My mother was putting Jackson to bed this past Saturday night and during the good-night routine he was filled in on the chain of command:
Mam, you are not the boss of me.
No, your mama is the boss of you.
But I am the boss of your mama.
You, me and that baby and that other baby. While I promise to never write about what I ate for lunch or about that dream I had last night, I cannot promise there won't be poop mentioned.