your child?"

Me: "No, why would I need that?" (You dumb bimbo, that's why we have passports, issued by our Department of Homeland Insecurity.)

Agent: "Are you married? Where is the child's father?"

Me: "I am married, last time I looked. The child's father is in Anchorage."

(Likely having a cold beer and thanking his lucky stars he is not here talking with you.)

Agent: "I need a Notarized copy of the birth certificate, AND a notarized note stating you have permission to take the child out of the country."

Me: "WHAT!?" (Oh My God, are we trapped in Beaver Creek, where there is no internet, fax, or for all we know, flush toilets?)

Agent: "Do you see the father's name listed anywhere on the passport? How do I know you are not in a fight with him and are taking the kids?"

Me: "UHHHH, Right." (Look, you pre-menopausal witch, I'm about to unhook the car seat and leave the little darling with you and his Bob the Builder lunchbox if you're not careful).

Agent: "I'll let you go through this time. But you MUST get the note and the notarized birth certificate before you enter Canada. It is an obvious step."

Me: "Well, thank you so much." (No, an obvious step would be to slam the accelerator over your ugly black shoes.)

The moral of this story is not to cross the Canadian border at Beaver Creek going South during the day shift.

Notarize this!