My husband may have referred to it as "The Christmas Miracle," but I'm sure he was kidding.
Me, I kind of dig it. In a "my throat is aching and feels weirdly full" kind of way.
I lost my voice in bits and pieces yesterday, but it came back this morning, just in time for me to holler at the Reds to get moving.
It grew softer again when I knelt down to hug them and offer apologies for yelling, something I'd promised (a million times, it seems) to try to stop doing.
I chatted easily, if a little huskily with my placement supervisor all day. Was surprised, though I shouldn't have been, at how much more I learned today, because I was quieter.
After then just after supper tonight, I yelled at Matthew for yelling at his brother, took a breath to yell at his brother....
and nothing came out.
I blinked. Tried for softer words.
Blinked again and peered at my astonished children, saw amazement and amusement spread across their freckled faces: Mummy. can't. speak.
They giggled with delight while I mimed clutching my throat and hollering, as tears of silent laughter rolled down my cheeks. It felt...good.
At bedtime, I tucked them in without words, held them closer for longer than I usually do, because usually I toss my final "I love you"s over my shoulder as I close their door.
Grinned broadly to see their not-so-tiny hands making the sign for "I love you" in American Sign Language. I learned it just this week and taught them only yesterday. Signed it back with a happy sigh.
|Photo courtesy of: moderndad.com|
Came back down to a silent and empty kitchen. Contemplated the quiet.
Realized that the time has come, truly come, for me to listen. There is something that I need to hear. In order to actually hear the message meant for my heart, I needed to
He's so funny.
Anything you'd like to tell me?
And I promise that I
cannot won't interrupt.