Our tax returns arrived today from the wondrous D, our accountant who revolutionized my life in March and April. While I was pleased to note that M finally got his withholding right and we neither owed a fortune nor were due a fortune, for the first time I was faced with my new reality. I am officially “homemaker.” This is the first year since C was born that I didn’t make any money of my own. The previous years I have been “consultant” or “fundraiser.” Even if I only made a few thousand dollars. This year, I apparently made not a penny.

While intellectually I knew that I didn’t make anything this year, for some reason I still expected to see “consultant” on my tax return. I mean, that’s how I still see myself, as a writer, consultant, a someone who works from home but still has some professional identity. But the IRS has effectively squashed that fantasy this year. I am “homemaker.” Not even “homemaker extraordinaire.” Just “homemaker.”

Don’t mind me as I go pour myself a big old glass of wine and contemplate my vacuum which hasn’t actually seen the outside of the broom closet for a while. Cause if I’m supposed to be a homemaker I feel like we should probably be better acquainted.


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