Win or You're Fired

Win at all cost. Second place is for the first loser. Winning isn't everything, it's the only thing.

These are not lessons I am teaching my son, but someone apparently is. I'm looking at you Barney. You and the Stepford children aren't fooling anyone. Get the minions "sharing" and then swoop in and collect it all.

And don't think you're off the hook Caillou.

But I digress.

For some reason, Sonwun has become obsessed with "winning." I've been seeing it since before swim class and the trend is growing. At swim class, he had to be first to the other side of the pool, first to the lifejacket area, first to put on the lifejacket. At home, he must be first to the car, first to open the door, first down the stairs and first up the stairs. And with each triumphant finish, he declares, "I win."

And, when I inadvertently and thoughtlessly walk up the stairs and make it to the top before him, he cries.

Today, we hit a new level and one that is telling me I need to temper his quest for the Prime Minister's office. At least for now.

The boys were playing relatively quietly downstairs after breakfast. Sonwun building a train set and Sontoo observing and making mental notes on how best to destroy the creation. It was the perfect time for Daddy to dash off for one of those glorious, relaxing 45-second showers.

I wasn't 10 seconds in when I heard Sonwun in the bathroom. So much for relaxation. I ordered him out, rinsed the shampoo from my head, quick soap down, rinse and out. (Four days, four hours, 57 minutes until mom gets home and I get a nice, long, hot shower.)

Anyway, got myself dried off, clothes on and headed for the stairs where I find Sonwun, the elder at 3.75 years, standing on Sontoo (18 months old) half way up the stairs.

I should note at this point that, while I am becoming more comfortable with Sontoo's stair-scaling ability, he is nowhere near the point of having earned my complete trust. It's a long staircase and it's hardwood floor at the bottom. I live in constant fear of the day he loses his balance and takes a tumble. And with Sonwun using him as a surfboard for the trip, I don't like his chances of escaping unscathed.

Now I'm as cool a Dad as I can be at the best of times and even at some of the worst of times. But at this time, I lost it. I should note that Sontoo was not complaining. He's learned that he is, among other things, a stepping stool, toy provider and, at times, a toy.

But that doesn't mitigate the crime.

What do you think you're doing? I asked. (And yes, I've read in the keener mom magazines that I am not supposed to ask that question. But sometimes, it's gotta be asked. Sue me.)

"I didn't want Sontoo to win," came the casual reply, as if it were the most logical and reasonable excuse for standing on his brother's back.

Well, a logical and reasonable punishment for this transgression was administered and I'm pretty sure he'll think twice before Sontoo surfing again.

Honestly though, I don't know where this came from. I'm not sure if it's just a natural "boy thing," or not. I mean, at swimming lessons, all of the boys want to win. And maybe that's where he got it. He hasn't been up late enough to hear mommy and daddy trash-talking over a game of sequence and I never let him watch the proceedings of the House of Commons. It remains a mystery.

He's got one other expression that has me scratching my head as well. At lunch today, he was complimenting my cooking (I make a mean sandwich). He also expressed appreciation for his yogurt. He said that the boys that made it wouldn't get fired. If it was yucky, they should be fired, he added.

Fired? Where on earth did that come from? The wife has never threatened to fire me, and attempt to find an equally glorious trophy husband. He's never been up late enough to watch The Apprentice, so I'm at a loss.

I asked him about it. "Where did you learn the word fired? Who got fired?"

"The ones who didn't eat their vegetables. They got fired from you."

I remain at a loss.