Meatloaf

I love meatloaf.  Mark doesn't.  Whenever I've made it, it doesn't matter what kind, he doesn't like it.  He won't eat it.

When he wasn't the only kid home, I often just ignored him if he didn't want to eat something.

Now, I need him to eat things or we will have too many leftovers.

And also, meatloaf.  I want to make it because I love the stuff.

Last night I was planning meatloaf for dinner.  I told Adam, "Mark won't like it."

Adam is a wily one.  He said, "I'll have him help me make it."

That sounded fabulous to me.  Because guess who didn't have to make dinner?

Adam called Mark to the kitchen and enlisted his help.  When I enlist Mark's help it is nothing exciting.  When Adam does, it seems more like an honor (unless it's mowing the lawn...Mark is not excited about that).

So Adam, the trickster, told Mark they were making "spiced meatballs" which is really what meatloaf is.  I was upstairs trying to unravel my family history and I could hear them talking while they cooked together.

Mark not only didn't complain about his meatloaf, but he ate it too.

(He didn't have seconds.)

(But still.)