Last night, as Justin and I were getting ready for bed, I asked about his evening with Robbie.  He gave me a series of vague answers, leading me to believe that Robbie had actually been in charge for the evening and Justin was just along for the ride.  Then, I asked the pivotal question, the one every mother asks when leaving her husband and child(ren) at home alone.  The one she never really wants to know the answer to.  “What did Robbie have for dinner?” I asked as I adjusted my pillows.

There was silence at the other end of the bed.  I could feel Justin shift uncomfortably next to me.  “I’m not really sure.  I’ll have to think about it.”  And then, a few moments later, “OK.  He had cake.”

“What?”  I asked incredulously, reminding myself that yelling at Justin was not going to solve this situation.  After all, Robbie had already eaten the cake.  “Why in the world would you think it was OK to give our son cake for dinner?”

The fidgeting got worse.  “Because he asked for it.  It’s what he wanted for dinner.”  Of course he asked for it!  He’s two!

“Did he have anything else?” I pressed.

“Maybe.  I think he had a hamburger bun.  And maybe part of an orange.  But I think he threw most of that on the floor.”

I suppose the important part is that everyone was still alive when I got home.  Justin is never going to do things right – or at least my way.  But he will stay home with Robbie and let me grab dinner with friends.  So, I guess when it’s all said and done, that’s the important part.  After all, haven’t we all had a little cake for dinner?  I know I had some for breakfast just the other day…