12162017Headline:

Can I Deduct My Sanity?

"Ok, everyone. If we put our noses to the grindstone, the Kellerman taxes could be done by July."

“Ok, everyone. If we put our noses to the grindstone, the Kellerman taxes could be done by July.”

Per my last entry about this, I’d decided to have someone undertake the task of sorting through last year’s financial documents, 1099s, and whether I could write off canned goods I let the baby use as stacking toys before I opened them for dinner.

Then I changed my mind.

“It’s ok, I’ll just do them myself.”
Husband nodded. “If you think you have it under control, go for it.”
“I never said I had anything under control. Wish me luck.”

2 Days Later…

“It keeps asking me why I’m stupid and don’t know the answers to any of the questions.”
“I see. Should the kids and I leave again?”
“Why?”
“Oh, no reason. Personal safety. Stuff like that.”
“Listen, I married you so you could keep me from making stupid decisions. And look what’s happening. How do we owe taxes in all fifty states and a penalty in Antartica?”
“Maybe you should call someone.”
“Fine, but if you bought a polar bear and didn’t mention it, I’m gonna kill you.”

4 Days Later…

“Hi, I’m Bob.”
“Hi, Bob, I’m Paige.”
“So, you need a little help this year?”
“I need help like I need a new bumper for my van.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Actually, yeah. It’s about to fall off and we could really use a new one. I’m terrified it’s going to fly off on the highway and decapitate a road sign …or a deer. Makes you shudder just thinking about it.”

1 Hour Later…

“Can I write off mental anguish experienced from the children asking me to make breakfast every day?”
“No.”
“Just checking. You miss all the shots you don’t take, etcetera.”

2 Hours Later…

“Well, Mrs. Kellerman, that’s what you owe and this is what you get back.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Oh, and there’s always the chance the IRS will call to verify this information. They may need proof of things.”
“What things?”
“Just things that back up the things you had me fill out on all these things.”
“Yes, but what kind of things? Receipts? Birth certificates? The time capsule I buried when I was twelve?”
“You’ll know.”

3 Hours Later…

“Ok, honey. Taxes are done. Only four hundred dollars for piece of mind.”
“Four hundred dollars?! That’s ridiculous!”
“What? I don’t get a ‘Thank you’?”
“Where are you going?”
“To find that polar bear you bought. Maybe he can put me out of my misery before next tax season.”

Everything is now neatly filed away. But if you guys need me in the meantime, I’ll be in my parent’s back yard, looking for that time capsule.

Paige Kellerman blogs about marriage, babies and gin at www.paigekellerman.com, and is the author of At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles: Mostly-True Tales of An Impending Miracle. You can reach her at paigekellerman@gmail.com.


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