Communicating

It was the kind of moment that stops you completely, makes the squeaky wheels in your head spin backwards, and leaves you in absolute confusion. Did I, perhaps, not hear the question correctly over the kid noise saturating the room?

"Do your flowers on the front step need to be watered?"

Seriously, there are no flowers on our front steps. So the reasonable thing to do, obviously, was to reply with the correction to his inquiry.

"Ummm... the back step?".

"No. The flowers on the front step."



You see the beautiful flowers on our makeshift front steps? Yeah, me too.

So I said it, plain and clear, in a way that left no room for any gender communication error. I said it exactly the way it was.

"There are no flowers on the front steps."

It earned me a look. The dear-wife-you-are-a-raving-lunatic look.

{sigh}

He pointed out the kitchen window, in the direction of the windmill across the driveway. "Your flowers in those pots on the steps. Right there."

Duh.



Apparently, the front steps are still the front steps, even when they have been hauled across the driveway and parked beside a mound of dirt, across from an even bigger pile of little rocks. They are still the front steps even if they are closer to the barn than the house. I imagine they would still be our front steps if they were in the middle of the pasture or somewhere out in the back forty.

Glad we got that straight.



"Yes, I do need to water my flowers, the ones that are on the front step, and I'll do it later."