This is my favourite story about my son. This story takes place many years ago when my son was quite young. He is currently 16 years old but at the time he was between 1 and 2…I think. I’m terrible with dates. I don’t remember how old I was during any significant events in my life. Some people are good with these things but I am not. These things could have happened yesterday or 10 years ago. It just doesn’t stick in my brain.
It was many years ago and my son was quite young. He was still in a high chair which leads me to believe he would have been between 1 and 2 years old. My youngest brother was visiting and had made the trip up to Canada from the US.
We were sitting around the kitchen table having what I’m sure was a wonderful meal. My wife is an excellent cook so I can’t imagine anything but near perfection. We were chatting and carrying on as most people do when you have company.
It came time for dessert which I’m sure couldn’t come soon enough for my young children. The adults would have had some fancy dessert that required some unique piece of silverware to eat with but the kids were more than satisfied to receive chocolate pudding cups.
My brother had no kids of his own yet so I suggested he help my son with his pudding. My brother took on the challenge with as much excitement as one can have in the situation and offered to feed my son. Being the independent sort he is, my son refused help and wanted to do it himself. He grabbed the cup and the spoon and dug in.
My brother accepted this sign of independence and watched as my son fed himself. Given there was not much more to do, we carried on with our conversation.
After a little while, my son must have gotten bored and started playing with his pudding. He put down the spoon, grabbed the pudding cup and tossed it over the edge of the tray of his high chair. The pudding cup landed directly on its base forcing an explosion of pudding straight up and out to the sides. There was pudding everywhere. It was running down the wall, it was all over the high chair and kitchen table, and the bulk of it landed on my brother’s leg.
I was in shock seeing the whole thing play out. My brother was speechless staring at the pudding dripping down his leg. I could see the slight look of “Oh man, how am I going to get that stain out” creeping across his face.
I looked at my son with a stern look and tone and said, “What do you say to your uncle for making his leg all dirty?”
My son looked at me for a moment, then looked at his uncle, and then looked back to me again. He thought for a few minutes. Then he threw up his arms and yelled “TA-DA!”
My brother and I both burst out laughing at the same time. How could I stay mad at such a response? My son has always had a particular sense of humour that I enjoy but “the pudding incident” was one of the funniest moments I can recall.
