The Mother Tax

With all the political ads, debates and talking heads going blah, blah, blah about the economy the complicated world of taxes is in the air.  If you have young children I have an easy way for you to teach them about taxes with something that is already happening in your house.  It is called the “Mother Tax.”

Now the Mother Tax is not some penalty on mothers because they have to find childcare while working or that they fall behind in their fields while taking time off work to raise children.  The Mother Tax was a phrase I coined to explain to my daughter Carter about the bite of her mac and cheese I was entitled to by virtue of being her mother while at the same time explaining the complicated concept of taxes.

Come on, I know you have done it.  You buy your kid a gooey chocolate chip cookie at the bakery and don’t want a whole one for yourself so you take a bit out of your child’s.  I can hear whining now from all those kids who selfishly don’t want to share even a bite with their mothers.  My child was no different.  Thus the Mother Tax was born.

In legal terms here is what it is:  “A mother is entitled to a bite of her child’s food, the more yummy the food, the bigger the bite.  There is no negotiating on this tax.  It must be paid whether you like it or not.”

No matter how much Carter would complain about giving up a french fry, she quickly understood the concept of taxes.  You don’t like them, but they must be paid.  After a while she learned that when she was handed an ice cream cone she would just hold it up to me first and ask me if I wanted the Mother Tax.  The offering of the tax first often was met with a tax amnesty, helping teach Carter at an early age that generosity can sometime pay off.

The Mother Tax has been in existence since the beginning of time, but without a name it was often fought by children.  I have a vivid memory of being out to dinner with my family at the Silver Mine Tavern in Connecticut when I was twelve years old.  Going out to dinner, especially somewhere as nice as Silver Mine was a rare occasion.  Even rarer was my being allowed to order dessert.  I studied the dessert menu and decided on the exotic coconut covered ice cream ball in caramel sauce, my sisters got cake, my father pie; my skinny mother seated directly across from me declined dessert.

The waiter brought our choices.  I was disappointed to see that my pick was one ball the size of a walnut.  My mother eyed the toasted coconut morsel and asked for a bite.  I wailed that it was too small to share.  Even my father suggested that my mother just order one for herself since it was barley a communion sized dessert.  She said she just wanted one small taste.  My protests continued.  My mother had enough and in her rights as the Mother Tax assessor she stood up, spoon in hand and scooped up the whole ball of ice cream and popped the whole thing in her mouth.  I learned then and there that you just don’t fool with the tax collector.  Pay, pay early, pay happily for if you don’t the penalty will be great.