When it comes to the dinner table and what is served on it, we have a "no negotiating with terrorists" policy. You eat what I cook and that is the end of that. For the most part this has worked out fantastic in Weeland as Wee 1 and Wee 2 will eat anything you put in front of them (even spinach and Wee 1 often actually requests brussels sprouts).
Wee 3 is another story. In the past few days especially she has put up noticeable resistance to eating anything which sprouted from the ground, off a vine, fell from a tree, or was harvested by anyone who even remotely could call themselves a farmer. Sticking to our guns, dad and I have firmly reasserted our stance on not leaving the table until Wee 3 was a member of the Clean Plate Club. This has resulted in the kind of sobbing and clothes rending reserved for major events like the fall of communism or the US someday winning a World Cup.
So this evening Wee 3 was put back in her chair multiple times and with my last ounce of patience fleeing me I raised (read here yelled) my voice and said "Maddie, just eat your ever lovin' vegetables".
Maddie's response "I don't want to play this game anymore."
It was difficult for me to keep a straight face, and even more difficult for her to finish her plate, but we both did it and have lived to fight the battle of the side dishes another day.
A wee bit more nutritious,