Thanks to the magic of Taxcut online, electronic filing and direct deposit, I had my taxes filed and return in my bank account by the end of February. Not to come over all superior or anything; I was highly motivated by the thought of getting our decently sized return as soon as possible.*
I relate this more as a way of explaining why I was so oblivious as to why when I went to the post office at 5 this afternoon there were earnest peace activists handing me pamphlets on how much of my tax dollar goes to war and the line into the post office was out the door. I was preoccupied with scribbling out customs forms, so it took a few minutes and overhearing conversations of several surly people in line before it finally dawned on me. Oh right. April 15. Tax day. That would be why the line in the post office was like a long winding queue leading directly through the depths of Hell.
I'm sure my stunning in-depth knowledge of current events impresses you no end.
Other than my mail-related cluelessness, life is fairly boring at the moment. I'm actually not minding the lack of daycare too much, although that will change if K has to spend many more days at work with me. We went to storytime today, something we havne't been able to do in quite a while because it seems like every storytime in the area is on Tuesday, a daycare day. I'm not even minding that K is clearly starting a new developmental spurt, signified by the horrifying lack of sleep and temperamental behavior. We spent 45 minutes yesterday locked in a battle of wills over picking up the mess she made, cycling between her attempting to ignore me, outright refusal and screaming meltdown.** And yet I still wasn't fed up with her.
I'm not sure what the source of the unexpected deep well of patience and zen is, but I'm not arguing.
*And thanks to direct deposit and a relatively low social security number, we're going to have our tax rebate in the bank by May 9. I love the information age.
**I have to confess, it's hard to maintain the proper stern demeanor when she plants those little feet, puts her hands on her hips and glowers at me with an audible growl of frustration. I don't think giggling does much to help my authority though, so I (mostly) resist.