The following morning, I called my husband, Mark, before work.

He listened without interrupting, which told me his sister’s behavior didn’t surprise him.

“How often has she been doing this?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet. Mom has a kitchen calendar. I’m checking tonight.”

Mark sighed.

“Rachel will explode.”

“Probably.”

“What do you need from me?”

“Backup. And the biggest poster board you can find.”

By lunchtime, Aunt Linda had agreed to help.

Uncle Paul laughed for almost a full minute before volunteering his name.

Two cousins offered to contribute imaginary obligations of their own.

By 6:30 the next evening, nearly every adult relative sat around my dining table.

Nobody wanted revenge.

We all wanted Rachel to understand what it felt like to have her time assigned without permission.

Taped across the wall behind them was an enormous calendar titled: