SMITHFIELD -- This morning, when she kisses all five of her beautiful deductibles on the cheek, straps on their backpacks and nudges them out the door for the school bus, Thelma Ward will relax and wait for her reward in the mailbox - all $54,242.
This year, the federal government is sending her family such a whopping refund that it has turned her and her husband, David, into nationwide tax celebrities, landing them on CNN with all of their adopted children.
When her accountants did the ciphering, they figured the calculator was broken, maybe adding an extra zero. They even sent the Wards home to Smithfield while they totaled the gigantic sum another 10 times.
But it's true. Five figures. All at once. The reason: a change in the tax law allows credits for special-needs adopted children - which the Wards pack into three of their four bedrooms - to be collected as a cash payment even if no taxes are owed. And it's retroactive, H&R Block explained to Thelma.
"I said, 'For real, girl?'" recalled Ward, 44. "I just started shouting. The pictures on the wall were turning sideways."
The Wards are a religious couple. They don't expect compensation for good deeds. But it's hard not to see a greater hand at work here. For months the world has reeled at the idea that General Electric paid no income taxes - which doesn't appear to be true - but to say the very least, the government has been good to them.
The idea that it would hand a couple like the Wards enough money to replace the living room windows, lay down new carpet, and replace the refrigerator and dryer seems like fiscal justice.
Over the last three years, more than 100 foster children have moved through their four-bedroom house - most of them from Johnston County, sometimes from homes full of drugs, sometimes from the hospital where their mothers abandoned them.
Their rule: Nobody leaves the Ward castle without a permanent home. So the Wards have five new kids - adding to the brood of seven more, most of them grown.
Let's count:
There's JoJo, who is 6 and prefers his full name, Joquaivus. He needs speech therapy. "This is mama's baby," says Ward.
There's Octavius, who is 8 and has a heart murmur. He earned $20 for a telescope for the A on his report card, and part of the refund goes to get him a better model. "This is my little genius," says Ward.
There's Zoie, who is both 8 and shy. She too needs special classes at school.
There's McKayla, who is 10 and can do her own laundry. "This is mama's little helper."
And Kelli, who is 4 and likes to wear high heels. The family was relieved to learn she won't need surgery for her heart condition right away.
"One of the guys I work with told me, 'You adopted [five] kids. You've spent a lot more than $54,000,'" said David Ward, 51, who works for a concrete company.
Word got around
The Wards aren't big on having their business in the street. But since news of their refund hit Smithfield, dozens of adoptive parents have called, trying to file amended returns. The Wards want everybody to know there's help from Uncle Sam.
The house is abundantly neat. Backpacks are laid out in a line by the door, ready for school in the morning. Thelma Ward keeps a poster-size calendar full of birthdays and doctor's appointments. The Ward residence is a well-run parenting machine, so it gets first dibs on the refund.
After that? A vacation. But - don't read this, kids - probably not Disney World. As Thelma Ward will tell you, just going to the movies with this bunch will tear the heck out of a $100 bill.
