When I was in the second grade, I brought in a roll of toilet paper on the first day of school. As my teacher checked off the required supply items from each student, she stood before me and asked why I had an unwrapped roll of toilet paper in my backpack. "It's tissue paper. It was on the list." I explained. My mother had carefully packed it amongst the crayons, markers, pencils and paper - ensuring I started the year off right. I came home in tears, "toilet paper isn't the same as tissue paper, Mama!" My mother blew her nose in both and showed me that, they were in fact, the same.

By the time third grade rolled around, parent-teacher conferences were a standard and I needed to prep my mother beforehand. "It's not a card report. It's a report card. It reports your grades on a card. REPORT CARD. Don't embarrass me in front of my teacher." No matter how much I, a nine-year-old child then, helped her - she continued calling it a card report until I graduated from college.

Now as an adult, there are still many things lost in translation however I refuse to correct my mother because they literally brighten my day.

Text message: What are you and Jose doing this afternoon?

FaceBook comment: I love Jose more than you!!!

Email: Please spoil Jose, today.

My daughter's name is Josephine. Feenie for short. Feenster for when she's in trouble. Jozefinka for my father. Josie for people who adore her. Josie - similar to Jos"e"(in my mother's mind). Jose it is!

I won't correct my Polish mother because I simply can't get enough of the "Did you kiss Jose today?" emails. I kissed Jose today and I liked it, Mama!