What's My Motivation, Here?

     I have no idea whether the behavior I am about to describe is "normal" for a child like Skeletor.  I also have no idea whether my reaction to said behavior is acceptable.  Also, at this very moment, I don't care.  This is what every recent afternoon has been like with my child.
    
     "Mommy, turn around." 
     I comply.
     "Now, you gotta say, 'Good job, skeleton.'  Ok?"
     "Good job, skeleton!" I exclaim dramatically and believably.
     "NOOOOOOOOOO!!!  You didn't say it right!"  Disgusted sigh.  "Let's do it again."
     Repeat as necessary.

Ready for my close-up.

     I feel like Shelley Duvall on the set of "The Shining," being driven slowly and methodically insane by a tiny Stanley Kubrick as I am forced to repeat the same line over and over again, praying that I get the inflection right this time.  And refusing to participate is not an option.  In that instance, Skeletor channels Jack Nicholson and goes all, "Here's Johnny!"  (I didn't plan on this whole thing being a "Shining" metaphor, but...who cares?)  So, in what I hope is what I'm supposed to do in this situation, I take a deep breath and get ready for Take # 72.  I plaster on a smile (or scary face- as the situation demands,) and say my line again.  I ignore everything else that I need to be doing at that moment.  And I definitely ignore the splitting headache and the sharp pain where the lining of my stomach used to be.  Because I'm his mommy, and that's what I'm supposed to do...I think.