"Budgets and Balance Sheets"

  

            I begin every month with taking a legal sized envelope and folding it into fourths. Each quarter gets a week’s designation, and each week receives a spending limit. I record all expenditures on the virgin exterior of the envelope—whether it be a major outflow like $142.15 for groceries or something as minor as $3.14 for a Sonic Slush. At the end of every week, I total the damage, feeling smugly triumphant if I’ve kept our spending in the green, or vowing to do better if we dip into the red. My obsession with number crunching allows us to indulge at the end of the month if anything extra remains. Most of the time, though, we simply break even. By the end of each month, the overstuffed envelope’s surface is covered with numbers and notes on spending habits. It remains in my upper desk drawer until the credit card statement arrives as a means of double checking the balance for our month’s expenses. 

            My obsession continues into my record keeping. I have ledgers dating back to those first months of our marriage where we stretched $850 a month income across apartment rent, utilities, insurance, school loans and food. The numbers may have changed over the years, but my strategy remains the same. I know exactly where every penny goes, can use one year’s budget to project into the next year, and based on one year’s spending will plan financial goals.

            I rarely set the goal of saving money just to save it. We don’t have some huge balance accruing that hasn’t been assigned an end purpose. The chunk of money accumulating in our Money Market goes to taxes on our home this month and anything left over will stay in place for April’s income taxes and work on the car. All of the budgeting and balance sheets pays off in the long run. We work together as a family to reach very specific spending goals. By watching the outflow carefully, we’ve plugged up leaks and pooled funds into building a secure future.

            Sometimes I wonder if I’d hold onto the monthly envelope and colorful ledgers if our income ever rose. Would I stop tracking that dollar spent here? Or that five spent over there? Then I admit with chagrin that number crunching flows through my veins. It’s part of who I am, how I think. Whether I have only a teacher’s retirement income or a million dollars doesn’t matter. I’d track my spending, set my goals, and record all expenditures.

            Maybe I’d just have a larger envelope! 

 

Copyright 20214 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Tax Time!"

            Yes. The dreaded time of year in our household. About sixteen years ago, David began a freelance illustration business. The idea appeared, on the surface, a wonderful solution for us. David could work from the home so our son would have a parent at home at all times. In the summers, we would all be off together.

            Of course, owning your own business doesn’t mean extra time for spectacular trips. The first lesson we learned was “if you don’t work, you don’t earn.” Taking vacation time became almost impossible unless David managed to earn enough during the year to cover the week to ten days that we could do a trip. Needless to say, we managed only two or three vacations in sixteen years.

            David loved the slower pace of his days. He didn’t have to get dressed if he didn’t feel like it. He could shuffle over to his office nude if he wanted! However, there’s the stress of having an irregular income, of not knowing what the next month will bring (if anything), and of clients not paying bills “in a timely manner.” When the economy bottomed out a few years ago, David lost almost all of his business and rejoined the eight-to-five routine. He still has a few clients, though, needing his art for various projects. Enough to make tax time—stressful.

            If I make it through filing taxes without a Mount Vesuvius eruption, it’s a miracle. David’s total filing system consists of shoving receipts into a file. Each year, these receipts are transferred to a huge manila envelope with all the tax form copies. At least, that’s the plan. Last night, I’m totaling out the 2009 receipts, smugly thinking that we’ll be fine on taxes when I pull out a pretty sizable wad on software purchases. Dismay engulfed me when I noted the dates—2005! So much for that deduction.

            At any rate, owning your own business means more columns, lines, pages, schedules, and forms to file with your taxes. Even with the wonderful software available, taxes take hours and hours for me to complete. In the past, I’ve disintegrated into a screaming harpy as April 15^th nears.

            But this year? Maybe retirement has mellowed me. I sat down last night, shuffled through the mess of papers, and filled out all those endless pages and schedules without bursting into tears. Even when I realized our bottom line means sending the IRS an enormous check, I didn’t utter one single curse word (those who know me well, know I swear fluently and frequently.) All I know is that tax time is behind me—until next year.

             

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman