The 'Hoarse' Whisperer

I have no voice.

Noooo...

 I'm not talking figuratively about

nobody listening to what I have to say.

(Although, at my house that tends to be true.)

I mean I literally lost my voice.

I cannot talk.

I cannot sing (heavy sigh).

I cannot answer the phone.

I cannot yell at talk to my children.

I have laryngitis.

lar-yn-gi-tis [lar-uhn-jahy-tis]

noun/ inflamation of the larynx,

often with accompanying sore throat,

hoarseness or loss of voice,

and dry cough.

Yep.

That's me.

Inflamed, sore, hoarse, and coughing.

Oh, and did I mention...

I can't talk either.

I'm on day 6 of this now

and it really stinks!

In fact it bites the Big One!

But at least I have my fingers

so I can still have a 'voice' in the blogsphere!

I can't talk to my actual family,

but I can talk to my blogging family.

So thank you all for being out there to 'listen'!

Anyhoo...

I've been doing a lot of whispering.

Since I can't talk and all.

(Did I mention that already?)

Unfortunately

I've heard that whispering is 

just as straining on the vocal chords

as actually talking.

So I've been trying to not talk

Or whisper.

Nothing.

Do you know how hard that is?

Especially with kids?

Pretty much darn near impossible!!

Especially with MY kids!

Let's see.

I have a 10-yr-old boy who dawdles.

Did you know you can 'whisper yell'?

It's true.

I've tested it out.

I had my doubts that a

whispered yell could be effective.

But it actually induced tears.

I was overjoyed shocked.

Oh...

And my 13-yr-old daughter

is very perturbed distraught 

by the fact that her mother 

can't talk to her.

It's terribly inconvenient for

her to have to wait

for notes to be written.

It's unfair to expect her

to get off the couch

in the TV room 

and walk a few feet.

 To the front room.

To get an answer

to the question 

she yelled at me.

Not to mention the fact

that when I write a note to 

someone other than herself,

'Miss Nosey' doesn't know

what I said to them.

She says it's like we're keeping secrets.

From her.

Like the secret of asking my son

if he had baseball practice today.

We are so cruel 

keeping that secret from her.

Aren't we?

So...

I'm not making

a very fast recovery

in the vocal department 

it seems.

I'm gonna have to get more serious

 about this silence thing 

if I ever want to 

Talk.

Sing.

Answer the phone.

Order through the Taco Bell drive thru

Ask my family what healthy meal 

they'd like me to make.

Ever.

Again.

Therefore I've decided to

post a sign on the back of my laptop

for my family.

(Don't scroll down yet... wait for the reveal!)

So they will know that I am

no longer talking and will only

communicate with them through

the written word.

(Just like I'm doing with you all!)

And it looks like this:

(okay... you can scroll down now)

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One, Two, Three Strikes... You're OUT!

I'm currently sitting at my youngest child's Little League game, with my laptop, trying to kill time. My nearly 10-year-old, “Jabberjaw”, LOVES baseball. He eats, sleeps, and breathes baseball. I, on the other hand, do NOT love baseball. I am not a big sports fan, period. I am a fan of my kids, however, so I sit through many, many baseball games, even though, most of the time, I would prefer to scrub toilets.

And that's saying a lot, because I don't really like scrubbing toilets.

This is my second boy to play baseball. My older son, “Genius”, played for several years and Hubs and I suffered through pretty much all of his games, as well. I know a lot of people like baseball, so I don't mean any offense in this post, but to each his own, as they say. I probably would have preferred if they had chosen basketball or even soccer. There's a lot more action in those sports. I just find baseball (especially Little League) to be mind-numbingly boring. In Jabberjaw's defense, he is a short kid, so basketball would not have been an option for him. And he is a good ball player.  The Hubby did not play baseball as a kid.  He prefers basketball (I rest my case).

Strike One:  Hubster and I are NOT baseball fans.

I usually bring something to do during the game to keep my mind from turning into jell-o. Some years I've brought a book, sometimes I've worked on crocheting. This year the distraction of choice is my laptop. I generally don't have internet out at the ball field, so I'll work offline and write my blog or do some journaling on OpenOffice and then transfer it to the websites when I get home. My husband's usually better about watching and he'll give me a 'heads up' when Jabberjaw's up to bat or if the ball is going toward him out in the field.

The baseball season, this year, was even more excruciatingly painful than years past. This has got to be the longest season ever. I always look forward to the end of baseball season, but this year I will do a happy dance when it's over! Jabberjaw's coaches are much more into the sport than Genius's coaches ever were. Jabberjaw is much more into the sport than Genius ever was. Genius quit playing about the age Jabberjaw is now and Jj doesn't show any signs of stopping. So we are now at a level of Little League that requires a lot more practices, a lot fancier equipment, and driving to farther away games. But Jabberjaw is loving it, so I endure.

