My daughter is a master negotiator. It doesn’t matter if I’m telling her to get ready for bed, take a shower, do her homework, or clean her room, she will try to find a way to put it off by making a deal with me.

There is no place where her sales technique is more evident than at the dinner table. She hates vegetables, but loves treats, so she will inevitably request a Hershey’s Kiss in exchange for eating her asparagus.

Recently her little brother started following in her footsteps. But the other night at dinner, it was clear he still had some learning to do, when he complained, “Mom, I’m full.”

I said, “Okay, just take four more bites.”

You could see his brain working as he thought for a second, raised his eyebrows, and asked, “How about five?”

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About a month ago, my son and daughter created a makeshift Christmas list by sitting down and circling items in a toy catalog. My daughter hasn’t wavered in her request for an iPod, a Nintendo DS and a Bongo Board. My son, however, can’t seem to make up his mind.

His first list included Transformers, a marble roller-coaster, and any and all things Little Einstein. I shopped, his grandparent’s shopped, and we thought the boy would have a very happy Christmas.

Roughly two weeks later, he decided he wanted a train, books, and some Webkinz. Then shortly after that, he took an interest in Backugan toys and added that to his list as well.

Despite trips back and forth to the store, and extra charges on the credit card, I thought we had things under control.

But all of that was before my son sat on Santa’s lap and we found he had changed his tune yet again. As he stroked the jolly elf’s beard, my boy put a sweet smile on his face, looked into Santa’s eyes…and asked him to bring us a horse.

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My six year old son has always suffered from a pretty nasty case of reflux. When he was an infant, this resulted in constant shifts in medication, a lot of crying by him and me, and more than our fair share of projectile vomiting.

During an endoscopy a few years ago, his gastroenterologist noted that the ring of muscles around his lower esophagus, which is supposed to keep his stomach contents in his stomach, didn’t function properly. Actually, not at all. His ring simply doesn’t contract when it should, allowing half-digested food to freely flow up from whence it came.

We refer to these moments as “yucky burps”. We’ve all had them, right? Those bile-flavored, liquid belches. Mmmmmm. Delicious!

At his last GI visit, his doctor suggested that he was old enough for us to try to wean him off some of his medications. Considering one of them costs $261.00 a month, we were all for it.

But, my boy doesn’t like to make things easy. When we discontinued the medicine, the yucky burps increased, and some of them weren’t just burps. He has been throwing up a lot too. Does anyone have $261.00 I could borrow?

Yesterday in school, he was goofing off with a straw in his mouth and it hit him in just the wrong spot. He gagged, and that gag brought up breakfast, snack, and my personal favorite, regurgitated milk.

His quick-thinking teacher, who is fully aware of the reflux situation, jumped in and cleaned up the mess, then told all the kids in the kindergarten class about my boy’s esophageal “flap”. She told them that their flaps stay closed and keep food where it should be, but that his flap doesn’t work and sometimes that means his food comes back up.

But I didn’t know the extent of her conversation. Which would explain why I was at a complete loss last night when my son exclaimed, “Mom! My flap hurts!”

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The other day, I was snuggling with my little boy when I asked, “Who’s your favorite person?”

He hugged me and said, “You and Daddy both.”

I tickled him a little and teased, “Both? But I’m the one who feeds you, cleans up after you, does your laundry, drives you to therapy and school, reads with you, helps you with homework, and tucks you in bed.”

He replied, “Yeah, but Daddy throws me in the air.”

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