My dear husband pulled a fast one on me today.

The second weekend in November is the annual birthday party for my youngest. It is not her birthday, that happens in the bowels of the Christmas season. I have very little to do with the party. My daughter does the planning, invitation making and delivery, grocery list, and party favours.  My husband does the grocery shopping, snack distribution, and supervision.  I make the cake and vacate the premises.  This arrangement is for the best.  When I was gifted with my tool box of mom skills, birthday party anything was not part of the package.

Today is the day of the party.  I have done my part (lemon cheesecake with a chocolate crumb crust and drizzled with milk chocolate ganache), I even did extra by make sure my one son could escape the princess party.  Suddenly, conveniently, my husband needs to run an errand as the guests are arriving, the eldest son is departing with husband, and younger son is leaving with friend. Happenstance?   I think not.  So here I sit, listening to little girls wind up, trying to indirectly be bossy with one another, and I try desperately not to micro-manage.  Evil husband.