A little corner of France in Ireland!

As I have mentioned in the last post, the past couple of weeks have been quite busy and slightly stressful. Since we can't go on holidays to visit my parents this year (thanks Peanut!), they have kindly offered to take Marie so that she wouldn't miss out on the fun, sun and swimming pool. I had assumed that they wanted to take her for a couple of weeks but since my dad is now retired, they decided to take her from mid July until the end of August.

I was a bit wary of letting her go for that long (selfishly I have to admit) and I also felt a bit bad that she would miss her little brother's arrival. But after talking to her and explaining to her that she wouldn't see her little brother until a while after he was born and asking her what she wanted to do, it took her the whole lot of 2 seconds to decide that she wanted to go on holidays. Newborns, as she remembers from her little sister, are 'boring' as they only 'sleep, eat, poo and cry' (her words not mine). So it was agreed that my dad would come and pick her up mid July and fly back with her. And then my mum & dad would bring her back when my mum took her holidays at the end of August.

There was only one slight problem though, her Irish passport is about to expire. In itself, it might not sound like a big problem. I mean all you need to do is fill in the form, get it signed at the garda station and send it off. Unlike last year, there are no strikes in the passport office, so you can get it back within 10 working days. Unfortunately, it's not that easy for us. Some of you know that Mr Foodie is not Marie's biological father, although he is for all intents and purposes her dad. She calls him Daddy and loves him as such. Anyway, to cut a long story short, we haven't heard from her biological father since last summer. We don't know where he is and the last known number we have is the one of his ex-girlfriend. Since we don't know where to find him, he can't sign the passport form and since he is considered as her guardian, both signatures have to be on it. I discussed it with a garda friend who explained to me that unfortunately, the only way to go was through the courts. I have had my fill of them, I have been in and out of court over Marie and I've had enough to last me a lifetime. So I'd rather stay away from them. That and the fact that by the time we realized that her passport would be out of date for the summer, the case would probably not have been heard until they come back from their summer holidays, in September. So too late for her to go.

So I looked into getting her a French passport. She is after all a French citizen hence entitled to a French passport. And it turns out that in France, only one parent's signature is required to get a passport or an ID card, no questions asked. I have to say that finding this bit of information out made me jump for joy.

Then started the process of gathering the documents needed to request it. We had to order her french birth cert twice but eventually, we got both copies within a day of each other. Then came the fact that she had to come with me. The French Embassy operates on a very French schedule. It is only open to French citizens from 9.30am to 12 pm, the afternoon being dedicated to visa requests. You can only call them between the hours of 2pm and 3pm unless you have a real emergency. And if you manage to get a hold of somebody on the phone before 2pm, they ask you to call back within the dedicated hours. So I decided to keep Marie out of school for a day, so we could both go and get the passport.

My car has refused to start since the snow last year, and I have since let the insurance policy lapse, not renewed the car tax (since it's off the road) and not bothered with getting it NCTed (that would be the equivalent of an MOT in the UK I think). On a daily basis, it's not a problem. We walk to school (10 minutes up and 10 minutes down) unless it's raining heavily when the neighbour (who also drops her son to school) gives Marie a lift. Mr Foodie is usually home by 4pm so any shopping, etc can be done after he gets home. We have been using only the one car for the past few months and it has worked for us. But on the occasions that I need to go somewhere during the day, it does take a bit of organising. So we arranged for the girls to stay over at Mr Foodie's mum & dad's so that I could drop him off at work (leaving the house before 6am) and then went on to collect Marie and drive to the embassy. I think I went there 8 times in 13 years (4 times to vote, twice for my own passport, and twice to make the girls fully fledged French citizens) and certainly had never gone there from where we live now. So the GPS went on and we made our way. Marie was slightly nervous and so was I. What if they started asking questions about her father, what would we do if they refused to issue her passport, how devastated would she be that she couldn't go on holidays etc... I had explained to her that we had to go and get her passport and that without it, she wouldn't be able to go on holidays, so she was aware of how important this was.

