The Taxman Cometh

Aaaah, Spring. Soft rain showers, colorful tulips, buds on the trees, temperatures (occasionally) above freezing. It's one of my favorite times of the year - a time of rebirth and growth; a time to come out of hibernation and join the world of the living. It would be just about perfect except for one teeny, tiny thing - the ever-looming Ides of April, the dreaded day of reckoning with Uncle Sam and his IRS henchmen.

Whenever I hear anyone talking about their joy at receiving their tax refund, I smile wistfully and try to remember those days. Refund? Refund?(As the cranky father in the movie Breaking Away would ask - I know it's an obscure reference but some of you out there might get it). What the heck is that?

The memories are hazy but I'm pretty sure there actually was a time when we did our taxes immediately upon receiving our W-2s; when we eagerly awaited that "found" money that arrived just in time to buy a new couch/TV/patio furniture. But those days seem very, very far away. Now, while others are out spending their interest-free bounty from the Treasury Department, we now belong to the club that does everything they can to stave off the inevitable "balance due" for as long as possible.

Today, knowing our return was going to be a little more complicated than usual, I finally got started. After several hours of number crunching, investigation into stock prices from 1983, and sifting through various 1099s, 1098s and several other 10 something or others, my head was ready to explode. Why does this have to be so hard? Why is the instruction manual 250 pages long? Why are my notes scribbled on multiple pieces of paper and as cryptic as hieroglyphics on some caveman's wall?

And why didn't we hire someone to do this a couple of months ago?

Still Hovering

I once saw a piece on a national news show about "helicopter moms". Smugly, I judged these crazy women who were calling their college aged children, checking up on everything from homework assignments to roommate squabbles. 'That will never be me', I told myself. 'I would never humiliate my children (or worse, myself) by sticking my nose into every aspect of their lives. Some of these women even called their kids' professors, pleading for better grades or leniency for missed assignments. It's a wonder that their "little darlings" were still taking their calls.

While I'm proud to say I haven't actually done any of the above, I have to admit I'm still having a lot of trouble not allowing my kids to suffer the consequences of their actions. Take taxes. They knew they were due on the 18th. So why did I feel I had to beg, cajole and, I'm sorry to admit, actually do most of the work associated with filing their paperwork? Why couldn't I just step out of the way and let them take care of it? Why couldn't I mind my own business, concentrate on finishing my own and head to the post office without those extra envelopes in hand. It's not like a SWAT team was going to show up to haul them off to jail if they were late. They were getting money back. The IRS probably doesn't mind a bit if you're late if they owe you. But I simply could not wrap my head around their procrastination. They were going to get money back. What the heck were they waiting for? Oh, yeah. They were waiting for me to do it for them.