I finally finished my taxes, that is. They’ve been hanging over my head like Poe’s pendulum, swinging closer, ever closer.

I’d originally intended to have an accountant do it, since this is my first year at running a business. But in early February, I was feeling broke and optimistic, so I bought the small-business version of my usual tax software. I figured that if I ran into problems, I could always either run to Dad, who’s doing taxes for old people at the senior center, or break down and go to the accountant.

I didn’t figure on being hit by a train the next weekend. It’s taken this long just to get my confidence back up enough to tackle inputting numbers into a computer. But I sat down and did it this weekend, and it wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. The program seems to have fixed some glitches that gave me fits in the previous two years. They finally recognized that not all parents with partial custody have it split evenly and neatly, and that some kids live with parents who don’t get to claim them as dependents. Oh, and we started just paying after-school care for just one kid instead of splitting both just to make it easier.

Of course, sitting on it so long screwed all of my rebates up, but to hell with it. I’m sending them in anyway. A 30-day limit is just crazy when I bought the stuff two months before taxes were due.

And the reason I’m sitting around doing my taxes this weekend instead of having all the fun that I’d planned with the kids is that one is home early because of bad weather at Boy Scout Camp, and the other one was horribly bad at school and is grounded all week. I’d planned to take them to the movies, and play with a candy-making kit that Seamus got from his grandmother, but not now.

Seamus is kicking around absolutely bored out of his gourd. Every time he complains about it, I chortle at him, “Well, it’s your own fault, isn’t it? You’ll behave at school next time, won’t you?” Yeah, evil Mom. He’s grounded from the TV and the video games and the computer and his candy toy and really, anything remotely fun. But if he was bad enough to get his non-calling teacher to call me because he’d not only been as disruptive as he’s ever been, but also forged his Dad’s signature on the note home, then I only wish I had more things to pull away from him. Little monster.

I’d planned to try to be extra good about giving Cowboy his space this week, and I was OK for the most part. I called him on Wednesday night and left a voice mail, and then I called him again yesterday and caught him.

We had a nice conversation too. I really miss my friend, and it’s pretty clear that he does too. I apologized for dumping on him last weekend, and indirectly for sending that letter (didn’t come right out and bring that up though.) He said there’s nothing to be sorry for, so maybe he’s not mad at me. Maybe he understands how hard this is for me. Well, hell with “maybe,” I know he is, and I know he’s kicking himself for doing it to me. But if he got that letter, he knows I still love him.

Still with the waiting, but he still hasn’t called it off completely yet. Maybe he’s just assuming that space equates to breaking up, but it’s got to be clear that I don’t think that, and as honest as he is, he would correct me if he thought I was off track.

Chief asked if I would be willing to invest a few months of hardship to cement a good relationship, and I am. I just have to remember to think of it in those terms, at least until it’s been made clear to me that that’s not his goal. For now, I’m still giving it time.