Why God invented wine

I've always thought good communication skills meant being able to speak articulately, listen intelligently, and hold up your end of a thoughtful conversation.

Turns out, I'm completely wrong; as my dear young son has now taught me, communication has nothing to do with the actual words and everything to do with the interpretation. Surprisingly, his interpretations rarely agree with with my words.

For example, this daily conversation in our house:

What I say: Mark, pick up your room.
(What I mean: Mark, pick up your room.)

Mark interprets this as: Mark, you are so awesome, you should continue doing whatever you want. Don't even acknowledge Mom until she says "Want some ice cream?"

What I say, five minutes later:  Mark, pick up your room.
(What I mean: Mark, pick up your room.)

Mark interprets this as: Nothing. There were no words in that sentence, therefore, no sentence was even uttered. Which reminds me--time to go outside and play basketball!

What I say, ten minutes later:  Mark, seriously, pick up your damn room, NOW! You have exactly three minutes before I go in there and throw everything away.
(What I mean: Mark, I am dangerously close to throttling you. And tossing your stuff. And where's the wine bottle opener??)

Mark interprets this as: Danger! Danger! Imminent adult meltdown...run to your room for safety!

This is the point where ignoring me loses its fun. Mark doesn't like ruts, so he shake things up by engaging in the all-out Snotty Teen attack at this point.

What I say (wine glass in hand): Ish your room pickeded up yet?
(What I mean: This is good wine.)

Mark interprets this as: Wanna fight? I can be snottier than you so easily...give me your best shot...right...NOW.

What Mark says: I know, I know, pick up the floor. (Rolls eyes.) Geez, what do you THINK I'm doing? (Stomps dramatically around room, tossing dirty clothes under his bed--seriously, right in front of me!)

What I say: (Nothing. Sip wine, savor, repeat.)

Mark, replying with his (and my) new favorite answer: Geez, why do you even care, anyway?

(This is my new favorite question, because of its flexibility: Mark spits it back at me whenever I ask him to eat, manage his diabetes, or attend to his personal hygiene. You know, the stuff moms never care about.)

I could share about a bazillion other conversations that feature the request/ignore technique, the turn-it-back-on-your-mom technique, or the "Why do you even care???" technique. I could, but I won't...because I've got a wonderful bottle of viognier to ignore, and a snotty 13-year-old to enjoy.

Oh, wait, no, that's the kid's reverse psychology working on me...I meant it the other way around.  But to quote a thoughtful and philosophical 13-year-old I know...why do you even care?