We got there without getting lost (which with my sense of directions is quite an achievement). And after queueing up for a bit, we got seen to. I decided to also get her an ID card. You see, an ID card is valid for 10 years and allows you to travel within the EU and it's free too. Which means that the ID card would expire after her 18th birthday, by which time, she will not be considered a minor anymore (hence sorting my visiting Papi & Mamie for holidays / passport requests problems for the next 10 years). She got fingerprinted, measured, her eye colour was noted, her picture was taken and the ID card and passport requests were sent. The girl behind the counter did ask if I had a letter or a copy of her father's ID but I quickly explained the problem and she said that it wasn't compulsory anyway. So, after we came out, we both sighed a big sigh of relief. Half of the problem was solved. All we had to do now was wait for the embassy to send me a text to let me know that the passport was ready to be collected. The girl said that if I didn't hear from them by the end of the week it meant that there were no problems with the request. I immediately called Mr Foodie to let him know how we got on, as well as my mum and dad who didn't waste any time booking the flights that very same afternoon.

A week to the day later, I received the text. Her passport had been issued, and was ready to be collected. I was extremely impressed at the speed the request had been processed, especially when you know that the passport gets printed out in France. It left Dublin on the Tuesday, the following Thursday was a bank holiday in France (and most companies would also be closed on the Friday) and the following Monday was a bank holiday in Ireland. So it really took less than 3 working days for the passport to get printed and flown back here. A weight was instantly lifted off my shoulders. All the stress and worry of the past few weeks wondering would she be able to go or not, would I need to go back to court etc just dissolved. It took a little more organising so that we could go back and collect it. Marie had to come with me, as she needed to get fingerprinted again to ensure she was really the passport holder. We went to collect it last Friday and you could see the delight on her face when we stepped out of the embassy. She too was extremely relieved and even let out a small squeal when we closed the door of the consulate. She turned around, beaming and announced proudly: 'It's official. I can go on holidays!'

It feels strange to me to see her name and picture and written below the words nationality: French. I don't know why but I have always considered her to be more Irish than French. Probably some kind of unconscious reaction to the fact that her biological father didn't want me to speak French to her. I subconsciously suppressed her Frenchness. But, in the past year (since her father vanished really), her French has come on so much that she is able to hold a conversion on the phone to my mum and dad, she speaks mainly French to her little sister and she wants to learn more. And she will. What better way to do so than go away for a few weeks and be completely immersed in the language, and the culture! So roll on the holidays! I just wish she would stop asking me everyday how many days are left until she goes...

Sport and the spirit of fairplay

I love sport. I don't do anything anymore (yes, I use the 'no time' excuse, and it's not an excuse, it's real!) and I do miss it. But I watch a lot of it!

From age 3, I have practiced some kind of sport. I started with 10 years of ballet. I stopped because my teacher moved and I didn't want anybody else but her. Then 6 years of volleyball. I stopped as I was the only player able to walk under the net without having to bend down and I didn't jump high enough. And then, I started ...basketball. Another game not for shorties. I used to have loads of fun though. And I think that one of my best memories of it was bumping so hard into another player that she got sick by the side of the court. She shouldn't have gotten in my way and it's not my fault my shoulder was at her stomach's height (that's how tall she was!). But then, exams came about and school work needed more attention so I gave it up.

Then I moved here and was too busy working and partying to play sports. A girl in work tried to start a handball team and what a disaster that was! She was already playing gaelic football (a french girl playing GAA!) so not afraid of contact. You probably guessed from the above story that I am not either. The other players? Well, emmm, there was one that was afraid of the ball coming at her, one that was running 'funny' (She was just leaping around, toes pointed instead of running!). And we had the one that doesn't know the rules, doesn't want to know the rules and just moaned that she had to run. We were training with guys too, some of which were on the Ireland team. And they were training, not just messing about. I would consider myself a bit of a nutcase, the reason being: I put myself forward for goalkeeper. Well, we couldn't put the one that got out of the way every time a ball came towards her now, could we? What a mistake on my part. Does anybody know how fast and small and hard, hanballs balls are? Well, imagine a cantaloupe melon being thrown at you by a man at full force but without the capacity to explode, that should about do it. The goalkeeper, well, keeps goals and basically, just jumps up starfish stylee (that's arms and legs spread) and eyes closed and tries to block the ball. After a few melon size bruises on my arms, I thought maybe it wasn't such a good idea but kept on going. Until, I got one in the head. Unfortunately, the imprint of stitches on the side of your face were not a good look that year (or any other year). So I gave that up. Fast forward a few years, I decided to join the gym. I went religiously for about a month and a half, until I met my calorie obsessed, just won't shut up about work boss there. At around which time, I also realized that they had messed up the direct debit and didn't take the money out of my account and I owed them about 300 euros. I never went back and they didn't chase me up either.. Strange..I also bought a stepper, which is now stored under the spare bed. I took it out a few months ago and used it (at least twice) but it was just taking too much space in the sitting room and went back to its rest place.

