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.
Nothing.
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.
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| 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
That God.
He's so funny.
And you?
Anything you'd like to tell me?
I'm listening.
And I promise that I cannot won't interrupt.
This has happened to me before: the silence as a result of vocal cord damage.
ReplyDeleteI just hope you aren't getting sick!
Enjoy the peace. Maybe there are benefits. Maybe the Reds will ask dad for everything. Milk this, baby. Unless you need the bucket. Then, get rid of it as fast as you can.
The kids are baffled, but think it's funny. Once the novelty wears off though, they won't think that my banging my hand on hard surfaces to get their attention is quite so amusing. That should be, oh, tomorrow.
DeleteThe benefits are...telling. And will their own post, one of these nights. Turns out, listening is WAY harder than talking. It's a lesson I reckon God's been trying to teach me for practically my entire life....
ReplyDeleteDoes this 'No interrupting' deal only last until your voice returns?
If it's a long term thing, I'll be home late.
Me.
Dear Husband,
DeleteYou're lucky you're cute and that I miss you. And just think of all the stuff I've been saving up for when you get home tomorrow. Assuming I have a voice tomorrow. If I don't, you can consider my silence an early Christmas gift for next year!
Love,
Wife
When I lose my voice, I like having the reason not to talk to anyone. Hehe.. I like what you said about needing to shut up to actually listen. :)
ReplyDeleteI found not talking so hard, but an interesting experience, nonetheless. I am studying to be a DSW and have now gleaned a small idea of what it's like NOT to be able to communicate what I want/need when I want/need, to.
ReplyDeleteAnd I think my kids appreciated the extra effort it took to come and find them and gently whisper "Supper's ready!" instead of hollering at them from the kitchen.