A License to Cry

It’s not too often that I leave the DMV happy (other than being happy to leave), but today I was quite pleased.  I realized yesterday that my license was about to expire, so I decided to take the girls with me to the DMV today.  I picked up Jim’s grandmother to go with us, hoping she would be able to entertain the girls while I waited in line.  I was preparing myself for a miserable visit, because the girls have had a bit of stranger anxiety lately, and the DMV is full of strangers.  Furthermore, the girls are too wiggly for Jim’s grandmother to be able to hold a child for more than a minute (she’s not strong enough or steady enough to be able to bounce them on her knee or walk with them), so my options were going to be limited if the girls started crying.  I was betting that if the girls were exceptionally fussy, someone would take pity on me and usher me to the front of the line, both for my benefit and to save their own eardrums.  It didn’t help my nerves that Susanna cried the entire way from Jim’s grandmother’s place to the DMV.  And not just any cry.  It was a “I’m-furious-with-the-world-and-I’m-going-to-make-sure-the-whole-world-knows-it” cry.  I could just imagine that we were going to bring an unprecedented level of anxiety to the DMV office.

Amazingly, as soon as I unloaded the girls into their stroller, Susanna stopped crying.  She looked around the parking lot with her red, tear-streaked face as if all her troubles had vanished the instant she got out of the car.   Nana and I made our way into the office and I eyed my surroundings warily.  The DMV is like a second home to my husband, as he  goes there every few months to do who-knows-what for all the vehicles he buys and sells.  But it was NOT a second home to me.  It was more like a foreign country where all the signs were in an unintelligible language.  I had no idea which line to stand in, or whether I needed to fill out a form, or whether the DMV even took credit cards as I remembered that I had neglected to bring any cash or checks with me.  I could just picture myself waiting for hours while frantically rocking two screaming babies and then discovering that I couldn’t pay to get my licensed renewed. 

I helped Nana sit down in a corner with the girls and prayed that they would be too entranced by their new environment to even think about crying.  I started in one line, but then second guessed myself, hopped to another, and then reverted back to the original line.  Then I realized that in my worried haze, I had left my purse in the car, so I ran back out, retrieved my wallet, and came back in.  Then I realized that there were many people sitting in chairs waiting for their number to be called.  I didn’t even see where to get a number.  I finally noticed that there was an information desk way down at the end of the counter, and I gratefully got in that line.  When I made my way up to the front, the clerk instructed me to get in the line with the sign that said “Driver’s Licenses” in very large letters.  Like I said, I felt like I was in a foreign country with a strange language, so I guess that’s why I failed to comprehend the abundantly clear signage. 

All this time (which was really only about 10 minutes, even though it felt much longer), I was steeling myself for the first unhappy sounds out of the corner Nana and the girls were occupying.  But all I heard was an occasional contented babble, and I was relieved that Nana was absorbed in showing off the girls to an interested lady sitting nearby.  I waited in my new, final line for about another 15 minutes, during which the girls were positively angelic.  I eventually got up to the front, signed in all the right places, paid my fee (and yes, they took credit cards), and smiled for the camera.  Of all the things I worried about prior to the trip, I had completely forgotten about getting a new picture taken.  So I was not looking my best, to say the least.  Oh well.  These days, more often than not, I look rather disheveled, so it would be an accurate representation!

We finally emerged from the DMV, blinking in the sunlight and thrilled that our mission was accomplished with a minimum of stress.  The girls had probably been the happiest people in the place, oblivious as they were to the hassles and inanity of government offices.  I was so proud of their good behavior, and so thankful for Nana’s willing entertainment of the girls, that I treated us to McDonald’s soft-serve ice cream on the way home (the girls got their “milkshake” later on).

Now that you’ve read through my long-winded narrative, I’ll reward you with what you really came to the blog to see: a picture!

Doesn’t it look like they’re thinking: “The DMV was no big deal, Mom.  What were you so worried about?”

Indeed, it was no big deal.  I should have given the girls more credit!