Apr 16, 2009

april 15

tax day. it marks two things for our family:

the first being the anniversary of the day - eleven years ago now, that i got on a little puddle jumper at the white plains airport in new york bound for the bluegrass of kentucky.

the other thing it marks is the wondrous thing called a tax refund.

in the eleven years that we’ve lived in louisville, we can count a ginormous refund. every year. like birthdays and christmas. its reliable. like clockwork. we count on it. we plan for it.

the other thing we’ve had since moving to louisville (other than 2 more kids), is our own company. well, i have nothing to do with it, its my husbands’ company. but we both paid our dues with all of that never seeing each other, working all hours while i stayed home and changed diapers and going without pay now and then thing. the ginormous tax refund? a nice reward for all that shit.

we always do our taxes ourselves and its’ wildly comforting to see that big fat number up in the corner of the screen indicating the refund we’re getting. and then, the sweet anticipation of logging into our bank account daily since filing to see when the ginormous amount has gone into our account – totally fun.

and so the other night, my husband plugs in some fancy I’m A Partner In The Company number into the tax thingy & just like that, the big fat number disappears and changes into a number that indicates not what we’re getting. but what we owe. on money we never actually got. because for the first time since starting the company, it actually made money. not the real green kind, that goes into the bank account, but the imaginary, “on paper kind”. evidently, uncle sam does not distinguish between the two.


and the wine cabinet is empty & the bourbon is gone which brings me to my next issue, which is the fact that in the past few weeks i haven’t even really wanted any wine. haven’t. even. wanted. wine.


which brings me to my next, next issue which is ever since i stopped marathoning and took my body back from the pre-pubescent 12 year old boy body that was holding it hostage i had become, shall we say; regular. like clockwork, for the first time in two years.

all was well with the world when i could finally count on the fact every month that i was indeed a woman. until several weeks ago when i wondered where that monthly reminder was and i took out the calendar and counted 10 weeks and realized oh shit, that’s supremely late. and then i thought oh fuck.

so now we owe a boatload of taxes on money we never had, we’re out of wine and bourbon, and i think i might be knocked up.

this can’t be.

we take precautions to avoid such an unplanned event from occurring. so i do the google. (there’s no google for why we have to pay taxes on money we never really made in the first place- i looked). but i googled the other thing, to find out how often it happens to those of us who take these precautions. 7 out of 1,000. so i start to hope that my same freakish luck with winning raffles wouldn’t apply to something like this.

and i wonder if i can enter a raffle for a tax refund.

there was a day 4 years ago when it wasn’t just a scare; it was true, for real and not just on paper. the little stick said yes. and we had taken precautions and not planned on such an occasion. although i’m pretty sure that year we still got our refund.

my husband came home that night to a big ‘ol glass of bourbon on the kitchen table. and he said what’s that for? and i said i’m pregnant. and he knocked that drink back like he was in the movies or a soap opera or something. and i poured him another one.

then i vaguely recall the story of a friend of a friend, or was it his sister? who emerged from the womb with said pre-caution clutched in her hand. did someone tell me that? or is that one of those urban myths?


so. back to the taxes. and the going to have a glass of wine that is not even in the house and the fact that i don’t even really want it. and then remembering that when pregnant our bodies will send signals to not eat or drink certain things that aren’t good for us. good god. if i dont want wine, what other explanation can there possibly be?

so i go to bed on tax night freaking out over the money we owe on money we never made. and i wonder if i can still race the rest of the spring series. and i count in my head over imaginary due dates and try to figure out if i could still do ‘cross in the fall. and i wonder if they’d make a chicks-who-are-40-years-old-and-knocked-up category and i think i could totally sweep the podium if they had that category.

and i lie there thinking i am too old for this. i am two weeks away from being the mom of a teenager. i like this new, bike racing, cycling, independent children chapter. i don’t want to flip the book back to the diaper changing, sleepless nights chapter. we had some tiny children for the weekend a few months ago. one tiny enough to remind us what those sleepless nights were once like and i told my husband the next morning he could go get that v-snip any day now. we are officially finished.

and then i wonder where the hell we’ll put the crib and how we’ll manage after paying all that money on money we never had.

i wake up the next day and drag my 40 year old presumably knocked up self to the pharmacy to buy the cheapest test they had, cause we still had to pay all that money for money we never had.

but i can’t just put a pregnancy test in the basket. what if someone sees me? there’s rules. i have to put other things in there. shampoo. a magazine with that crazy octo-mom and the ‘real interview’. a pepsi. and some stick on nails. and i think i should probably go get some bourbon for the soap opera moment we may have to have in the kitchen.

and i go home and pee on the stick and stare at it the whole time and its negative. and i mostly breathe a sigh of relief, even though there’s a weensy, ever so slight nano-second of a twinge of sadness. but i go out to lunch with a friend and we go shopping for fabric so i can make the dress i was planning on making and i’m so glad i don’t have to buy extra fabric for a huge belly.

and then i go home and put my stick on nails on. which i have never done; but find them surprisingly cute & chic - except for the fact that they don’t hold up so well through 5+ loads of hand washed dishes.

and i think, if we got that refund, we could have gotten a new dishwasher.


