Border Wait Times Are Now a Personality Trait
We had a doctor appointment across the line this week, nothing serious, just a checkup for the baby, but it meant the whole circus, snacks packed for the crossing, snacks packed for the snacks, three car games, and a very firm talk with the older kids about not mentioning the chickens in the trunk, long story.
Border wait was six hours. Six hours, for a drive that used to just be, driving. There is one open crossing left near us and everyone in three counties uses it, so you just accept you are going to spend an afternoon in a line of vehicles with your engine off, rationing snacks, rationing patience.
The guard who checked us this time was actually kind, asked about the kids by name, which was sweet until I realized he recognized us because we cross so often for medical stuff that we are basically regulars now, like a coffee shop, except the coffee shop has a watchtower.
By the time we got through, the appointment was almost over, so we rescheduled, which means we get to do this whole thing again next month. Dale says we should just move closer to the crossing. I told him that is exactly the kind of thing the Ministry newsletter would love to hear him say, so maybe lets not put that in writing, oops, too late I guess.
Six hours in a hot van with seven kids does teach you things though. Mainly that patience is not a virtue anymore, its a border crossing requirement, and mine is getting real thin these days.