We are finally home again.
Jolie did extremely well on the flight–she threw up in the car and freaked out in the airport, so we were frankly not very hopeful for good behavior, but she slept through the key six-and-a-half hours like a tiny little cow-colored trooper.
Neither Nick nor I got nearly as much sleep on the flight as she did, but we threw ourselves into various errands with whatever energy remained after we landed, and it (eventually) paid off.
For one thing, I am one step closer to having my residence permit. “This expires on the 31st; you know that, right?” the passport control guy at Charles de Gaulle asked me, after inspecting my temporary certificate for so long that I became positive that it had expired, say, yesterday.
“I have an appointment today, after this,” I assured him.
I really did think that I was basically just going to pick up my permanent, laminated card, but once again I underestimated the French. “There is a compulsory medical exam,” my agent told me. “Go out, in again through Staircase F, make an appointment at“…you know what? You get the point. An hour and a half of useless bureaucracy, and now I have my second temporary permit, which will (allegedly) be replaced with the real thing when I appear for my medical appointment.
I spent the whole time worrying about Jolie anyway; when we left, she was shivering compulsively on her bed. “Should we put her in the kitchen?” Nick asked vaguely, but we thought it would be best to leave her where she was. In that ninety minutes, we’re fairly sure she didn’t move an inch. It’s been a difficult month for her, and she clearly began to unravel at the end of it. I don’t think she really aspires to be a jet-setter anyway; hopefully we will never be away again for so long that she will have to fly, because she seems to truly dislike the whole “change” thing.
By the end of the day, though, the world felt…righted. There was a lovely smell of roasting chicken and onions from the kitchen, and we sipped champagne from our crystal toasting flutes. Jolie was cuddling again, and had finally stopped that awful trembling. Nick was trying out his Christmas Wii, and both our gardienne and our dry cleaner have effusively welcomed us back. Now Nick is boiling down the carcass for stock (have I mentioned how incredible it was to have one of our own home-cooked meals again?), the champagne is nearly gone (but still cold) and Jolie is fast asleep again (I swear: she’ll be up all night).
Life is life again.