Everyone else’s life is going on right now, slogging through spring fever.
But my burdens? Clearly they are greater than anyone else’s. Cuz it’s Tax Season in our house.
We have an Accounting Firm. My sweet @Taxes007 is a CPA.
So while I pride myself on being konked out in an melatonin-induced haze by 10:30 every night, our schedule has shifted.
I’m up at 10 or 11 when he gets home. Then we spend an hour catching up on the day. (Translation: I bitch non-stop about the kids. He tells stories about clients who discovered they owe tens of thousands of dollars. And the subsequent calls for the paramedics.)
So we go to bed around 12:30. But it turns out? 6:00 am comes at 6:00 no matter what special dispensation you may require.
(If you have not been through tax season with an accountant it is a little like being an elf on Christmas Eve. If they were bitter and liked martinis. )
It is just the time of year when I open my eyes in the morning and close them quickly thinking “I can’t go through THIS again”. Getting the kids up and dressed and out the door to school.
Then off to my Zumba or Pilates class, where I work so hard, suffer so much and accomplish so little.(All the while maintaining a constant low hum of moaning. Not the sexy kind either.)
I am still the Fat Girl in the class and that isn’t going to change. So why do I ever bother to go? Honey, I go through this just to maintain the Big Girl weight I’m at.
Then home to “work”. For the past few days that has meant calling up summer programs and trying to find activities for my kids, cuz God knows, I ain’t gonna spend ELEVEN FUCKING WEEKS entertaining them.
Then I do a little business (some days a little less than others ) then I grab a sandwich, read the paper and it is 1:30 – time to pick up Kid #1.
Then it is the uphill battle around homework and practicing both instruments. And every day this seems like a surprise to my daughter . . . uh what? Practice? Oh yeah. I’ll do it after I . . . (fill in the blank here).
Please don’t leave your shoes in the middle of the floor. (Now leaving them on the edge of the room isn’t really okay either.)
By eating your sandwich in the Family Room you are getting crumbs all over the freshly vacuumed black rug. Will you be pulling out a vacuum and cleaning that up? (Yes, the day I am thin I’m sure all these other long-awaited for miracles will commence.)
Is it really a shock on Tuesdays at 2:45 that the piano teacher is actually here? Knocking on the door? And is there a reason you are lying on the floor, reading a book, acting like the dogs aren’t in a barking frenzy cuz the poor man would just like to be LET IN???
But I know. I take a deep breath. Cuz I know after Tax Season it will be all better.
Fairy dust will fall gently from the Palm Springs sky . . . the children will light up like characters in The Sound of Music . . . my haggard, puffy-eyed husband will turn into Richard Gere. (What can I tell you? I think he is so hot. In that weird, Dali Lama-worshipping- vegan- zen kinda way.)
And I? I will be able to manage my eating. Pounds will drop magically off of my full figure. My patience will return (assuming there ever was any patience to begin with). I will no longer crave an alcoholic beverage on a daily basis. My double chin and poochy tummy will recede taking years off my looks.
Now when I awaken in the morning? I’ll stretch luxuriously, listen to the birds chirping and softy hum . . . The Hills Are Alive . . .
#CrockofShit
