A guest post and a birthday wish from the DMV.

Today's post comes to you live (well, not really) from Hillary at The Other Mama. I met Hillary at SheSpeaks, and it was bloggy love at first sight. Or, at least, bloggy love at first hug. She is sweet and sassy and Southern - three of my fav-o-rite things!

I'm so glad Jessie from The Vanderbilt Wife instructed us, her two mutual bloggy friends, to meet!

So, today, you get the pleasure of hearing from Hillary . . . and as you might have guessed, I'm over at her place. Please be kind and rewind.

Wait. That doesn't make sense. Just be kind. And welcoming. And you know, nice.

Also - because I like to draw things out as much as possible - if you'd like another chance to read my 9/11 post from last year, here's your chance: Where Were You?

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No one should have to go to the DMV on their birthday. Unfortunately, for us Alabamians, our driver’s licenses expire on our birthdays every 4 years and each time this blessed event occurs you have to show up at the DMV- in person {none of this pansy online or mail in business}-to renew our licenses. You’d think they’d have a permanent “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” sign in that area or at least one of those fake cakes that you can’t eat. But, alas, it’s just littered with white pieces of paper scotch taped to the wall, each bearing one small piece of information that answers a question that must have been asked 20 times one day. {e.g. LOOK HERE FOR PICTURE and LICENSES WILL ARRIVE IN 2-3 WEEKS}

On my birthday last week, I thought it would be wise to visit the smaller mall branch of the DMV to quickly breeze in and out.

It was about as “quick” as Michael Jackson’s funeral: painfully slow.

About 50 other brilliant people had the same idea, so I settled into line with my new friends; there were about 15 people in front of me.

Soon I met the first character: and older woman who had appointed herself “Head Informant of All Citizens at the DMV”. She was stationed 2 people in front of me, but quickly turned around to tell me which line was which and wanted to make sure I knew where I was supposed to be. You’d think was a kind gesture if it weren’t for all the 8 ½ x 11 sheets pointing to the appropriate line. She was bossy and wanted to make sure you knew she was in charge of this here line.

Throughout my 45 minute wait, she informed our small group that you can NOT get your license renewed early- she has tried. And that it is valid for 60 days after the expiration date; she was full of fun facts. Just a wealth of information, I tell you. I’m sure she gives her correct weight, when asked, too.

She was not the only character there, though. There was overly-tattooed guy, really old grumpy guy, mommy with stroller {praying her infant would stay asleep and not be touched by afore mentioned tattoo guy}, guy who looked like he stopped by during halftime of a gang fight, girl who would not stop texting, etc. The employees did not want to be there and were openly discussing their upcoming breaks and who would bum a smoke from whom. It was a perfect slice of Americana: a cross section of our city, all schlepping down to the DMV for the same silly reasons.

I finally made it to the counter and entered into my discussion with the attendant {she had 10 more minutes until her break, I had learned, so I was lucky to make it}. Here’s a bit of our conversation:

DMV Employee: Is everything still the same on your license?
Me: No, we have a new address {gave her address}
DMV: Height and weight still the same?
Me: No, I’m actually 5’ 7” and you can add 30 pounds to the weight.
DMV: {insert look of shock and awe} What? You want to ADD 30 pounds?
Me: Yes. That’s closer to what I actually weight {please note: STILL not what I weigh} and they wouldn’t be able to recognize me if I was a missing person at that current weight.
DMV: Nobody adds weight lady, but okay.

Yes. I did it. I’m not 15 any more and decided to adjust my weight from 1994- the last {and first} time I had given it.
What I did not ask her to do is add 30 pounds to my face for the picture, but apparently that service comes with no charge.

So, I made my way out of the DMV with this temporary license; the permanent double chin should arrive within 2-3 weeks.

Sayonara, DMV. Until 2013 when we meet again.

And Happy Birthday.

Guest Post: Tam from inProgress

Do you read Tam's blog, inProgress? It's more of a community than just a place for someone to dump her thoughts. Although, her thoughts range from hilarious to perplexing to inspirational to thought-provoking.

Today, Tam and I are blog swapping. She's here to tell us a little about giving up on perfect, and I'm over at her place talking about being a work in progress. Welcome, Tam.

Giving Up on Perfect...

…Not easy to do. Especially when perfection becomes a survival skill.

When I was in elementary school my mother met a man who'd eventually help in giving me 2 younger sisters :) He also helped in forming some of the worst habits of my life. One being...a clean freak!

You see, my mom’s boyfriend was an abuser. He enjoyed all types of abuse. My older brother and I got to experience them all. But the one that had the biggest impact on me was the physical abuse.

If he found me sitting, I would get a beating. Wouldn’t matter if I had just vacuumed and was simply resting. A beating would follow.

So, I learned to stay busy. There was always something to straighten, organize, dust, fluff, pick up, wash, whatever...I would find something to do.

One of the chores I gave myself was keeping the faucets spic-n-span shiny! I quickly learned there was always chrome to keep spiffy. Handwashing, toothbrushing and cooking all caused water spots and grime. And keeping every faucet in the house sparkling became my safety net.

Fast-forward 15 years, I’m married and getting uptight day after day because I couldn’t keep my faucets shiny. I’d walk into the bathroom, notice toothpaste splatter and nearly have an anxiety attack. I’d check them throughout the day like my life depended on it.

I created a habit of keeping myself consistently busy so that I wouldn’t get in trouble for not doing anything. And I had no idea that that’s what I had done. Until one day I realized that I instantly became exhausted as soon as I entered another persons home. I mean, almost comatose. To the point where I wasn’t even watching my own children or engaging in conversation.

You see, as a kiddo, going to another home was a break for me. He wouldn’t hurt me there. I didn’t have to perform. I didn’t have to be perfect. I could just...be. And often times, that meant rest. Rest I so desperately needed.

I conditioned and trained myself to perform in a way that would protect me. But I didn’t require this survival technique anymore. I was safe. Not only with my husband, but with God. I had found my refuge. The mean man had no power over me any longer.

This revelation was lifesaving. Freeing.

Perfection was no longer needed. Not when love stepped in.

Tam is a wife of 1, mom of 2 and friend to many. Laughing at herself is a daily occurence. 'Cause, well, she ain't right. Visit Tam at inProgress and follow her on Twitter.