Beware of Simple Questions...

Sometimes a question is so simple, it leads you to believe that the task in question will also be simple.
So when Jimmy asked this morning if I could pick up our taxes from the accountant, I thought, of course I can pick up the taxes. Run in, grab the taxes, leave. I would have B and O with me, but no big deal. Our accountant has a home office, so it's not even like we would need to walk through a busy parking lot or walk far from the car to get there. Much simpler than, say, a trip to K-Mart for a coffee maker, or taking all three to N's dance class, or taking B and O to the play area at McDonald's.

What I hadn't foreseen was that the accountant himself would be with a client, his assistant would be busy, and the office would be filled with other people. So we waited a few minutes for the assistant to get our paperwork together, and as she attempted to explain things to me, B and O discovered the book shelf, and decided that the books would look better on the floor. I also hadn't foreseen that, unlike in past years before Jimmy had started his business, this was not a simple "Here's your tax return. Sign it and mail it". This was business taxes, and personal taxes, and state taxes, and federal taxes, and tax paperwork for the business for 2012, and oh, by the way, write a check for this rather large sum right here and send it off by April 15th, thank you very much.

I kept looking at that sum, thinking, wow, that is a lot of money. And, no, this does not mean we made a lot of money. Trust me on this. You might think that's the case, but I am certain that is not the case, so as I stared at the rather large sum, I started to feel somewhat overwhelmed. And as I stared at that sum, the assistant started telling me about another sum-fortunately much smaller--that needed to be mailed to the state, and about checks that needed to be written later in the year, and forms that needed to be signed and returned to them, versus the forms that needed to be returned with the checks. I started thinking there was no way I was going to keep all of this straight.

At that moment, of course, B and O pulled more books off the shelf. O brought one to me that was titled something to the effect of  "Holistic Remedies Your Doctor Won't Tell You". I briefly wondered if this was required reading for CPAs, and then decided it was probably useful for when their clients pass out in shock after seeing the numbers on their tax forms.

The assistant is talking about this check, and that check, and in a few months this other check, and this one goes in this envelope, and this other one goes in that envelope, all while B and O are pulling books off the shelf, and running around the office, and starting to scream. Oh no, not the screaming. And I think, wait, I have three children...aren't they supposed to be good tax deductions? It also occurs to me that it's really unfair that everyone gets the same deduction per child. I mean, has the IRS met my children? Then I think, well, actually Uncle Pete (finally! someone in this family with a normal name!) works for the IRS, and he knows my children very well. Maybe he could explain to the powers that be that they are each worth at least a double deduction. I mean, what about all the necessary expenses directly relating to their care?  Like wine. And tequila. And, eventually, xanax.

I see the rather large sum again and I think I am going to pass out. Good thing the accountant has that holistic remedy book. I think maybe I should talk to Jimmy about having another deduction child. I quickly realize that what we save from an additional deduction we would end up spending on Jimmy's mental health care and/or beer. Probably not worth it.  I think of joining the Tea Party. Or the Libertarian party. Or maybe I'll start my own tent city with a sign that says "We are the 99% who pay too much in taxes while the 1% sits around and whines".  I decide this is probably the best option, since we might need a tent to live in once we pay this rather large sum to the IRS.

The assistant is still talking. I am putting books back, and chasing O, and telling B to stop screaming, and I am totally confused about who is supposed to get which check when and which form goes to the state, and which goes to the feds, and which comes back to the accountant. O is now also screaming, happily, but very loudly. I am starting to sweat as I realize that I am going to mess this up and they are going to take Jimmy to jail, all because my children were out of control in the accountants office and I,  brain dead and with no attention span even in the best of circumstances, got it confused. I think of the prison show I saw recently that gave me nightmares, and then I realize, wait--this would be federal prison. Don't people say that's like a country club? It occurs to me that part of our taxes are going to fund country club prisons for other people who don't pay their taxes. Then it occurs to me that maybe they intended to pay their taxes, but just got it all confused, because their children were screaming and throwing books in the accountant's office.

B and O have disappeared into a back office, with the accountant's books. I am trying to round them up, while putting back books, attempting to make them be quiet, and listening to the assistant, who clearly just wants me to leave. Now. The accountant comes out of his office and appears to be, well, scared. New people come into the office and take all of this in with looks of fear and/or apprehension. The accountant asks if I have everything, and tells me to make sure I take the children with me. I think of Jimmy going to the country club prison, and I think no, it doesn't have to be this way. I will write a letter to the IRS. I will tell them to talk to Uncle Pete--surely he will tell them that my children are worth a double deduction. And then I will beg, plead if I have to, No! Don't take Jimmy to the country club prison!

Take me instead.
Please.

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