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Loathing: Taxes!

A taxing time by Helen Lerry “I’ve left a note for you on the counter”, shouted my handsome husband as he raced out the door in his Brookes Bros suit, complete with natty tie and leather brief-case. I let go one twin’s hand and waved as he purred down the driveway in his high-powered car, off to his high-powered job. It was a good hour before I got around to looking for the note on the counter, first we had to go through the ritual of Orange Juice and Oatmeal. Then the essential mopping up of sloshed Oatmeal, sticky fingers and grubby mouths. When it was done and 18 month old Julie and Jeff were engrossed in play, I snatched a coffee and looked for the note. I expected it to tell me how much he loved me and to give me some little reassuring pep talk about my role as a Stay-Home Mom. Not, I hasten to add, that I am depressed in this role, but sometimes I miss the cut and thrust of my old life, life before twins. When I read the note I found it was not a pep talk but a request. ‘Would you please, if you have time, darling, start the taxes? Yes, it’s that time of year again, luv u’. I decided my best contribution would be organizational. I’ve always fancied myself as a good organizer. So I took 6 paper grocery bags from the cupboard and with a marker pen I labeled each bag. I had some fun thinking up stupid names. In the end we had ‘Vital’, ‘Terribly Important’ ‘Necessary’, ‘Useful’, ‘Useless’ and ‘Garbage”. I left the family room to go and fetch the large suitcase in which we thrust all our financial records throughout the year. I was only away for at most 3 minutes, but when I returned each twin was wearing a paper bag on the head and one on each foot. As I stood marshalling my thoughts they began to shred them and hurl the pieces at each other. Their laughter was infectious and I could not remonstrate. It was my own fault; I should have put the bags out of reach. After I had cleared up the mess I began to wonder where I could put bags so that they would be out of reach. Then I had a ‘brainwave’, of course, the playpen. Never used, this thoughtful gift had enchanted us when the twins were born, but somehow, we could never put them in a cage and so we had childproofed the house, well almost. I fetched the playpen off the patio, opened it up, found six more bags, labeled them and set about preparing lunch. I forgot the length of an 18 month old child’s arm, when I looked round to tell them lunch was ready the bags were again torn to shreds, dragged through the playpen bars and totally mutilated except for the one labeled ‘Garbage’. I thrust all the bits into the bag labeled ‘Garbage’ and put it on top of the fridge. It was time for our afternoon walk in the park. So I forgot about the bag on top of the ‘fridge for the rest of the day. When Tom came home we were busy putting the twins to bed and then there was our ritual Martini. Finally, Tom asked, “By the way did you have time to start the taxes?” “Oh! yes” I replied and handed him the paper bag labeled ‘Garbage’. At first he was dumbfounded, (this sort of stuff does not happen in high-powered offices.) Finally we both looked at each other and laughed. “Humph,” he said, “let’s have another Martini.” And do you know he has never mentioned taxes again and the suitcase has gone off to a nearby C.P.A. I strongly recommend this as a way of dealing with taxes!! About the author: Helen Lerry is a retired teacher from England and is married to a widower friend who immigrated to the States. She has two children, and has written for newspapers in England and for childrens' classes. She writes for 'The Villager' newspaper, in The Villages, San Jose, a community of 4000 retirees. Helen can be contacted at helenpat@kepnet.com

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