Tuesday, February 17, 2015

Unicorns and Peachy Yetis: The Mighty Second-Tri Trips and Sprawls Over Holiday Taxes

During the ULTIMATE First-Trimester Thirteenth Week o'Fun, houses tremored as the trainer-saurus rex smacked its lusty maws and roared straight through Thurdsay. Houses further afoot gleamed in the gloaming with siren songs of potentiality. An unexpected inheritance changed everything and minds were cast asea with possibility. Prayers were raised to the highest selves and lower heavens, as little Fonzie jumped the tuna-nigiri a to become a true peach!

As we enter the promised land of TRI-TWO, heads a'throb from journeys to the continent and galivants with Don Quixote. But promise lingers of better worlds and happy half-eaten banana-babies covered in hair and listening intently to mommy's scurrilous palaver as she flees the vicious tax beast and Valentine's vagueries. Hidden in arms of handsome hunk (covered in double-decker pizza), a theater outing cleanses the dross of dreary dividends and deductions. And a Holiday sweep continues its marathon maunder through the days! 




Headache Over Heels and the Roarin' Trainosaurus Rex

I've got a headache! Or a migraine! Not sure. I've got a vice around my skull and it is tightening evermore demanding that I divulge all my secrets before the interrogation amplifies.

Now, I must always preface any cavils about my present state and symptoms with this thought: no matter how much the first trimester of pregnancy has wrung me out, amped the discomfort, and otherwise tolled on my general sense of well-being, it is so much better than trying to become pregnant was. I feel overwhelmingly lucky that it only took one (horribly long and draining) shot (ok more like fifty shots? Something like that). 


Because it wasn't just the discomfort. The belly shots. The bruises all over my torso. The fainting in the phlebotogmist's chair. The hormones. The long drives. The escalating medical bills (which I am still paying on).


It was the sense that it might all be for nothing and it might have to start all over again. The uncertainty. The waiting. The awkwardness about talking about it with people who didn't understand what it felt like but didn't feel good about hearing it either. The people who could only go so far as to quote books about natural cycles and timed intercourse and try desperately to relate, but who just couldn't get how it felt or what this was like. 

Now, people ask me wholesale how I'm feeling. They relate. They get it. They get excited and happy for me. They know the symptoms and have their own to share.

 When you're trying, it's isolating even when you are as blessedly supported and open as we were. Even when you know others in the same boat. Like a Tolstoy quote where every natural conception is all alike, but every fertility treatment attempt is different. 

I suspect that brings a really different element to my experience of pregnancy than to those who could get there naturally. There's a gratitude and a relief and a sense of ongoing surprise. A little panic that it's too lucky, that I wasn't meant to have this, and that something may go wrong. 


And far less of an attachment to that word "natural" when it comes to childbirth. I'm sure doulas and midwives and home births with no drugs are wonderful. I know there are too many medical interventions sometimes and they cause complications. But when "natural" means "would never have conceived," it lacks that certain luster that it holds for those who maybe tracked their cycles but had cycles to track to begin with. And when you've had your hand held by excellent medical staff getting you through an impossible time, you tend to start to appreciate modern medicine and the professionals involved in it. 


I wonder if this sense will fade, or if it will influence my parenting as well. 


So, yeah, back to the complaining! I'm not sure what put the final quietus on my turgid tete's well-being, but somewhere between the long car-ride (in a hot car with the fan in my face), the return of tree pollens (damn you global warming), the eyestrain from reading a full book on my tablet in one day, and the increased propensities of pregnancy to get those headaches and suffer those allergies... I got a headache. A bad one. It started on Monday morning. It took a flying leap into migraine territory by midday and was debilitating by evening. We shan't speak much more of Monday. It was not even a day to go down in infamy. Just a day that thoroughly embraced Monday in all its connotations. 

So yesterday was a very ginger day. I woke up with that threatening tenseness in my temples, and decided evasive maneuvers would be necessary to survive the day. There was a liberal application of eye drops, liberal moments of "resting my eyes" type naps when the tension started to mount about my brow, and not moving or stirring up too much affect. Because all those elastic empathetic facial expressions I pull... they take their toll sometimes. 

It was both fortunate and unfortunate in equal strokes that Andrew's trainer session was last night. Fortunate in that it allowed me to spend the evening mostly reclined in bed, thinking little and minimizing eye-involvement, besides re-applying eye-drops. Less fortunate in that the entire house was vibrating and that just nearly set the entire thing off again. Vibrations were not migraine induced. More like crazy masochistic husband on a loud earthquaking trainer. Just so we're clear. But at least with the door closed and some extra precautionary stillness, I managed to avoid a relapse. I woke this morning without that initial siren of "ugh"

Today it's down to twinges, little mementos of the prior days' agonies, but it could come back. So there will continue to be some gentleness to my day, but perhaps it's good practice to be gentle with myself regardless. 

