Print edition: 
When a used car salesman — pardon me, pre-owned car salesman — gets up from his desk to fetch the sales manager, you know you're about to have some fun.
And by "fun" I mean, of course, no fun at all.
Just back and forth and numbers and more numbers, scribbled onto a sheet of paper to be initialed and sent to some nameless General Manager. I imagine this General in a cavernous, fog-filled room, a hologram head like the Wizard of Oz:
"Who DARES disturb the GENERAL MANAGER?! ... You there! With the offer on the Chevrolet?! Step FORWARD!!..."
My husband and I are both annoyed and amused by this process. When the salesman stepped out, Randy wondered aloud if this kind of back-and-forth is a worldwide phenomenon or just American, a side effect of our capitalist natures.
I guessed it happens everywhere. Surely even Inuit people on the tundras of Greenland negotiate over kayaks and plank sleds.
The manager returned and shook our hands. He looked down again at the scribbled-on paper, then up at us.
The negotiation continued.
"You guys," he said, shaking his head and smiling. "You guys should be in sales."
I laughed, acknowledging the false flattery but also realizing something: Parenthood has made me a better negotiator.
I deal in staredowns every day, over breakfast, bedtime, Halloween candy. I know when to joke and when to be serious, what's worth a fight and what probably isn't.
I know the steps to successful negotiation, as preached by Dr. Phil and practiced, often unknowingly, by mamas everywhere:
* Narrow the area of dispute.
* Find out what they really want.
* Work to find a middle ground.
* Be specific in your agreement and the negotiation's outcome.
* And never, no matter what, let them eat cotton candy for breakfast.
That last one is my personal addition, because we all need our absolutes — obscure, absurd little rules that will one day allow us to say, "Sure, I caved on that curfew. But at least they never ate cotton candy for breakfast."
We reached a deal on the car, signed the papers and headed off to fetch the kids. Jack noticed the DVD player immediately — a feature I always thought ridiculous — and asked to watch.
No, I said. It's just for long trips. Well, maybe this once.
I drive a hard bargain.