Cynthia said...

WTF? You tell me about the shopping for fabric but not about the pee stick?

Groover said...

Ghee, Zanne. You really scared me! I thought we were going to read about spew and baby poo and booh booh booh for the next few years instead cool tough kick ass bike racing and cute danes. Phew.

Sorry about the tax refund, ah ... debt ... It would good if you could pee on a stick for that as well and it would come up negative, hey?

zanne said...

cynthia - when we hung up, I was actually more bummed that I had forgotten to tell you about the stick on nails.

groover - ha! YOU were scared?! I just pictured my big ol self lumbering over barriers at a 'cross race and it wasn't pretty. It's not real pretty or graceful to begin with - being 40 and knocked up just took that whole sad visual up a notch.

Gotta Run..... said...

Are you kidding me?!!! I am sitting here, drinking my morning coffee, reading as FAST as I can, and bam.... no bun in the oven.... that was a close call. My world would be ROCKED for sure.

Girl, you almost drove me to drinking at 7:34am... at work :)

Taxes SUCK... nothing more I can say there.

Beth said...

Ha! So I guess congratulations are in order, congratulations that you can continue to train and race and not have a great big belly in the way. My youngest is now 15 months and I am so happy not to be thinking about breastfeeding and midnight wakings ever again! Now I can concentrate on training, my training. Yippee. Stick on nails? What the what?

ItchyBits said...

I think my heart rate just went up a notch reading your post - taxes will do that to me - we just filed an extension - and babies! - ack! Just think that would be another deduction??? Stick on nails (actually glued on)look really good actually - tried them at the recommendation of someone who had fantastic nails (all glued on fake). I tried too and they looked good and held up really well - but they did a number on my real nails - gave it up

Sherri said...

Taxes suck big wind. Payed in quarterly taxes for years, never knowing what the end result would be until right before tax day, pay more or refund.

Glad to hear you are happy about the test results. My baby will be 24 next month. Love having adult children. :-)

zencycle said...

"but the imaginary, “on paper kind”. evidently, uncle sam does not distinguish between the two"

And you didn't run down to the town square with an effigy of obama as hitler on the 15th with the rest of the fox news followers? What kind of american are you?

house on hill road said...

i'm with cynthia. except i was the fabric shopping friend!

and that dress could have accommodated a belly - just happy for you it doesn't have to.

Judi said...

damn girl. you had me on the edge of my seat! i am glad you aren't knocked up. BUT IT TOTALLY SUCKS about your taxes!

Gotta Run..... said...

Seems like a lot of work to get a dishwasher. By the way...did you ever get the bourbon?

Scott (Robin's husband - aka "Gotta Run Girl)

pamster said...

wow I almost had pee pee in my shorts. i too was reading as fast as i could to get to the end. i'm not sure what was most difficult to imagine - the preggers part or the stick on nails. i MUST see those girl!

Anonymous said...

Dude. Just, dude.

I'm glad you're not knocked up, even though I was totally expecting the answer at the end to be that you were! But why haven't you wanted wine!?

Beck said...

Wow. Cynthia told me to read and I just did. The same thing happened to me about three years ago on Mother's Day actually but I was pregnant. I had a miscarriage. I was sad but also glad to not go back to those days as you said. After watching my under one year-old nephew recently I'm sure I would suck at it. Couldn't even figure out the high chair. Had to tie him in with the straps.

caroline said...

Those nails are pretty darn cute.

And Jeremy will hold Steven's hand. Only takes a few minutes.

zanne said...

prickly - exactly. more importantly, why haven't I wanted wine? That issue actually seems to have corrected itself. Think the half bottle of wine I drank last night fixed everything. See? Just like I told you - wine fixes everything.

beck - crazy, I know. That time in the kitchen that I mentioned (the bourbon soap opera moment) that ended in miscarriage as well. I never had any problem getting pregnant; sadly though, it was having them stick around that was the problem ... I had twice as many pregnancies as I have kids to show for them. Sustaining it took a lot of medical intervention & pharmacueticals - don't want to go there again!

the nails are surprisingly cute & make me weirdly happy. I've been wondering what took me so long to discover the wonders of stick on nails. They're cute, short & chic ... not at all the dragon lady kathy lee gifford thing that I always thought they'd be.

...and, on the taxes - I didn't have to march anywhere or burn any effigies or toss any tea over any boughs or anything - the company paid the taxes - since all that "imaginary" "on paper" money went back into the company anyway.

phew. after one crazed, sleepless night, everything worked out & I've got darling nails. Now, to go make that appointment for Steven.

Vickie said...

Whew! Lucky you! I know how you feel. Went through that at 45! But it was the beginning of the end actually. Now back to the bike!

P.O.M. said...

I love the way you write!