Happy humpday! I'm hoping to be over the hump in more ways than one and may you equally be recovering from whatever setbacks the early week may have threatened. 






Triskadeckamania (did somebody say Triscuits???) and Paraskevidekatriaphilia on the Prowl: Fourteen on the Thirteenth!!


Well I will make more than certain to avoid those chats noir today. If not the cats, most definitely their litter boxes, which I am prohibited from changing for the duration of this gestational period (darn!! I know!). But I have rarely actually felt the Friday the Thirteenth has been an unlucky day for me. I've even had lucky days. At the very least, generally neutral.

And abutting Valentine's day like this, it's just not that scary by comparison! 

I jest. I have no problems with good of VDay (VD!). I'm not a huge celebrant, and I take care to avoid restaurants and grocery stores (last minute floral runs can be scary!), but I do like theme candy, and VDay comes with a torrent of fun foil wrappers and shiny stickers. I prefer the theme candies for Christmas. Peppermint everything! But a little cherry with my chocolate never hurt. And heart-shaped chocolates with romantic sayings on the inside wrapper are like decadent little fortune cookies (ooooh chocolate covered fortune cookies...) 

If I were a parent in Mountain Lakes (rich people don't do suburbs - they do enclaves) I might have more of an issue with the big VD. Apparently my sister spent last week creating over 50 "Valentine gift bags" for each member of her son's three classes. That not being enough, parents were also expected to wrap shoeboxes (separately wrapped lids) so the kids could store their Valentine's pelf and lucre in... well... a decoratively wrapped shoebox, I guess. Of course, it being Mountain Lakes, my sister had to take care to amass said treats to avoid (1) peanuts and other common allergens, (2) gluten, (3) high fructose corn syrup, (4) products containing DNA? (speculating on that one, but likely), while still affording an appreciable candy crazed sugar high.

What happened to the days where everyone exchanged those tiny cards with superheros saying bad cutesy puns and maybe a sticker? I liked those. I don't think we were even allowed to give out treats when I was a young'un. 

But speaking of young'uns! SECOND TRIMESTER, BABY!!! Bring on the rainbows and unicorns and the magical flying abilities that I was promised. This is supposed to be the awesome trimester. 

And what's the produce count today? Ok, we're getting less creative here. Many of the sites are just going with inches and centimeters (roughly 4 and the wee little porker purportedly has doubled in weight over the last week). But we have a few candidates: lemon (again!), peach (again! but less Farmer's Market peach and more Montsanto monster peach?), Nectarine, and may favorite half a banana. Poor unpeeled little yeti-Fonz. Yep, covered in hair right now. Very attractive. But in the "slightly more likely to get dates in the future" category, the Fonz can straighten its neck now. 

And make facial expressions. A lot of them. Rapidly and spastically perhaps. Grimacing, frowning, squinting, smiling and scowling at a deranged gallop. Oh, and it has eyebrows, so... basically I'm now gestating a mini-Groucho Marx. 

Outside of a womb, a picture book is a baby's best friend; inside of a womb it's too dark to read! But then again, my eyelids are still fused shut anyways!! High comedy. 

Eyes may still be too sensitive to peep around, but the ears are open. Time to swallow that iPod (which, incidentally, the Fonzarelli now outsizes)! Hearing.  Oh holey moley am I in trouble now. Fonzie-fuzz can hear when I talk to it. Or just eavesdrop generally when I talk, I'm guessing. So, that sailor's tongue and testy tone might wanna get nixed. From now on, I shall nag my husband and curse my enemies with a sing-song "gosh-golly aren't ya a big silly stinky face?" Not that I didn't mostly do it that way anyways... 

As for me, the rainbows are on backorder and the unicorns are in quarantine at the border, but I have been continuing the slow improvement from first-tri wastrel to something more human (with more volume).

Some of my less favorite persistent symptoms will continue, but the nausea has abated into a more tolerable heartburn and indigestion (with a side of cramps that I'm assured are growing pains and not the little Fonzarelli with a mini-taser). As previously alluded, I'm more sensitive to heat and allergies, meaning the headaches are going to be an ongoing spectre. Especially because (why not) my eyes have changed shape and I am producing fewer tears. Sure! 

