Friday, November 8, 2013


Communication is fundamental to my line of work.  Always has been.  And I happen to think I’m pretty good at it – most of the time.

But every now and then, I get it oh, so wrong – or someone else does – usually results in laughs (although not always).

A funny one happened when my son called to brag a bit about his son’s school progress and goals scored in soccer.

We both ooohed and aaahed appropriately.  Then Ben told me the parents had taken Rowen to Toys R Us to get a prize for doing so well in school.

I then asked, what did he get? to which Ben replied, Ma, they don’t do grades at this age; it’s all different now.  (Son loves to remind Mom that things have changed since dinosaur-roaming days when she was in school).

But this was one of those miscommunication moments, as I clarified, Not his report card – what did he pick out for his toy?

This Gran is always more interested in the toys, the bling, the celebration.

We laughed, son (so serious as a parent now himself) and I, at the crossed ships (although there was no night) – even more with the answer: Rowen picked out a garbage truck.

I love that boy’s sensibilities.  And that’s why I always want to know not what happened to him, but what he did about it.  It’s always a surprise.  And who doesn’t love a surprise?

And so I remain (at least in my own head) Miss Communication.

(There really should be a prize for that too.)

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