Meatloaf

Ian and I are raising Chaz. Not the wedding/funeral crashing/picking up chicks part, but the living with your mom demanding meatloaf part. Only with Max, it’s not meatloaf (or meafloaf as he calls it). Its Milk! Snacks! Bed! Poop! It’s always yelled, usually starts before 6:00 a.m., from the other room and continues until the demanded item has been obtained (or expelled in the case of poop).

For years, pretty much since he could talk, we’ve been modeling the right way to ask for things (May I have some milk please Mommy) or withholding the item until we hear please, but it just hasn’t stuck yet.

I guess it’s time to get the basement ready and perfect my meatloaf recipe. Ma! The meatLOAF!

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