But all in all, I am happy to have most of my energy treacling back, even if I'm not parting ways with any naps just yet. And yeah, a few more weeks and I swear this burgeoning belly thing will go beyond "pressing against my shirt" to "showing." 

And while I'll take an extra modicum of caution today (which I should do everyday considering my near-spill down the Tower Steps on Wednesday), I'm feeling pretty ok about this Friday, freaky though it may be!






Dangly Double Layered Love and Revenge of the Tax Beast
Ah sweet, sweet Ides of February. We've passed through the valley of the shadow of the thirteenth and hearts-day holidaze and emerged to unseasonably early cherry-tree blossoms and ongoing allergies (they're up to high already!)...


... With a side of thrashing husbands because suddenly it's kind of warm at night and our blankets are too much for him now as well! I've constructed elaborate systems of propping myself under a sheet with the blanket just hanging off of my toes. But he's still adjusting from being generally cold enough to want the blankie. 

As I swore, I don't tend to celebrate Valentine's Day, so I was taken quite aback (in a pleasant way) when the boyfrianceband surprised me on subsequent evenings with two beautiful pairs of earrings. Earrings are something of a forte for him. Gifting them, that is. The first gift he ever bought me was a pair of earrings he'd picked up while travelling in Bhutan. He's gone from there with flying baubles! And since I'm on the verge of having to hang up my danglies lest some exubuerant Fonzarelli rip them from my ears, it's lovely to have an extra two-pair of danglies to toss about with glee.

 I buried him in chocolate (so, basically, it was the weekend), and we spent the evening at my mom's house eating a fairly ridiculous double-layer-pizza (yeah, two pizzas stacked on each other and united with a ginormous crust). Ok, Andrew ate that. Almost. He couldn't finish the entire pie as much as half of it. But that is a regular whole pizza, so it's still an accomplishment. 

And because what's more romantic for Valentine's Day than miring knee deep in forms and frustrations, yesterday was TAXES PART TWO: THE STING! I got back that long anticipated 1099 form that Andrew kept thinking had something to do with defining my IRA/401K/Magical Retirement Fund of Protean Nature and Amorphous Rules, but actually had to do with a mutual fund. Ok, so let me back up, here for those of you blessed with a simpler tax system: 

1. US taxes are confusing and recondite ordeals that end when you crash headfirst into the tax minotaur. Not recommended. I'd pay about double my tax rate to not have to go through tax forms and all the brouhaha. Possibly more (in other words, I should move to Europe or something). 

2. This year I put some pre-inheritance money into a mutual fund at Morgan Stanley. This means that instead of merely sitting around in an account doing nothing, my money has gotten pretty ADHD with a side of severe mood swings to come out to about the same value as when it started. I don't believe this money exists, but several involved broker type people are constantly buying and trading stocks and funds with it. 

3. The form I get at the end of the year that's relevant to my taxes is a 1099. It shows how much "taxable income" I made from all this. That has nothing to do with the value of my account and is a thoroughly theoretical number so long as I maintain said mutual fund. 

4. This "taxable income" is not actually income that I've ever seen. And it doesn't necessarily reflect in the value of my holdings. It means that whenever some stock or whatever are sold, that proceeds are taxable. I don't see it because that "profit" immediately goes into purchasing something else. The something else may or may not be more valuable, but until I sell it, the value of that matters not a whit. 

5. My mutual fund had a lot of activity. 

6. Therefore, despite the value of my account currently having gone down this quarter, I "made" nearly $7,000 of "taxable income". Whoops! And, unlike payroll taxes (from which a prospective tax is witheld so you aren't slammed at the end of the year) this "income" has never had taxes withheld. So we owe it all at once. 

7. Just to make it all more complicated, there are ways to get around the tax system... a bit.  I "defer" being paid a certain amount of money to have that go into a certain kind of retirement account and that doesn't even count as income until some other time. There are "deductions" which range in wide variety based on certain sanctioned things one does with one's money. I put money into a different retirement account, and that gets deducted from my reportable income. I put money into a health saving account, and that gets deducted. Andrew has student loan debts, so those get deducted. To a point. There are maximum contributions for each kind of tax dodge er account, AND a maximum total deduction one can take. 

8. So we think - and Andrew is the only one who's seen these forms so really he thinks and I am tired of thinking about taxes today - that I can in fact lower our current liability from $1,100 to $600ish if I move $2,500 of my savings into a retirement account "for 2014." Granted I could also move the remaining allowable $5,400 into the same account, but it won't change our liability. Yes, it's well into 2015, but I can maximize my tax dodging contributions for "2014" until April of 2015. Because that's America, folks!

