Marianne

The day got off to a shaky start, but it's not the first time in my life that I've stood in front of a class 15 minutes after having woken up.
I winged it rather well, as is often the case in extreme circumstances and got to Foix by 10 o'clock.  
I found Emma and the children squished into the St Vosgien café.  It was all condensation and bustle.  Emma was flirting with the barman, the children were sitting at a high table looking grimly into their phones and we ordered coffee and cognacs because there weren't any croissants.  
Emma and I were adrenaline high because we had, after all, done all the hard work.
At the Préfecture we were taken into the Ceremonial Room.  So beautiful it is the State could make a quid or two renting it out for weddings at the weekend, thus reducing our taxes.  
What followed was a bit of a blur.  The mayors of the respective communes shuffled scruffily to the front of the room, a colonel was there in full regalia, the Préfet was resplendent in black and gold and  made a moving speech about the values of the République.  
The Newly-French were called up to receive their Certificate of Frenchness and I wept uncontrollably into my mask.  
I was representing my boy Gab and felt a tad fraudulent standing between the Préfet and the mayor of Mirepoix until I reminded myself that my boy was born here thanks to a great deal of physical effort on my part and had become French thanks to a great deal of administrative effort on my part.  
The Marseillaise did me in for good.  Mu, at a metre distance, managed to jab me in the ribs and tell me to get a grip and Wee Man and Madeleine were doing the same thing to Emma in the row in front. 
At the reception afterwards I was reluctant to take my mask off to eat a canapé because it had served as a tear bucket and I was afraid of damaging the beautiful parquet by tipping it over. 
In this lamentable state I was accosted by a young woman who wanted to interview Madeleine and me for an article in the Gazette.  Even young journalists working for provincial papers have a taste for blood, the sensitive and the suffering, so there was no way out. 
I shoved Madeleine in front of her camera and told her she could go first.  She looked at me in horror and said that it was her ma's choice that she should have French nationality.  I gave her a look, stamped on her foot and tried to carry the whole thing off.
Parents deserve medals.