Here comes that communication failure again

by Katie on May 11, 2012

I made a trip to Texas for an extra long weekend last week. I mean, people talk about taking a long weekend when they depart on Thursday, so departing on Wednesday would just be an extra long weekend, right?

It was quite a successful trip to add to the books.

I met my niece and played with my nephew, who I hadn’t seen in ten months.

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I watched my brothers show their heifers at the county fair. (And win Grand Champion F1 and Reserve Champion Senior Showmanship, I might add.) And we celebrated my baby brother’s 17th birthday two weeks late by eating crab.

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Yes, I am indeed the oldest child.

I saw my other two favorite high school seniors show goats for the last time (and take home another showmanship win).

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I witnessed my cousin’s nuptials.

 

 

 

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I spent time with all three of my closest Texas friends, all of whom went out of their way to visit me. (Unfortunately, I only took a picture with one of them.)

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And I spent a very special hour on a drive with this 91-year-old beauty:

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So yes, a successful trip indeed. But like all good things, it had to come to an end, and I was back on the farm hauling hay at 10am Monday.

I will admit, by Sunday evening, I was quite ready to get home to that husband of mine. Little did I know what he had in store for me at work.

Surprisingly, I entered a home with clean dishes. This is a praiseworthy event, y’all. Not only does Brandon not mind a sink full of dirty dishes, but he was also having to work around the clock without much help while I was gone. Needless to say, score ten points for him.

Not surprisingly, I entered an office where you could not tell the difference between our desks. This is not normal. Anyone who enters our home for the first time would be able to distinguish between our desks. (And not just because of the Texas A&M Scentsy warmer which adorns mine.)

I had been quite a busy bee myself leading up to my trip, so I had left behind a couple file folders on the surface of my desk. But my return was greeted with a mountain of unopened mail, half opened mail, hay truck records and weight tickets scattered throughout for every truck we loaded while I was gone, fuel receipts from our employees, and what I am convinced must have been every piece of paper to cross his path in the previous five days.

An overwhelming mess, for sure.

I didn’t have a chance to begin sorting through it all until Tuesday morning. As I went through the stack, it went to what I felt were appropriate places:  a stack of incoming mail, things to file, items for Brandon to tend to, hay truck related papers for me to enter, and so on.

But I didn’t really get everything right.

Brandon made his way into the office as I was still sorting and shuffling, and began informing me of each of my well-meaning, yet incorrect, actions.

You see, there was item in that haphazard stack that he still needed to review (I had it in the “file” pile), there were things I had arranged on his desk to review that he apparently had already looked at and now needed to be discarded (who knew?), and so on.

And then later he was asking for some kind of document, which I remembered seeing in the printer tray during my mission, so I let him know that was where it was.

“Katie, I needed you to mail that. Today.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I responded, “I was unaware the printer tray was now our ‘To Mail’ box.”

I may have said that with a slight edge. Just maybe.

Later, after we had been through several items like this, I had reached my limit with the ridiculousness of it all, and couldn’t help but laugh while I attempted to decipher the code of business for these things:  “So, let me get this straight, the printer tray means things need to be mailed, publications on my desk mean they need to be thrown away, the freight invoice with unattached weight tickets mixed into this mess means it needs to be paid immediately, and anything that looks like it needs to be filed on my desk really means you need to look at it first?”

“Exactly,” he stated, straight-faced, not seeing the humor in any of it.

Noted, Husband. Noted.

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