Mom knew that after three months, she needed to apply for a Carte Vital for apu, Poms and I. She gathered all the documents for translation, filled out the necessary paperwork, navigated the French websites...all seemed right with the world.
Que, daddy-O.
Mom: "Hey, where is your birth certificate?"
Apu: "Oh, it's in my folder, and it should be in a hard binder notebook thingy."
Mom: "Great, found it!...oh, and the lady said it was going to be 150 Euros!!!"
Apu: "WHAT??? For a translation???"
Mom: "Yes, sir. Welcome to the world of Hungarian."
Mom quickly scanned and emailed a copy to the translator, who said she would get it to us by the next day! Score!
24 hours later...
Mom opens her email to discover that apu's High School Diploma was staring at her...
Que, hot flash, sweating, confusion, heart palpitations, and defeat.
Yes, that's correct...between apu just being apu (see here for yet another example), and mom being clueless in Hungarian after four years...we threw 150 Euros DOWN THE DRAIN. It's a good thing apu is FAR FAR AWAY...currently in Hawaii, sipping drinks on the beach...while mom panics and tries to figure out HOW THE HECK we are going to get a birth certificate from Budapest, like, yesterday.
AND to add to the panic, the Prefecture just decided to cancel mom's appointment for her Carte de Sejour, and reschedule it for a MONTH earlier. Que, second coronary.
It appears that mom, in all of her zen-ness still cannot escape the French. She should have known better.
In other news...mom took us to the Christmas market yesterday and ran into some Canadians who promptly asked if she voted for Donald Trump. Awesome.
This is what mom looked like after he asked...
UPDATE!!! Nagypapa and Nagymama saved the day and got a copy of apu's birth certificate, which also happened to be IN FRENCH!!! What are the odds?! Apparently the universe wanted to spare dad's life. Mom, chill.
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