9. None or some or barely some of the above #8 may be true, since this is the opinion of the man who - to this day - insists on calling my simple IRA a 401k and/or confusing it with a Traditional IRA. And a simple IRA is totally different than everything else. It's some kind of mythical unicorn retirement account with even more maddening rules! 

Frustrating. Not in a "I'm going to join the Tea Party and declare income taxes unconstitutional" sort of way. Because I think I should pay taxes. I think I should probably pay more taxes than I do. But, I wish they made some modicum of sense to me. I wish I weren't consistently blindsided every year with some new complication of adult life. When I was a broke young'un, taxes were generally easy (yet I still often had the IRS correcting me and informing me I was due a greater refund than I'd calculated - thanks IRS!). I didn't make enough to even be much considered. My form was simple. Then I got married, and that messed up everything because nobody warned us about how the exemptions on our payroll taxes changed (yes, a family law attorney should have known that but oh well). And now I try to do something real with my money and it goes down in value while costing me money! I know, I know, if I sold it all off at a loss, I'd get to deduct that on my tax form (aggh) next year, but still. It feels counter-intuitive. 

 So, basically if we're going to have this cabalistic system, which I suspect we'll continue to have, perhaps we as citizens ought to be better educated about it. How is basic tax training not mandatory in our public education and college systems? Really! 





Holidazed Monday Monkey Love! And the long weekend work double daze

If you're situated within the United State o'Muricah, you might be on you third day-of-note in rather rapid succession: Friday the 13th (I call it a holiday), Valentine's, and now President's Day. And Mardi Gras is just around the corner. Whooooo, this is more hyped up than that pesky December holiday season!

So, actually, I'm at work. I have an OB appointment (ultrasound pics - oh yeah!) on Thursday, and then Andrew and I are devoting our remaining daytime hours to apartment stalking. So, we'll call it a holiday deferred (like those Simple IRA payments I should have amped up to the maximum this year, apparently). Except it's still a wee bit holidayey here, what with the office being officially closed and, well, all of downtown being more or less shut up and shut down. My favorite times to hang out at the office. 

After the Valentine's pizza (ridiculous double layered only-in-America pizza monstrosity), trysting and tax turgidity, yesterday was a bit of a palate cleanser with a kick of local theater! We done cultured ourselves kinda. Andrew and I don't often go to plays, probably due to his long-term proximity to the theater scene (having been a professional lighting designer in New York for a while, and a theater major to boot, so... the fear of theater snobbery and disappointment with piddling productions runs high), but certain plays just lend themselves to a fairly decent local amateur group. 

In this case, we watched a play called Leading Ladies by Ken Ludwig. I love Ken Ludwig. He has hit on a golden formula of farcical send-ups of aspiring/washed-up theatrical types, men in drag, people coming in and out of doors, and misunderstandings of a nearly implausible nature. I'd previously seen productions of Moon Over Buffalo and Lend Me a Tenor at the Bellingham Theater Guild, and they both left me in stitches. So I figured this was (1) going to be entertaining regardless, since the farcical send-up of poor theater was enough to suffice even if the production was... well... possibly poor (it wasn't, although it was low budget for sure) (2) well suited to a local troupe, considering his previous madcap comedies have been quite beautifully so. 

I'm glad to be right. There was Shakespeare. There were exquisitely poor performances by wannabe actors and horribly hammy ones by washed up ones (within the play). There were men in dresses. Women a little too dense to notice the men in dresses were the same as the guys they were falling for. Ridiculous supporting cast members. And a lot of people coming and going through various doors and hilariously timed pacing. And after a heckuvalot of complication and silliness, love conquers all and we live happily ever after. A rather lovely way to spend a matinee. 

So we've broken the theater seal after only (almost) six years. I could be wrong, but I really think Andrew and I haven't been to the straight theater together since we started dating. Symphony, ballet, opera, and some peculiar performance art pieces, but I think this is the first time I've gotten up the gumption to suggest it. Ok, I have suggested other plays I knew he'd liked before, but his equivocal ("but that could go so awry if poorly produced") interest disincentivized the follow-through. So I'm 2 for 2 on the "forcing Andrew to do things he's initially wary about." Meaning number 3 will probably push it to the brink, but hey! 

Gotta get this kind of experience out of the way before our new horizons involve dancing pickles singing about morals and nutrition!


And with that, it's time to say hip hip hoorah to the long-deceased presidents for whom our prior venom has faded with the pages of history... and start fantasizing about those pancakes. 

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