brush with greatness

There are few things Evan likes less than brushing his teeth. Every night he sticks the toothbrush in his mouth and grudgingly chews on it, grimaces and stomps his feet while we have a version of the following exchange:

Evan: "Can I rinse and spit?"

Eric: "You just started brushing. Get your top back teeth."

Evan: "When can I rinse and spit?"

Eric: "Stop talking. Keep brushing. That means moving the toothbrush. Get your top back teeth."

Evan: "Aaaahhhh. Stop talking!"

Eric: "No. You stop talking and brush. Get your smile teeth."

Evan: "Can I rinse and spit?"

Eric: "You make this last much longer than it has to by talking so much."

Evan: "Aaaahhh. Stop talking!"

Eric: "Get your top back teeth."

Tonight I was instructing him to get up on his little stool at the sink so that we could begin this ritual once again. But for some reason I said "platform" instead of "stool." This gave me the idea of trying to motivate him by pretending that tooth-brushing was an Olympic event.

Eric: "All right. He's showing good form on the bottom teeth. The judges are nodding approvingly. If he remembers to get the top back teeth, he'll be solidly in medal contention."

Evan: "Can you stop talking? You're distracting me."

Eric: "If I stop talking, how will you know whether you medaled or not?"

Evan: "Can I rinse and spit?"