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| Zoe, your lunchbox is ready for you! |
At least this time I got a notarized letter; I'll be right at the airport and she is traveling with my brother whom I trust above all. Tomorrow evening, if all goes well, I'll be the happiest mom ever.
Showing posts with label immigration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label immigration. Show all posts
Friday, October 30, 2015
Tomorrow
At least this time I got a notarized letter; I'll be right at the airport and she is traveling with my brother whom I trust above all. Tomorrow evening, if all goes well, I'll be the happiest mom ever.
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Child delivery service for New York
I answered the phone as I exited the train at Newark airport station having a slight fear of what was hiding behind the six digit phone number. "Good evening, is this xxx?" I confirmed. "This is xxx with immigration services, are you expecting someone this evening?" I confirmed, providing him with Zoe's full name. Then I told him who she was traveling with. "Did you provide them with a notarized letter?". I confirmed explaining that I provided a letter stating that my friends were allowed to travel with Zoe. At this point I was running up the escalator heading for the air train that could take me to terminal B. The voice on the phone asked again. I realized my mistake. "I gave them a letter, but no, it was not notarized", I confessed. The officer explained to me that this letter was worth nothing and that I needed to have a notarized letter to confirm that they were allowed to travel with my daughter. My heart was now somewhere between my upper lungs and my throat and I was short of breath from running. "I'm right here in the airport to pick her up", I said. "Please, sir." As I entered the air train compartment he finally took to a nicer tone, telling me that next time I needed a notarized letter and I repeatedly apologized and said I would make sure of that. He hung up. I burst into tears and as the air train came to a stop in terminal B, I ran as fast as I could towards International Arrival. I saw them from afar, recognizing Zoe instantly. When she realized it was me she started running too and we met and hugged until Zoe said "Mommy you are squeezing me too tight", and I cried a bit more and she looked puzzled at me. "I was so scared they wouldn't let you in", I told her, but it seemed that she had never understod that part of the situation. She had happily explained exactly who she was traveling with, exactly who she was going to see and why she was traveling with them. And now she was just happy to be back with her mom. And so is her mom. Who will remember to get a notarized letter next time.Sunday, March 15, 2015
Jumping on hotel beds
"You are my favorite travel buddy", I whispered into Zoe's ear after we had settled into the shared ride at exactly 2:50am, taking off for Newark airport. She had woken up immediately as I gently touched her, put on her skirt and sweater herself (she had slept in the rest of her clothes to make this easier), and taken down her little owl suitcase from 4th floor herself. Without as much as a whinge. We chatted about houses and cars and lights as the driver took us to our way-too-early-but-cheap flight.
Zoe and I are off to a conference in Vancouver where I have a paper, and a workshop to attend. Since I'm alone with her in New York, I have no option but to bring her, which is also my preference. There are two simple reasons for why I like to take her 4000 miles across the country and pay close to a 1000 dollars for her to be with me: Firstly, I don't want to lose out on any time with her these days. With her dad wanting her 50% of the time, I am making the most of it, even if it means having to go home early from the conference dinner and see few actual research presentations. The other reason is that not only is she easy to travel with, she is simply a delight (to paraphrase my 90 year old aunt) to travel with. She hardly ever complains and sees everything as fun exploration and reminiscing with me because we have most likely been on that type of plane, in that specific airport and bought that type of airplane snack before. She cried exactly twice, once when she squeezed her finger in-between her suitcase handle and the suitcase, and once when I interrupted her and asked the shop assistant if they had a different type of sushi rolls. Zoe wanted to explain to me exactly what she wanted and I just overruled her, leading to her frustration. I apologized and we were good again. She got the sushi she wanted (we flew via SFO, which has a great sushi place where I have been many times) and we ran to the gate, boarding as the last people.
Onboard the first flight, she quickly fell asleep together with me, her cuddling up on my lap, me nodding most of the way. When we woke up the plane was shaking from turbulence and I hate that. The big secret about me, (and yes, I recognize the irony) is that I actually *hate* flying [blush]. I am just plain scared to fall down. This also feeds into the desire for me to always fly with Zoe because the thought becomes slightly more bearable that we should both fall down together. But Zoe held my hand and comforted me. She suggested we watch some tv on the iPad because that usually helped her, she said and we did. I was very relieved when we hit the ground safely.
