November 15, 2012 by Colleen Morris
The last few weeks have been a bit hectic to say the least. Still recouping from the 5 days away from home, no school, restocking the fridge, catching up on laundry, the election, the first snow, finding snow pants, the time change, delayed Halloween, twice, the rescheduling, the donations, the collections, my obsessive 11pm twittering–and my 4 year old, who has become attached to my right hip, wanting a 4am snuggle every day for the last two months. Well, this can all make a girl feel pretty damn tired. When coffee isn’t working, you got a problem.
After listening to my daughter play her crib headboard like bongos for 30-minutes, then waking myself up in my son’s bed, I managed to answer the phone and talk to my mom for 2-minutes last night. She was coming up to visit the next morning to help watch my daughter so I could run errands, go to the grocery store, and drop off some fundraising flyers. It seemed like a promising day. And I was even going to sneak in a little me time. Maybe go for a brisk walk or run.
Then my darling husband opens a piece of mail that sent me from damn tired to damn bitch in 5 seconds flat.
“Suspension” he reads. “Friday. This Friday our NY State licenses will be suspended.” I start to panic. He tells me we have to go to the DMV the next morning to register our vehicle in CT, change our NY plates to CT, and change our out of state licenses to CT.
Apparently, this piece of mail was sent to our old Brooklyn address, then finally rerouted and made its way here. By the way, I’m still waiting for my NY state absentee ballot to vote. There’s something going on with the mail here. I’m pretty convinced.
Anyway, yes, I know they say you have 60-days legally speaking to switch over to Connecticut after you move. And we did change our car insurance from NY to CT so as to not commit insurance fraud.
But to be honest, I wasn’t ready to make this move from Brooklyn to the burbs that seemed so temporary to so permanent. My NY state driver’s license with my NYC address has been a permanent part of my identity for over a decade. I wasn’t willingly ready to part with this. I’m still deciding if the burbs is even for us. 60-days is nothing. I can’t even decide on a new lamp for our apartment in 60-days.
And forget my loyalty to the Empire state, who the heck wants to go the DMV. Especially on a day that I had major errands to do and get done. My 2 year old daughter was one diaper shy of having to wear my son’s old Lightening McQueen pull-ups. I had no milk. I barely had 2 slices of bread. I seriously needed to run errands tomorrow. Not head to the DMV.
Then angrily, I made my husband call my mom to advise her of our change in plans. He explained much more calmly than I was willing to do. I was still processing all this change.
Then I start texting my mom friends in a frenzy as I needed a back-up to pick James up at school. Any memory of a DMV does not conjure up quick, efficient or friendly service. Thankfully, my neighbor was willing to be my plan B.
So today after a busy morning of getting kids fed, dressed, getting to school on time and being second in line for the quarterly parent-teacher conferences, and of course, keeping Quinn happy and entertained, I finally raced back home to pick up my husband for our morning trip to the DMV. He carried out a folder about 3-inches thick to what seemed to be every piece of documentation, identity and form we could possibly need to be become official residents of Connecticut.
When we arrived at the DMV in Norwalk, it was a packed morning madhouse. We waited on the first line, with Quinn strapped in her Maclaren happily munching away on her goldfish, and us desperately wishing we had stopped off at Starbucks. We were smart enough to print the forms at home, and have them mostly completed upon arrival.
However, 30-minutes into it, we found out that our NY state drivers licenses, along with the 7 other documents we brought, was still not sufficient enough evidence of our identity. We needed our passports or birth certificates as well.
I was pretty pissed to say the least. Then as I’m texting my neighbor to advise her that I may actually need her to pick up my son, I get reprimanded by a rather militant-like woman. “No cell phone use.” So privately and quietly texting is apparently a DMV violation. WTH.
At this stage my daughter is now throwing goldfish all over the DMV, and I’m getting more bitchy by the second. On our drive back home to retrieve our passports, Quinn just loses it. Her crying, the stress of becoming a reluctant CT resident, and having to return to the DMV, just sent tears down my face. I wish I could say it was PMS related.
I think moving is really emotional for some people. Even though I’m the impetus for being here in the burbs, it still seemed more like a trial by rental kinda deal for my family. And now I’m giving up my NYC identity for an address that I barely know the zip code to. Don’t even ask me my home phone number.
Well, we did return to the DMV about 45-minutes later. And after another two hours of waiting in about 7 different queues, and saying goodbye to my NY license, we finally got our CT plates and CT drivers licenses.
I keep reminding myself it’s just metal and a piece of plastic. It doesn’t change who I am or what I represent.
And who knows what the future will bring. Like I wrote yesterday I am a proud burbs mom, and I do mean it. I really feel a strong sense of community here. So who knows, maybe in a few months I won’t be such a reluctant official Connecticut resident.