My tax preparer husband is starting his annual tax season detoxification. And it’s not pretty.
After spending the last few months working 60+ hour weeks, completely immersed in all things income tax related, his body is used to late nights, his eyes are glazed over by tax codes printed in 2pt. font and all he can talk about is filing returns.
Transforming back into his usual stay-at-home dad/cabana boy persona is going to require some drastic measures.
I know what works. We go through this every year and I can tell you, it’s not for the faint of heart.
For instance, the faster we can get him back on the family’s early-to-bed-early-to-rise schedule, the better (much like recovering from jet lag, or what I like to call “tax lag”).
Experience has taught me that for the first few days, he’ll act like a bear that’s been rushed out of hibernation. With the promise of an afternoon nap and some salmon for dinner, though, his mood will gradually improve.
Next, any mention of taxes and anything having to do with them – returns, the IRS, deductions, dividends, W2s, 1099s, extensions, audits, interest statements and payment plans is hereby banned until next January 1st.
Sure, he may stumble through conversations about the kids, world affairs and the latest sports scores, but I know it’s just temporary.
And, I have to say with Day 1 almost behind us, he’s doing fairly well.
He didn’t even flinch when I informed him that his youngest volunteered him to help with roller skating during his gym class tomorrow.
I half-expected that the thought of standing in the midst of 60 short people on wheels, some screaming, most with arms flailing, might just be enough to send him back into the office to file a stack of extensions
Come to think of it, maybe I should have the PE teacher do a calculator pat down before he enters the gym…