Global Entry

The kids had their interviews for the Global Entry cards this morning. The younger three missed their swim practices, so we'll be heading to the pool for afternoon practices. But we made it home just in time for Benjamin to make his practice!

Phoebe had a surprisingly difficult time leaving this morning. She cried about a specific Duplo set that she loves and was upset generally that we told the kids to choose a book to read in the car—how would she ever choose one?

Then, as we were driving down the road she goes, "I didn't know we were moving today!"

"Oh, we're not moving today!" we reassured her. "We're just doing an interview at the airport."

"Oh, just an interview..." she echoed, but I'm not sure she really understood what that meant because when we turned into the airport and saw the big "Welcome to the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport" sign above the road (which was dividing into a spaghetti bowl of lanes going this way and that) and air traffic towers and airplane hangars and so forth, she gasped and said, "Wow! So this is Doha!? It's so big!"

Again we had to remind her that we were only going to the airport today, that Doha was much farther away (we'd have to actually get on a plane for that trip and it would take many hours, not just one). 

"Who knew that planes were so big!!?!" she wondered next. "They look so small in the sky!"

It has been a long time since any of the kids last flew (aside from Miriam and Rachel). They are going to have so much fun on our trip, I'm sure. Just this short outing to the airport had them all gasping in wonder.

When we approached the escalator, Alexander and Phoebe completely froze. I had to force them onto it and then when it was time to step off, Alexander did a tremendous leap from several stairs above because he was afraid of the teeth at the bottom (with good reason, but the leap was a bit much). 

Anyway, here are the kids waiting for their interviews:

The interviews were really quite simple (they didn't even take anyone's fingerprints!). 

Mostly they just looked at the passports, looked at the kids, took photos for their IDs, and just...assumed the children weren't fugitives on the run from the law, I guess. 

The official who took Phoebe, Alexander, and Zoë back with Andrew was a little more jovial than the other one working our case. He told the kids that these IDs were very serious (and they kind of are—they're official government-issued IDs) and that the holders of these cards were obligated to follow the law, listen to their parents, eat their vegetables, go to bed nicely, do all their chores...

"Brush their teeth..." I joked from the other cubicle (where I was going through the same process with Miriam, Benjamin, and a less jovial (but not unkind) official). 

"And of course brush their teeth!" the officer added.

So once these ID cards arrive in the mail we should have no more behaviour issues at our house, which is well worth the effort of getting them, I think! (Other benefits include TSA pre-check and expedited customs lines).

On our way back to the parking lot, Phoebe wanted to get on the escalator all by herself.

This time we were smarter and didn't have me wrangling both of the little kids, who were quivering like little lost bunnies. Andrew had taken the lead on our way in (since he knew where to go and we were running just a smidgeon late) and the rest of us were running after him (though to her credit, Miriam grabbed hold of Alexander after we got off the escalator when she saw how far behind we had fallen). 

This time Andrew took Phoebe and I took Alexander. Both were somewhat jumpy, but a little more confident about the escalator and Phoebe did let go of Andrew's hand to step on the escalator all by herself. 

Then she stopped on the walkway to the parking garage to ask some questions about what she could see from up there—a roof over a pedestrian waiting area, some plane tails, and so forth. 

"Okay, let's go," Andrew said.

And Phoebe's hand shot out like lightning, grabbing for my sleeve but ending up with a good pinching fistful of my arm. 

"Yikes! She's really as nervous as a cornered rabbit!" I exclaimed. "Phoebe—we're not going to leave without you!"

"Doha is just so big!" she said, as I coaxed her to release her grip on my arm and hold my hand instead.

"This is the airport, not Doha," I reminded her.

"I forgot."

"Clearly."

She is happy to be home in Peachtree Corners. 

We promised her that she would know when our official moving day arrived. We would have many, many suitcases with us—with her very favourite things inside—and then we'd get to go on one of the big, big planes and fly for a long, long time and then we'd land in a hot, hot place, and that would be Doha. And it will probably feel big (even though it's about half the size of Atlanta).