Battle of the Century

Jon and I have made it through an average amount of trials in our individual 30 years and I'd like to think that we are both pretty capable, intelligent people. We are both college educated, church-going, and pretty well-traveled. Jon grew up in the jungles of Malaysia, befriending monkeys in his backyard. He excelled at an internship with the U.S. Embassy in Cambodia during his senior year and has been all over the world. I didn't have quite the same experience here in the comfortable suburbs of Chicago, but I did survive being a girl in a U.S. junior high, and that has to count for something. I have also been working in the Emergency Room at a local hospital for the past three years...blood, guts, trauma, and complaining rich, spoiled, suburban people with colds...most definitely not for the squeamish.

But, despite all of this, there is one challenge that has stopped us dead in our arrogant tracks:

Her name is Hannah is her game is using every breakast/lunch/dinner to showcase her debate skills. The picture above represents a typical evening in the Strong house. As you can see, the rest of us have left...there is even an empty bottle on the table as baby Jacob has happily finished his meal. But, there is a straggler, dressed only in a shirt and underpants (her usual post-nap attire). As usual, she has refused to eat anything but the smallest nibbles of her sandwich, and given that I am taking this picture, I have probably given up. You see, I have to do this breakfast and lunch as well...so Jon automatically gets dinner by default. He may have great skills in foreign relations, but dealing with Hannah's mealtime policy is a different story.

He starts off like George W. with the terrorists...there will be NO NEGOTIATIONS! EAT! But she is cunning and patient. She waits a little longer... she tells us that she is just not that hungry, that her tummy hurts, that she doesn't "like apples because of the crunchy parts" or that her pepper is too spicy...the list goes on. He starts to waver a bit...from the kitchen he tells her to eat all of her broccoli and peaches and then she can be done. But she is cool and calculating. "Oh", she tells me, "daddy says I just have to eat my peaches". I tell him to repeat himself. He tells her once again to eat all of her broccoli AND peaches. But she doesn't accept the offer at face value. "I can't really hear you daddy, how about I take 5 more bites?" He starts to crack under the power of her somewhat charming negotiation, "Fine, but absolutely no dessert."

And so it goes...sometimes I am stern and mean and this goes on until one of us cries...other times I just don't care anymore and I want to give up. So, I'm sure that lack of consistency is our problem...blah, blah, blah. I guess the bottom line is that you can't force a child to eat, no matter how smart you are, and I won't be surprised if there is peace in the Middle East before Hannah eats a meal voluntarily :)