This morning, on the first day I was permitted to sleep in past 5:30am all week, my stepfather calls and wakes me at 7:55am. To ask me where his and my mother's tax return was. BECAUSE IT WAS SUPPOSED TO ARRIVE TODAY. I HAD TOLD THEM TODAY. APRIL 24TH. THAT'S TODAY! Where the fuck was it? And, naturally, I was the only person who could answer this question. At 8am on the only morning I could sleep in all week.
I did my parents' taxes for them this year. I was able to get them a larger refund than last year, and I felt incredibly accomplished. I know that they are counting on this money to catch up on bills, and, rather than me contributing my own money to help them make ends meet, I was able to help them in another way.
My relationship with my mother and stepfather has changed quite a bit in the last year or so, and I am grateful. I feel more comfortable when I travel back to my hometown to see the family because not only do I witness them all actually trying to make their family work, but I've adjusted my expectations on them as well.
I still don't know where their tax return is, though.