Strike Two: I have no life for 3 months!

The other reason I'm SO ready for baseball season to be over is because this has been THE COLDEST SPRING EVER! I have never been so cold sitting through games (again basketball, being an indoor sport would have been really nice!). It's finally starting to warm up a little... and the season's practically over! It's pretty bad when you are dressing in heavy coats, boots, hats, and gloves in April. The very first game of the season I was shivering so hard, my teeth were chattering! No joke! That is why baseball is not a winter sport, but we never really had a Spring this year where I live. 

Strike Three: I've lost all feeling in my fingers and toes!

Oh... the game just ended!  And... I. AM. OUTTA Here!!!! 

'Because God Sees'

This story was forwarded to me via email from my mother-in-law and it brought me to tears.  I just had to share it and I thought it was perfect timing with Mother's Day.  This is dedicated to all the mom's out there who often feel invisible and unappreciated.  Motherhood is a thankless, unending, monotonous job.  Just remember-- when you feel like nobody is noticing all you do, God sees it.

Happy Mother's Day!

***The Invisible Mother ***

  It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the
way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask
to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the
phone?' Obviously not; no one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or
sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner because no one
can see me at all. I'm invisible.

Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more! Can you fix this? Can
you tie this? Can you open this?? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not
even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite
guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order,
'Right around 5:30, please.' Some days I'm a crystal ball: 'Where's my other
sock? Where's my phone? What's for dinner?'

    I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the
eyes that studied history, music and literature--but now, they had
disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going,
she's going, she's gone!

 One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a
friend from England. She had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she
was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there,
looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to
compare and feel sorry for myself. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when she
turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you
this.' It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly
sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: 'With admiration
for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'

In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would
discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I
could pattern my work: 1) No one can say who built the great cathedrals--we
have no record of their names. 2) These builders gave their whole lives for
a work they would never see finished. 3) They made great sacrifices and
expected no credit. 4) The passion of their building was fueled by their
faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

  A story of legend in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the
cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird
on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you
spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by
the roof, No one will ever see it And the workman replied, 'Because God
sees.' I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was
almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you. I see the sacrifices
you make every day, even when no one around you does." No act of kindness
you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, no Cub Scout
meeting, no last minute errand is too small for me to notice and smile over.

You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it
will become.

  I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As
one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to
work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book
went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime
because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree. When I
really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing
home from college for Thanksgiving, "My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and
bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and
presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a monument
to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is
anything more to say to his friend, he'd say, "You're gonna love it
there..."

 As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're
doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel,
not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the
world by the sacrifices of invisible mothers. The Will of God will never
take you where the Grace of God will not protect you.

Share this with all the invisible moms that you know.

I just did.

--
Annette Heiner

There Is Work ENOUGH To Do!

As if I don't have enough to do already, I just RE-loaded the same load of dishes from the dishwasher that I just UN-loaded.  Apparently they didn't get washed.  I was nearly done putting them all away when I discovered goop on the utensils and realized it was dishwashing gel.  Upon inspection, I noticed the detergent compartment hadn't opened and figured the load hadn't run at all, or the goo on the utensils would have gotten washed away.  I had set it on time delay, last night, so that it would run while we're asleep and nobody has to be bothered with the noise (it's supposed to be a "quiet" kind-- but its not!).  I assume someone opened the door of the dishwasher, after I set it, and didn't close it back up all the way.

I would have been okay with it had the dishwasher run last night, even without soap.  They were well rinsed before being put in the dishwasher and the water's hot enough to sterilize. But the thought of dirty dishes in the cupboard... ugh!

When I realized that I was going to have to figure out which dishes were which, take them back out of the cupboard and reload them, I just cried.  I stood in the middle of my kitchen and just let it all come out.  I was already hormonal from PMS, had a loaf of banana bread in the oven for a new neighbor/ward member who'd just moved in across the street, and was running a tight schedule.  My Visiting Teacher had already been by, I was trying to get out the door to go visit with some family from out of town, and I was going to quickly unload and reload the dishwasher.  This little hiccup did not fit in with my plans.  Oh well, at least I was the one who emptied the dishwasher this time, and not one of the kids.  Not only would they NOT remember which dishes were which, I'm sure they would have never even noticed that the load didn't run!  Yuck!

Next time I'm just gonna turn the dishwasher on right away.  Too bad if it's noisy!