last day of school

I got the boys off to school on time today, and it was a significant day for us all. Malcolm presented his teacher with a little gift of a Galler chocolate bar and a picture he drew of a unicorn, sealed with a ribbon and his illuminated "M" wax seal, with the message: Cher Nathalie, merci pour cette année que vous m'avez donné. Bonnes vacances, Malcolm. He composed it himself in pencil and then inked it in. She was pleased and they exchanged kisses, which was nice for both of them.

Speaking of kisses, I might not have mentioned that in these as in other things, the two boys are different. Malcolm hasn't exchanged bizous with his teacher before, but when I go to pick up Duncan it takes an extra twenty minutes to get out of there, as he kisses every daycare attendant (about six or seven people) and a half a dozen of his closest friends, and has to be dragged out of there under duress, still bellowing a demain in his little-boy baritone. Socially inhibited, he isn't.

The commune saga continues. Visit #5 yesterday was to have been a triumph, given that I had met up with the local policier and requested that he meet me at the commune house yesterday at 11:00. I thought I had it sewn up, but never count your chickens before they hatch: the wicket that I had been to the other times was closed (why, you may ask? Well, c'est jeudi, evidement) and it was a different person I spoke to.

I was initially hopeful, explaining that I had been there two days prior, had shown all my documents, and had been told that all I needed was the attestation of the local officer that we still lived in the commune, were still married, etc. and she would renew our cards. This new clerk demanded birth certificates, health coverage, passports... all the crap we gave them seven months ago. Amazingly she took new photocopies of all the same documents, and then told me that we had to wait for the department of etrangers to approve or deny the application to renew the identity cards. When I explained that I had heard differently two days earlier, I got a typical gallic shrug and a blank look. It looks as if I will have to reapply when we return in August.

Unbelievable. I walked out, and to my surprise found myself giggling in a high-pitched, unbelieving and slightly hysterical voice, and feeling a bit like Chevy Chase's "Griswold" character, melting down at the gates of Wally World. (That clip is an apt depiction of a traveller's frustration, but it's got some colourful language, so turn your sound down before playing it at the office or when the kids are around... here is the clip). What really drives me crazy is the lack of a clear process... I used to do process improvement and facilitation in my old job, and I bet I could find some serious efficiencies in that office if I had a whiteboard, some post-its and a box of dry erase markers, and one hour in a room with the staff.

(Gotta calm down, Matthew; it's a different country, you like it here remember?)

I'm heading over to pick up the keys from the landlord... he's come through with those, very nicely, and our friends are lending us their car tomorrow, and another set of friends will help with the carrying, which is great. I might get in a last post on the weekend before we leave...