Little Terrorists

Bella, Luke, Emma, Lee, and Ivy in front.

Sometimes my grandchildren can hold me hostage.  There are nine altogether, but they are rarely all together.  These were at my house for a bit this weekend.  Don't they look sweet? They are. HOWEVER, they have learned the art of negotiation.  It was like a game show or better yet, a battle of the wills as we came to mutual terms on some things.  Don't get me wrong: There are no mean faces, screaming voices, or stomping feet.  All smiles as they try to charm me into compromise.

It was dinner time and we had hot dogs and PBJ according to wishes.

I don't want buns, I want bread.

I don't want anything but cheese on mine.

I don't want anything but catsup on mine.

Luke and Ivy opted for the PBJ sandwiches.  Luke will swallow his in a heartbeat, especially when accompanied by chips of any kind.

Ivy is a terrorist.  Look at that sweet face.  The youngest is often catered to by everyone else in the family, simply because she is the charmer, the baby, the conman...or congirl as the case may be.

I told them all we would have rootbeer floats when they ate their dinner.

After one bite, Ivy declared she was done.

I overruled her opinion and said she was not.

She said, "I don't want it."

To which I replied, "Okay.  But no root beer float."

She repeated, " But I don't want it."

I looked at Lee and said, "I do not negotiate with terrorists."

We pulled the sandwich into little bites and she ate all that was required in order to get the dessert.

I've decided to make that my mantra when dealing with anyone under that age of....(to be determined.)

The reason they are all sitting around the table is because she would not move to the couch for a picture.  She was drawing and she was staying put.  I did not want tears in my picture, so I let her win...this time.  Everyone else acquiesced and came to her....and so it continues.  My little terrorist - until we meet again.