On the second flight we reached a milestone. Normally, my attention has to be devoted mostly to her, even if she is watching cartoons or playing on her iPad, and if she is sleeping it is mostly on my lap, limiting my movement. This time, however, she watched cartoons (with my noise canceling headphones) so focused that I pulled out my computer and proceeded to write on a journal article that I'm working on at the moment. I managed to write almost a page, something I have never done on a plane with Zoe before.
We landed and walked the kilometer and a half from the gate to immigration where we had to take the non-resident queue. It took us 30-40 minutes to reach the front, which Zoe patiently waited out with only a bit of complaints. I cursed the officers and fellow passengers for not pulling out the mom traveling with two kids, one 1 1/2 year old who did NOT have 30 minute's patience. But obviously everyone in front of her felt it was more appropriate to listen to the little one crying for most of the time. Finally, it was our turn and I proudly walked up with our rainbow passports. "Where is her father", the young attractive officer asked. "New York", I answered shortly. "Do you have a letter from him?" I froze for a bit. I normally always travel with a letter, I make sure other people traveling with Zoe have a letter but this was just a short trip within the same continent and I had not even thought about bringing passports until two days before. I sighed. "You are actually the first one ever asking for that", I replied honestly and received the obvious "you should always travel with a letter" but after a few more questions he let us through. I joked with a friend later that I was now the child-smuggler.
Zoe jumped eagerly on the hotel bed as we finally got in and we both went to bed early after a long successful travel day.
Zoe and I are off to a conference in Vancouver where I have a paper, and a workshop to attend. Since I'm alone with her in New York, I have no option but to bring her, which is also my preference. There are two simple reasons for why I like to take her 4000 miles across the country and pay close to a 1000 dollars for her to be with me: Firstly, I don't want to lose out on any time with her these days. With her dad wanting her 50% of the time, I am making the most of it, even if it means having to go home early from the conference dinner and see few actual research presentations. The other reason is that not only is she easy to travel with, she is simply a delight (to paraphrase my 90 year old aunt) to travel with. She hardly ever complains and sees everything as fun exploration and reminiscing with me because we have most likely been on that type of plane, in that specific airport and bought that type of airplane snack before. She cried exactly twice, once when she squeezed her finger in-between her suitcase handle and the suitcase, and once when I interrupted her and asked the shop assistant if they had a different type of sushi rolls. Zoe wanted to explain to me exactly what she wanted and I just overruled her, leading to her frustration. I apologized and we were good again. She got the sushi she wanted (we flew via SFO, which has a great sushi place where I have been many times) and we ran to the gate, boarding as the last people.
Onboard the first flight, she quickly fell asleep together with me, her cuddling up on my lap, me nodding most of the way. When we woke up the plane was shaking from turbulence and I hate that. The big secret about me, (and yes, I recognize the irony) is that I actually *hate* flying [blush]. I am just plain scared to fall down. This also feeds into the desire for me to always fly with Zoe because the thought becomes slightly more bearable that we should both fall down together. But Zoe held my hand and comforted me. She suggested we watch some tv on the iPad because that usually helped her, she said and we did. I was very relieved when we hit the ground safely.
On the second flight we reached a milestone. Normally, my attention has to be devoted mostly to her, even if she is watching cartoons or playing on her iPad, and if she is sleeping it is mostly on my lap, limiting my movement. This time, however, she watched cartoons (with my noise canceling headphones) so focused that I pulled out my computer and proceeded to write on a journal article that I'm working on at the moment. I managed to write almost a page, something I have never done on a plane with Zoe before.
We landed and walked the kilometer and a half from the gate to immigration where we had to take the non-resident queue. It took us 30-40 minutes to reach the front, which Zoe patiently waited out with only a bit of complaints. I cursed the officers and fellow passengers for not pulling out the mom traveling with two kids, one 1 1/2 year old who did NOT have 30 minute's patience. But obviously everyone in front of her felt it was more appropriate to listen to the little one crying for most of the time. Finally, it was our turn and I proudly walked up with our rainbow passports. "Where is her father", the young attractive officer asked. "New York", I answered shortly. "Do you have a letter from him?" I froze for a bit. I normally always travel with a letter, I make sure other people traveling with Zoe have a letter but this was just a short trip within the same continent and I had not even thought about bringing passports until two days before. I sighed. "You are actually the first one ever asking for that", I replied honestly and received the obvious "you should always travel with a letter" but after a few more questions he let us through. I joked with a friend later that I was now the child-smuggler.Zoe jumped eagerly on the hotel bed as we finally got in and we both went to bed early after a long successful travel day.
