Flashback Friday

I'm stealing the idea of Flashback Friday from my SIL, Kristen, who has a fantastic blog. On Fridays she writes about something, usually hysterical, from the past. So I'm adopting this ritual as my own, and here's the 1st installment. To celebrate the 13th anniversary of the day my sweet Ethan came into my life, this one takes us back to his toddler days.

Some years ago when my eldest was but a tot of 2, we were in that fun phase with him where the most entertaining thing you can do is get him to copy something you've said. Ethan has a sense of humor similar to his dad's, so if he thinks your laughing at the things he's saying, it just adds fuel to the fire. We spent countless hours giggling at him and teaching him to say things like "gimme five". Of course, in the language learning years we don't have much control over what they repeat, and we've had plenty of backfires. "Oh cwap!" in the middle of a church meeting comes to mind. And naturally not everything a toddler says comes out just the way they intend. For instance, there was a time when Ethan, watching out the front window, announced that the neighbors titties were in our yard. We knew he meant kitties, but come on, that's funny. And we've all met the toddler who can't quite pronounce the word "fork". So it was during this tender phase that Bryan decided to teach Ethan something new. "Who's yer daddy" was a popular cliche at the time and dearest husband thought it would be so funny to hear the little man say it. I wasn't quite as enthusiastic about this one but they were having such a good time I didn't think it necessary to squelch all the fun. I figured he'd forget about it soon enough anyway. As it turns out I grossly underestimated the length of a 2 year olds memory bank. Only he didn't remember the saying quite the same way, he had his own version. It all started at Safeway. I lovingly placed my handome boy in the seat of the shopping cart and began my journey down the first aisle. The store wasn't very crowded, so the excursion began innocently enough. I was so engrossed in the vast varieties of pickles in front of me, that I hardly noticed the old gentleman pushing his own cart toward me. Just as he passed, my sweet boy blurted out, "Who's my daddy!?" My head snapped away from the pickle jars as I starred at my child in disbelief. The old man looked at Ethan, then glared at me. In a pathetic effort to redeem my good name I said "You mean WHERE's my daddy." To which Ethan then repeated "Who's my daddy!" The old man shuffled off on his way, leaving me to stand there completely frazzled and embarrassed. I tried to calmly explain to Ethan, who didn't understand or care, that I didn't want him to repeat it. The fact that he got a reaction out of me was all he needed. The next lucky stranger who passed by got the same greeting, much to my dismay. This continued with each and every person we passed, up to and including the pubescent bag boy. Most of the shoppers had a sense of humor about it, but I had to wonder what they were thinking. All I knew was that I was completely and utterly horrified. I might just as well have had my name spray painted on the water tower. I don't recall the conversation I'm sure I had with Bryan when I saw him later, but he probably had very little sympathy and thought it was as funny as Ethan did.