(This is the Tantrum, in which Dadwagon’s writers debate one question over the course of a week. For previous Tantrums, click here.)

Last Friday I sat down at my desk and wrote out a few checks. Actually, a lot of checks. Or rather, a few checks that added up to more than I’ve ever disbursed at one time. To be really, really specific, I paid out roughly $13,000—some of it to the government, most of it to a retirement account (so that it won’t go to the gubmint). And, of course, my accountant, the renowned Ronald MacDonald (yes, Ronald MacDonald), got a bit of it—which I’ll deduct come March 2011.

As much as it hurt, I felt weirdly proud. For one, while this gargantuan payment hurt, it won’t break me. I’ll have enough left in the bank to buy groceries for a month or two, but I may have to change my drinking strategy. Second, it’s evidence of my independence, which at the age of 35 should already be clearly established, but somehow always feels in doubt. If I was desperate, there would be people to ask—my wife, my parents, the people streaming out of the Bergen Street F-train stop at 6 p.m. But I didn’t have to—I’m my own man, at least for the remainder of 2010.

I also, of course, have to thank Sasha. Without her, we would’ve been hit harder. How much, I can’t really say (though I’m sure Ronald MacDonald knows). I love the fact that just having a kid gets you a deduction, now matter how late in the year the kid was born. Sasha arrived in December 2008, which was good for our balance sheet. (I pity parents of kids born January 1st!) If I were a bit more technically minded, I might work out exactly how much she’s saved us versus how much she cost us, but I know the ultimate answer: Cute as she is, my daughter is a lousy short-term investment.

If things were different, though, Sasha might make better economic sense. Take child care, for instance. This year, despite having paid thousands and thousands of dollars to various nannies, we can’t deduct any of it, since [explanation deleted for fear of incurring the wrath of the IRS]. Next year we may be better off, although the maximum child care credit we can claim is $3,000, which is only about a quarter of her annual tuition. Yes, we neglected to put a bundle in our Flexible Spending Account, a mistake we’ll remedy in 2011, but even that maxes out at $5,000.

Should things be different? Um, sure, why not! I’d love to deduct Bugaboo maintenance, shredded-book repair, educational field trips to the local bar, and the alarmingly high percentage of food that lands not in Sasha’s mouth but on the floor. Add that all up and the government would owe us money. Awesome.

Seriously, there are good reasons the government should do everything it can to offer families at all economic levels (and especially the lowest) as many kid-related rebates, deductions and tax credits as possible.

First, I’ll address the liberal side of our readership: Actually, there’s nothing to tell you here, since you already agree with me. Oh, but maybe you’ve only recently been indoctrinated? So let me clue you in: Families should get tax breaks because, you know, kids are cute, and organic groceries, bilingual preschools, and non-constricting baby-slings are hella expensive.

Now, the conservatives: If the government makes it too financially difficult, taxpayers will have fewer kids. Which means we’ll end up with a labor shortage, which means we’ll have to import more immigrant labor, both legal and illegal, and those immigrants WILL have kids, especially because there’s no way you’ll let the government provide family-planning advice in English, let alone in Mexican or whatever those people speak. In other words, make having children economically desirable and you take care of a host of other related issues.

Finally, people in the child-free movement: One day you will be old, and dependent on the care of younger people who aren’t related to you. If those people grew up poor because of a punitive tax scheme (okay, a not-friendly-enough tax scheme), who knows what they’ll put in your Metamucil, or whatever it is that old people eat?

You know, I just realized something. As a dadblogger, I should be able to deduct all associated business expenses, which pretty much covers … everything Sasha-related! Oh, wait, except first this blogging thing would have to make some money. Maybe next year…

It’s Spring! And its arrival did perk up the Dadwagoners, with the promise of warm weather, flowers, and babies (though we already have the latter).

Enticed by the bright candy colors (both of the store and of SoCal in general) Nathan reconsidered his longstanding anti-Bugaboo position. He spent way too much time watching the indeterminately creepy cuteness of My Milk Toof.   (Then again, he also found a video devoted to face-kicking, and not my own benign everyday kind, either.) Maybe it was the promise of universal health care that made him so chipper. That, or the fact that he’s eating pretty well.

Theodore, too, seemed to be enjoying himself: talking pre-K basketball, mocking his pickled Dadwagon colleague, and attempting to remind us all of quite how icky Michael Jackson was. That last one, especially, should count as a public service. I’d say Ted deserves a better meal than he’s been getting.

Speaking of a guy who’s eating well: Matt, this week, admitted that he’s fed up with restaurants in general (strange for a travel-and-food writer to say that, but I won’t tell your editor, man) and settled down in front of the TV to veg out–not long before he actually appeared on said TV.  (Oh, and by the way: Japanese robot babies! It has nothing to do with anything else I’m saying here, but I just like saying: Japanese robot babies!)

That leaves me, and I guess I’m the odd man out, because I was a total grump. Don’t go out to eat. Remember the war dead. And if you want to have a kid, don’t come crying to me about it.

We’ll be back Monday, when (one hopes) my mood catches up to everyone else’s.

How is it possible that there are children who can sleep through a smoke alarm? I fart in the next room and JP is up and complaining (that may just be about the smell).