So, as many of you know, I went to see an accountant Monday which comes with some very complicated emotions for me. Partially, or more truthfully, predominantly, because I make
in my life more complicated because that’s the way my brain works. At the risk of oversharing, I once had a Professional Person ask, after I’d shared a thought process:
Do you think you might be overthinking this just a little?
in a way that clearly suggested they believed I’d overthought it ALOT.
So, back to the accountant, sort of. First, you have to know I’ve done our taxes for the last 12-15 years. Before that, Blair did it, but he always waited til April to do them and I found out you can do them the minute you get all your paperwork, which is way back in January, and that’s when I took it over. But, last year, with the daycare being our main income, I felt I might not be doing the best job. I knew I had missed deductions, and it did seem there were some tax situations unaddressed in my purchased tax software program.
A few weeks ago, I found I was right on all counts and was given the name of a reputable accountant who does a large amount of not only home business taxes, but in-home daycare taxes.
Which is great, except for it was nerve wracking for me. For one thing, this woman lives in a fabulous house which compared to my house, which I know I shouldn’t be doing but oh well, well, her house makes my house look like I may have chosen the wrong profession. Secondly, anyone who understands anything the federal government does is
very, very smart.
So I’m sitting in a very nice house, in her very nice home office which I was totally coveting all over the place, in the middle of the day, which is when she does this very smart stuff, and I’m feeling super guilty about having left 2 perfectly competent adults alone with 10 kids back at my sorry excuse for a house with NO HOME office in it and suddenly I really need
But I’m thinking, I’m a grown woman, I can certainly wait five minutes to pee. Except I can’t wait. I’ve given birth 7 times and I’m not a teenager any more and genetically speaking I don’t exactly come from a long line of awesome bladder control and my bladder is not what it once was and I definitely cannot wait.
So now I’m a woman who is not smart enough to do her own taxes, living in a shack like the old woman in a shoe with no bladder control.
After an hour and a half of going through the daycare’s finances with the accountant in her stylish home office, two computer screens and the most amazing ceiling fan I’ve practically ever seen, we called it a day and she sent me home to email her the rest of what was needed.
You know I drove straight to a place what sells Pepsi and chocolate!
Except for now, I’m an idiot, living in a shack with kids and no bladder control who is FAT.
You think I might have overthought this just a tad? Hmmmm???