4/22/11

Failure to Communicate


I believe that there is a communication problem in my household. I'm not sure really where I'm going wrong but I know it's just not clicking. For example, I told my son "Please clean up your toys." He took that to mean "Please fuck around for a bit."

Realizing that I had not made my message clear, I again tried. "Please pick up your toys that are in your room." I thought that was pretty clear but apparently I'm an idiot that doesn't know how to get his point across. He thought I said, and now that I think back it's understandable, "Throw your toys over the stairs and aim for the dog while you do it."

Again a fail on my part. "Please pick up your toys on the stairs and in your room. Put them in your toy chest." He heard "Sit in the middle of your toys and play with your junk."

Now my eye was starting to twitch and I was having to take deep breaths so I wouldn't lose it. I'm as still as a statue just trying to compose myself. I'm chanting to find my happy place. "Please pick up those toys. Right now. Put them here, in this basket."

He thought I said "Go to your sisters room and hit her in the face with a plastic sword."

So obviously, I'm doing something wrong here. I'm not actually sure what it is but the message is not getting across. I think I need to hire a PR team so that I can craft my statements and put them out in a way that a 3 year old boy and a 5 year old girl will understand it. I'm at the point where I will drop 10K on a PR guy just to get some toys picked up.

It's more than just this isolated incident, that's why I know that I have communication problem.

At dinner last night, I told my son "Please be careful and don't spill your milk." He spilled his milk almost immediatly. Chanting begins.

I cleaned up the milk and told him again. Thinking that I was very clear that I didn't want anymore milk being spilled, I thought that everyone at the table understood that message.

His sister then spilled her milk. In the exact same place as her brother. I mean exactly, same fucking pattern and everything.

More chanting. More deep breaths. "Please, for the love of God, do not spill any more milk. Be careful when you are reaching for it."

They didn't hear this. What they heard was "Punch your brother, make him cry. Then everyone spill your milk again while you are fighting." Clearly, the fault is mine.

I need to bring in someone else. Maybe I need to bring in the cruel warden from Cool Hand Luke. I wonder if that guy is dead yet. But he is clear about getting his message out. "What we have here, is a failure to communicate. Some men, you just can't reach, so you get what we got here last week. Which is the way he wants it, well, he gets it!" I bet he does free lance jobs. Maybe the trick is to tell the kids to get that dirt out of my hole?

There is some sort of secret code in my words that I'm not picking up on. Maybe I'm speaking pig latin. For the last 4 months, I have been studying this and have come up with a few things.

"Get in the car" means "Run into the street."

"Let's take a bath" means "Hide in my closet."

"Take the dogs outside" means "Ride the dogs like you are Lone Ranger and Tonto."

I've got charts spread out on my walls trying to decifer what I'm saying. I look like the guy from The Beautiful Mind. I've got thumb tacks with little bits of yarn strung to eachother. I'm not seeing the pattern, but it's there.

Even right now, as I write this, I tell my daughter "Take your basketball goal into the toy room." She hears "Push it into your brother and knock him over."

Me: Go to time out.

Her: Hit your brother again.

Me: NOW!

Her: Do ballet.

Me: For the LOVE OF GOD GO TO TIME OUT NOW!

Her brother hears: Punch your sister as she is walking to the corner.

Me: NO MORE HITTING!

Him: Hit her again.

Me: EVERYONE GO TO TIME OUT SO I CAN WRITE A BLOG AND BE FUNNY!

Them: Throw balls at eachothers head. Hard

And that's when I get it. That's when I crack the code, right now, as I write this.

Everything said everywhere means "Drive your father fucking insane."

That's your Rosetta Stone, make use of it. Then go hit your sister.

1 comment:

  1. Dude it only gets worse. Trust me my son is 8 and my daughter 6. They are the reason I live but sometimes with their fighting I go ballistic out in my workshop. Funny stuff as usual, keep it coming.

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