I'm finally ready to fill you in on the last chapter of the marriage certificate/driver's license story.

Read Part One and then Part Two first or this story won't make any sense.

Ready?

Okay.

So I called my Mama, like any girl in trouble would do. She listened, laughed in the appropriate spots, and finally said, "Hmm. I'll have to look into this."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I'm going to go visit that clerk and see what they have to tell me," she responded matter of factly.
And she did.

The following morning, my phone rang. "I have your certificate," my mom announced.

"What!? How did you get it?"

"I asked for it."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Now, why aren't things ever that easy for me?" I wondered.

My mom smirked. I could hear it over the phone. "You just have to be Mom," she said breezily.

"But I AM a mom!" I wailed in my most convincing "poor me" imitation. We both laughed.

When the certificate arrived in the mail, I was shocked at how different from the photocopy it looked: on blue and gray cardstock, a full sheet of paper, and wonder of wonders - the coveted SEAL rested happily on the back!

Jeremy and I had a grand old time celebrating our marriage, and then he asked me, "So, do you think the BMV Nazis will approve of this one? Does it have the appropriate recording marks?"

That worried me, so the next morning, I checked carefully for any recording notations. I found none.

Then I crossed my fingers and took it to the BMV. The woman behind the counter examined all of my documents closely but paused while handling my marriage certificate. She frowned and examined it more closely. "Is something wrong?" I asked her in my most casual voice. I was prepared to deny it all, if necessary.

"No-o," she said hesitantly.

"No?" I repeated.

"Well, it's just that I've never seen a marriage certificate like this one before."

I sat silently. What does that mean?

She stared at the document a while longer, turning it at various angles, I have no idea why. Then she called her supervisor over.

You've got to be kidding me! I thought.

I watched in silence as the two women held the fate of my driving in their hands. Finally, I said, "What's the matter?" The supervisor answered, "We've never seen a marriage certificate like this one before."

What, do people married in Illinois NEVER move to Indiana? What's the problem!

Finally, the supervisor shrugged at her employee and walked off. The woman turned to me and said, "We're going to go ahead with this. What is your address?"

"Well, I'm moving on Monday, so would you like my new address or my current address?"

"Oh dear, that's a problem. We cannot use your old address because driver's licenses do not get forwarded in the mail, and we cannot use your new address without proof that you are living there."

I just sat looking at her; my mind remained completely blank. It could have been due to the state of disbelief I was experiencing. God was probably trying to tell me something, like, "Move to Hawaii. Life will be easier there."

The lady then suggested that I come back after moving into the new house, and then I could try again.

After a week of nothing but junk mail, my friend kindly offered to mail me a card, just so I would have proof that I'd moved. Unfortunately, the BMV Nazis did not think that was good enough. I ended up going to the bank and having them print out forms showing our new addresses, then they stamped and notarized them, and I took those forms to the BMV.

I now have a driver's license! I'm legal!

But I still think I should have moved to Hawaii.