Busy daddy and I have an agreement: I’ll take care of things like pediatrician visits, dental appointments, taking the pets to the veterinarian, filling out household paperwork, talking to attorneys and telemarketers, cooking, cleaning the house, babysitting home contractors, planning travel, arranging vacations, paying bills, and taking care of all of our family banking and investments, and busy daddy is responsible for birthday parties.

I think this is a fair trade-off because when it comes to birthday parties, I’m a complete space cadet. Truthfully, I’ve never been big on birthdays. I barely enjoy celebrating my own birthday, let alone others’ birthday parties, unless it involves copious amounts of tequila, but that was a long time ago and probably not appropriate for a kiddie party. So it works out that busy daddy takes charge of arranging the boy’s birthday party each year.

For the past few years, busy daddy has hosted the boy’s birthday party in the city. There’s usually a theme, like Iron Man or Star Wars, but this year busy daddy kept things simple and we had a small party at the club with a minimal theme.

The boy was super-psyched this morning when we reminded him that his birthday party was today. Funny because I think the boy is more like me than busy daddy when it comes to birthdays. The boy is excited, sure, but I think he’d be just as excited if we told him that we were going shopping instead.

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