The forecast for this weekend's weather was ominous. The birthday bash? A barbecue. Out-freaking-side. The confirmed guests? 60.

After losing some sleep, and doing some panic cleaning, my husband grabbed me by the shoulders and did that Vulcan grip. When I regained conciousness, he said, "Cancel the party. We can reschedule."

"No! No! I have 700 packages of hot dogs!"

"Call the other mom, and see what she wants to do." I hate it when he's all reasonable, because I am always RIGHT.

After a brief round of hot potato where the size of our houses and the condition of our respective yards were lamented, we decided that it wouldn't be fair to make our party guests stand out in the wind and rain to eat a hot dog. I had no qualms about making my husband stand out in the rain to barbecue said hot dogs, because I am a cold, wicked woman who is RIGHT.

We decided to reschedule. And jettison the hot-dog idea. No, we will do something pre-packaged, indoors and run by a teenaged employee. Wooo!

I joked that the second we started to make the calls to cancel, the skies would clear and the angels would sing. That's my own personal caveat to Murphy's Law. It has happened a few times.

Ahem.

So, we split up the guest list and made the calls. I found myself quoting the forecast. "Yeah, one to three inches. Winds, like, 30 miles an hour." This as blue skies appeared. The guests were understandably concerned about my daughter's feelings, and I assured them she would be fine, and that the party would be sometime in April.

To soften the blow a bit, the hubs and I caved and told the kids that we are going to Disneyland. My son immediately went face down in a heap on the floor when we declined his motion to depart immediately, and informed him that our flight would be in a week. Oh! The TRAGEDY! It was great to look at the photos from our last trip. Holy moly, these kids have grown. I was pregnant with my youngest, and my son was not even two yet. We are going to have some much fun.

Flash forward to this morning. Gloriously blue, clear skies. No clouds. The hubs and I stood at the windows, scanning the horizon for the promised storm. Dude, our forecast said "thunder." Where? How? Even the radar on the computer showed nothing.

I felt like a pioneer wife during a long, hot summer, lifting my bonnet-clad face and scanning the skies for any sign of rain. Probably while plucking a chicken for dinner in my one 'work dress' while the kids take turns churning butter. Puh-leeeeease let it rain.

I generally don't care what others think of me and my decisions, but the wrath of kindergarteners is fearful and unrelenting. I needed some justification for my brash party-cancelling.

Lo, as I type, the sky has been blanketed by nasty looking grey stuff and the first raindrops are falling. I have NEVER been so happy to have lousy weather.