So instead now, I watch sport on tv. And this afternoon, France played against Ireland in the 6 nations. And won. A lot of people might think that I must be delighted with the win and I am but (and there is a but), I am not all that happy. Well you see, Ireland is my home now and my girls are half and half. But I AM French. Things haven't been the same though since that Hand of Frog incident (Was I glad I wasn't in work then!). Since then, I wouldn't necessarily display my Frenchness while supporting my country's team because I know the Irish have a long memory (800 years, hey?). And today, after a deplorable display of non fair play on my part (I clapped when the Irish lost the ball at the beginning), I was made swear by Mr Foodie that I would not cheer at mistakes and that I wouldn't gloat if we won the game (which I wouldn't anyway *cough*). Well, OK, I would probably make a few jokes about it, but it would all be gone by tomorrow (sore looser, Mr Foodie!). And if I did cheer or gloat, it would come at a price: no blogging for 3 days. And Mr Foodie does not threaten, no he doesn't, if it sounds like a threat, do not be mistaken, it is not one, it's a promise. He would probably go to work with the 2 laptops in the boot of the car for 3 days. So, I made him swear too. No Facebook for him for 3 days either. And with that the spirit of fair play was restored in the house. And I even switched sides for the last 20 minutes, I was cheering for Ireland (well, I kinda knew that they wouldn't come back, really, and that I wasn't really being highly unpatriotic and some kind of traitor to my country). I don't like it when either one of the teams gets steamrolled like that (I hope that doesn't sound like gloating, does it?). I'm really happy France won, but I'm also a bit sad that Ireland didn't play all that well. But out of respect for Mr Foodie, I will keep my happiness low key and celebrate in my head rather than publicly. But I know though, if the shoe was on the other foot, I probably would be suffering the unending jokes of a very gloaty Mr Foodie (who would have deliberately decided to go without his beloved facebook, just so that he could). All in the spirit of fairplay though! Now, where is that remote so we can watch the Olympics?

I miss....

Right, I'm taking the plunge. I have been reading Josie's writing workshop at Sleep is for the weak through December when I discovered the world of Blogging. And I decided that I would start participating in January. So this is my first post based on one of her prompts: What do you miss?


So here goes nothing:

There are a couple of things I miss. I miss my family, being an expat is not necessarily the easiest thing in the world. It is great that you can move somewhere and be utterly and completely yourself and shed any stereotypes (I come from a small village and you get labelled practically at birth) and expectations. People might say I didn't have to move that far. But I did and do not regret it at all. However, it does not prevent me from missing my family. Up to a couple of years ago, I would have said quite easily that I do not miss my family, well not that much. But life took a different turn and being in turmoil meant more regular contact with them and a few open hearted conversations. And it has warmed up the relationship, we went from one phone call a week to a phone call a day (sometimes more). And now I can openly say, I miss them. I miss my mum's cooking, I miss my dad's witty comments, I miss my brother's awkwardness. I miss them all the more these past few days because they were here but not long enough. I miss the fact that I can't just pop in for a coffee and a chat, I miss the fact that we can't go out to lunch somewhere at the drop of a hat, I miss the fact that they can't pop in anytime they want and see the girls. I miss them all, even though I am used to not seeing them.

On a more practical note, I miss some things about France. I miss the slower pace, the 2 hours lunch, the 35 hours week (although I never experienced it myself). I miss the school system that allows you to have a full time job without making you feel like you are missing out on your children. I miss the choice of activities that are available for kids and families. I miss the supermarkets and the variety of foods (although things have much improved here since I moved over). And most of all, I miss the weather.