"Good communication is as good as black coffee, and just as hard to sleep after." Anne Morrow Lindberg

Little One came home from school the other day with some notes she had taken about an assignment. As often happens due to her hearing issues, she had written down something that neither of us could decipher...a book she had read took place in "monart time". Thankfully, her teacher was just an e-mail away, and we discovered that the book took place in "modern times". We giggled over this, but it got me to thinking about how important our words can be...and it brought back a story from several years ago...



The Husband was going to be working in France over the summer, so Little One, The Boy and the Senior and I had settled into a small village to live while he worked. Now being fluent in french, this was fun for me, as it was a great opportunity to use my language. Although we became known as "les Americans" to the people of the village, they were lovely about conversing with me. The senior had just completed her second year of french in school, so she was anxious to try her french out too. Each morning, we would wake up and walk to the village bakery and pick up some fresh croissants for breakfast. It was a fun routine, strolling Little One, who was a baby at the time, and following The Boy toddler. One morning after The Husband had left, Little One was sleeping in after a long night, and The Senior and Boy were "starving". Well, I told her, it was time to go it alone. She had listened to me all those mornings...she knew what to say...she could take The Boy and do it herself. (This was a very small and very safe village). The Senior hemmed and hawed, not sure if she was yet up to the task. Though she is always bold and brave (remember, she was previously nick-named The Rebel), she was still hesitant about doing it by herself...and though I agreed with her that the crowded bakery with the talkative lady baker would be a challenge...I knew she could do it. So off they went, The Boy and Senior...and they returned 30 minutes later with fresh pastries for everyone. The Senior was so proud of herself... and was suddenly emboldened to be much more independent in this little village. That night we watched "Dirty Dancing" on tv in french, and we laughed the whole time, because hearing "Nobody puts baby in a corner" in french is just so funny.



Our second day there, The Husband took all of us for a trial run to the airport which was about 45 minutes (and many twists, turns and round-abouts away). I was going to have to drop him off there in a few days..and return to the village...and then pick up mother-in-law a few days later. This was concerning, due to my severe lack of a sense of direction. Thankfully, The Senior did not inherit that lack...and between my language skills and her sense of direction...we figured we could manage.


Now this is one of the only times in our marriage that The Husband has let me drive. But he felt it was imperative that I get the feel of things. The problem with this scenario is that The Husband is a back-seat driver. He was "coaching" me the whole way there on everything from my speed to the way I was holding the steering wheel. As we neared the airport, we were coming to a traffic light. Three times he yelled "Stop! No, Go!, No, stop!" Well, being used to doing EXACTLY what The Husband says...I did just that. The guy driving the motorcycle behind me tried to mimic my actions, but he didn't stop the last time fast enough...instead, he fell off and his motorcycle slid under our rental car. Needless to say, I was shaken up, and maybe...JUST MAYBE, peeved at The Husband. Well, knowing that he had caused this little fiasco...he decided he would get out and take care of it. But here is the problem...The Husband only knew 2 words in french...bougez, which means "MOVE"...and "C'est bon", which means "Everything is fine". ( I know...why on earth these were the two phrases that stuck in his mind we will never know). So he gets out of the car and heads back to the guy, who is fine, and has already picked up his bike. The Senior and I are watching them and shaking our heads, wondering how he is going to handle this...the guy looks as annoyed as I was. But The Husband just looks him straight in the eye and says "C'est bon?".....Well, The Senior and I looked at each other and burst out laughing...literally laughing so hard we were crying. Meanwhile, the guy must have taken pity on The Husband ( or maybe he didn't understand The Husband's french spoken with a New Jersey accent)...but he took off...and so did we...

It's worth noting that a few years later, after yet another minor accident in France, The Husband was able to use that second phrase..."bougez"...but as I remember, I had to get out and intervene...

So until tomorrow, when I will keep in mind that it is not always what we say, but how we say it, that really matters...