“Yes, Boy,” I said, really trying to be patient, “I understand that you want cheese and chips. However, I am not going to make you cheese and chips, because I’d like you to eat some Real Food today.”

And so it began. Again. The tears (his were born of frustration; mine came from two quarts of simmering onions), the yelling (his), the questions (mine: “Would you like a biscuit with some strawberry jam;” “Would you like some soup;” “Would you like a …”), the hitting (his), the leaving for a less hurty room (mine), the following (his), the questions, again (mine).

Now, finally, after an hour of war, quiet has returned to the kingdom. I resisted The Boy’s siege long enough for him to fall asleep on the couch (convenient, eh?) outside the gates of the city. We’ll (and by “we,” I mean The Wife) see what morning brings. Maybe more slings and arrows, but maybe negotiations.