The Relay

If a little competition is good for the soul, the souls of my children should be exceptionally well off by now. They fight over everything, from who brushes their teeth first to who gets in the bathtub first. Apparently bathtub seating position is vital, as the one who sits closest to the faucet wins. I'm not really sure what the rules are, or what the advantage is, but I do know how you win. That must be worth something.
Last night, my children were blindsided by the cruel blow of an empty toothpaste tube when they got upstairs. Squeeze it from the top means nothing to these people. Their dad asked one of them to come downstairs and get a new tube. After much bumping, banging, and jostling for position, (think Randy and Ralphie in "A Christmas Story") they made it downstairs. The child who arrived first was smiling, the loser I mean the child who finished second (switching to sarcastic font: because we're all winners) was crying. The instant that tube of toothpaste touched my child's hand the whining started.
Child 1: I'm carrying it upstairs.
Child 2: (Wailing) NO FAIR! I NEVER GET TO DO ANYTHING!
Child 1: Okay, well, then you're going to carry it halfway up and then give it to me!
Me: (Silently) What is this? The freaking Olympic torch relay? It's a tube of toothpaste! Can this get any more ridiculous?
Child 2: No, I'm not giving it to you! I'm carrying it all the way up the stairs. Dad said!
Dad: (Channeling his fantastic, always patient mother) Wait, wait. I'll fix this. You come get a roll of toilet paper and you can carry that upstairs.
Problem solved. Perhaps there is something wrong with me, because my first impulse was to look at the wailing child and say, "Get over it. You can do it next time." But no, Superman finds a way to save the day. And that's why they love him! Okay, fine. It's why I love him, too. He's a fixer. I am more of a "suck it up, Buttercup" kind of girl. I suppose we compliment each other.