Stolen identity

It happened. And, I think I know how. But until I know for sure, I'll just tell you the rest of the story.

Preparing for New Zealand

Thursday: lots of laundry; packed up the kids; confirmed with their various babysitters that everything was still "go"; started to pack for myself, and Taylor; put together our carry on stuff, passports... but wait--the passports, and every vital document we have here, were missing.

This is where I try not to panic. But honestly, I am the keeper of the manila folder full of passports and all of our original documents. I don't take it out of its special place unless I'm going to travel. The kids don't even know where it is. And, it's not there. So, of course I emptied out every inch of this house, and turned it upside-down, and shook it. Hard.

Nothing.

I cave. I have to call Matt on the slight chance that he has moved it somewhere. Nope. Now he's freaking out with me, wondering who is buying a yacht in our name. And, he's in the middle of presenting at a big meeting. Not my best day.

I'm sad about missing out on the NZ trip, but really I'm much more upset at the prospects of someone out there doing whatever they do when they steal your identity. And, not just mine, but my kids'.

As the night progressed, I decided to call a friend who works for the US Consolate here in Sydney. 1. He totally didn't freak! 2. He did get me and Tay the last available interviews for Friday morning. He was certain we could still make our flights that afternoon, and we could sort the rest out when we returned. His reassurance was SO needed :)

{you're in for a long story. if your drifting off at this point, just know, it does, eventually, have a semi-happy, semi-ending.}

Friday: after a pretty sleepless night, no one was happy to get out of bed early. We left the kids at school, long before class was to begin. We made our way downtown to the Consulate bldg. We got our mug shots at the super express photo center for all the pathetic people who lose/have stolen their passports. We wish it cost what we paid at Costco the last time.

Lots of security check points and paper work. Conversations with police. Large amounts of money handed over to the government. Then, in 3 hours, Taylor and I had brandspankin'new passports. Complete with digitally elongated heads. (C'mon. Is it really that hard?)

I drop Matt at work and race home. I chuck stuff into a suitcase, and drive over to the school to let the kids know that the trip is back on! (Or, really, that their sleepovers are still on, which is what they are most concerned about.)

Taxi comes. Taxi driver is a jerk and makes me load the carseat & bags myself, while holding Tay. Not cool. We pick up Matt from work and head to the airport. Check-in lady says No. Tay & I can't leave the country because we don't have our Australian visas in these new passports, allowing us to return to said country. I'm ready to give up. Matt keeps talking. Immigration takes us aside, and somehow grants us permission.

We get on the plane. We sit on the plane for one hour. Plane doesn't move. Announcer guy says we need a wing valve replaced, and it may take 2 hours. We de-plane. Taylor is a really good sport, but come ON.

Is there some kind of message here? Matt turns to me and goes, "You do realize it's Friday the 13th and we're on flight 113, don't you?" I didn't need that. The forces of nature have aligned to tell me that this trip is not happening. But, instead of heeding their message, I stood my ground. We re-boarded a long time later (I stopped keeping track). The dude announces that the flight is going to take 2h 11min. How is it that a 3h 30m flight gets reduced by over an hour? Baffles me.

We get to Auckland. The hotel clock says it's after 2. A.M. Matt is presenting the next morning. Tay and I will be sleeping in. Happy Valentines Day.