Friday, June 27, 2014
Welcome to America
When I arrived in Shanghai, China three years ago with a 10 month old Zoe strapped to my chest, I didn't stand in the immigration queue for more than a couple of minutes before a uniformed woman came to pick me up and wave me to the front. Zoe was not upset at this point (after having cried every 20th minute for the full duration of the 13 hour flight, even with the nice flight attendants had been carrying her around to calm her down) but the Chinese bureaucracy clearly didn't think it was nice for a mom with a baby to wait in line. China is unfortunately the only place where I have seen this happen so swiftly and so undramatic.
When I was standing in the visitor's immigration line (Zoe was not with me to let me go through the citizen line) the other day, on my way into New York, I watched a mirror image of myself two years ago: A mom traveling on her own had an overtired, crying 2-year old boy at her feet, trying to shuffle hand luggage and making sure he was moving with her. He was at that stage where he could only cry and scream because everything is wrong. According to his body it was 8:30pm, probably way past his bedtime. His mom tried everything but was clearly also frustrated, particularly because of all the eyes on her. The queue bent five times as a snake and moved very slowly. I could hear them coming towards me, I was one snake-line ahead. The more I listened to his tired screaming and obvious torment the more furious I grew that nobody let them in the front. When they were almost leveled with me, I pulled up the black belt divider and motioned to her: "Come in front of me", I said firmly but she hesitated. "But won't people say something?", she asked but I said in a slightly louder voice: "Nobody will say anything". She walked under, pulling her still screaming boy and thanked me. I said hello to the boy who stopped for a moment while being scared of this strange women before going back to screaming again. We were now in the front snake line, which finally resulted in a guard picking her out. "32" he said and she was whisked away to the final part of the queue. She gave me one of this looks of gratitude that means she was going to remember me forever as the one who made her immigration experience just a little less hellish. I know, because I remember every single person who has done the same for me.
As the wailing sound gradually moved away from our earshot, I overheard another mother telling her 8 year old daughter, in a joking voice "honey, can't you scream a little too?" The father chuckled and they clearly thought it was all fund and games. I wanted to scream at her, asking if she had amnesia? Did she really forget how that is like in a few 6 years time? Did she have no compassion? Did she not realize that the mother would gladly have waited another 35 minutes if her son hadn't been crying? And then I promised myself that forgetting is fine, but compassion is something you should carry with you always.
When I was standing in the visitor's immigration line (Zoe was not with me to let me go through the citizen line) the other day, on my way into New York, I watched a mirror image of myself two years ago: A mom traveling on her own had an overtired, crying 2-year old boy at her feet, trying to shuffle hand luggage and making sure he was moving with her. He was at that stage where he could only cry and scream because everything is wrong. According to his body it was 8:30pm, probably way past his bedtime. His mom tried everything but was clearly also frustrated, particularly because of all the eyes on her. The queue bent five times as a snake and moved very slowly. I could hear them coming towards me, I was one snake-line ahead. The more I listened to his tired screaming and obvious torment the more furious I grew that nobody let them in the front. When they were almost leveled with me, I pulled up the black belt divider and motioned to her: "Come in front of me", I said firmly but she hesitated. "But won't people say something?", she asked but I said in a slightly louder voice: "Nobody will say anything". She walked under, pulling her still screaming boy and thanked me. I said hello to the boy who stopped for a moment while being scared of this strange women before going back to screaming again. We were now in the front snake line, which finally resulted in a guard picking her out. "32" he said and she was whisked away to the final part of the queue. She gave me one of this looks of gratitude that means she was going to remember me forever as the one who made her immigration experience just a little less hellish. I know, because I remember every single person who has done the same for me.
As the wailing sound gradually moved away from our earshot, I overheard another mother telling her 8 year old daughter, in a joking voice "honey, can't you scream a little too?" The father chuckled and they clearly thought it was all fund and games. I wanted to scream at her, asking if she had amnesia? Did she really forget how that is like in a few 6 years time? Did she have no compassion? Did she not realize that the mother would gladly have waited another 35 minutes if her son hadn't been crying? And then I promised myself that forgetting is fine, but compassion is something you should carry with you always.
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