Every single meal with my 5 year old is what I imagine terrorist negotiations to be like. I've said this before, but allow me to elaborate. Here is a typical scene in my house during dinner:
Ewww, I don't want to eat that!
Eves, I barely gave you any (insert any type of food here, except for junk) so you have to eat it.
I'm not hungry.
You have been telling me you are starving for the last 2 hours! I know you're hungry. Just eat some.
Like how much?
Just keep eating and I will let you know when to stop.
(Takes a bite, pushes the food around, gets up from her chair to pet the cat, slams hands on the table to make little E laugh.)
Evie, sit still and eat your food. Remember that treat you wanted? If I have to keep telling.....EVIE! Feet in front of you! Stop talking and just eat your food.
How many more bites? If I take 5 more bites, can I have my treat?
FINE! Five more bites! But they have to be good ones.
(Takes a bite. Three minutes pass. Takes another bite.)
How is that?
Nope, that was only two bites. You have three more to go.
But I'm full!
If you're full you can't have a treat.
Well...I guess I'll have three more bites.
(Fifteen minutes pass and she still has one bite to go.)
Just give me the rest. We've been sitting here too long.
Can I still have my treat?
Basically, if I were the President? Yeah, we'd all be royally fucked.