Mr. XXX at the IRS

On the 23rd of December, 9PM central time, I received a phone call from the IRS. Wow, I said to this stammering guy who identified himself as my examiner, this seems awfully late to be calling us citizens. I work until 1 in the morning. Where are you, I asked, thinking, India? Holtsville, NY.

In what seems like a never ending circle dance to file my taxes since adopting Mateo, Mr. XXX at the IRS, questioned everything about my expenses. Meanwhile, Mateo is in the car backseat, overtired and insistent on hearing Frog Story one more time. Mr. XXX has to listen to me implore Mateo to be quiet for 5 more minutes while I speak on the phone. It doesn't work. Mateo doesn't understand what the heck the IRS could possibly be and why I am looking panicked.

3 minutes into this insane phone conversation while driving through holiday traffic at night, I realize that there's nothing I can intelligently say without my accountant's advice. In a moment of uncharacteristic IRS sympathy, Mr. XXX tells me that's probably a good idea. If you get me a copy of the boy's VISA faxed, I will see what I can do to stall proceedings. And then, I adopted a child in 2008, too. Wow, what candor from a bureaucrat, I thought. Is this the true meaning of a religious holiday?