I’ve been out of work since Tuesday. Not OUT OUT like I’ve been fired or have quit… I’ve been really sick. Strep throat, an ear infection, and if that wasn’t enough…I have to get laryngitis as well. 

The laryngitis totally sucks for me because I can’t even WHINE about how much pain I’m in.

The last few days have been a blur, sleeping and squeezing my throat to swallow. I’m really tired and all I want to do is sleep. Today, I forced myself to take a shower…only to realize we were out of shampoo. This reminded me how I hate laryngitis because I couldn’t scream to the heavens about how those kids of mine waste shampoo. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, during these days of sickness, I’ve been alone. And in the evenings when my husband and kids are home, they just continue on with their lives, oblivious to the fact that Mom is upstairs half dead with no voice. I mean, really, is it too much to ask for a little bedroom vigil? Seriously.

I understand the above paragraph is highly detailed with whining dramatics, but cut me a break. I haven’t been able to talk for three days. And I’m still feverish. Silent dramatics is all I got going for me right now.

This afternoon, after the ill-fated shower due to lack of shampoo, I snuggled into into my favorite pajamas and decided to watch a little TV. I  laid down on the couch to watch old episodes of Dallas, only to fall asleep. I woke up to the sound of the kids coming home from school, running up to drip snow on my face and kiss me with their cold faces. Each asked me how I was feeling. Eric…who tried not to laugh at my hoarse voice which sounds much like an eighty year old crack smoker… didn’t really want me to talk, but you know, just get him something to eat. “Don’t talk Mom! Will you make me some popcorn? I’m starving.”

I didn’t need my voice for that one. The look I gave him was clear. He smiled, in the way that he does when reality slaps him in the face and turned to head for the kitchen. 

“I’ll just eat crackers, Mom.”

I smiled.

Those kids of mine… they really do listen to my facial expressions.

Eden Marie loves to dance. This is highly encouraged by her father and I, because not only do we like for our children to express themselves, but it is cheap entertainment. There isn’t a lot I can think of that is more hysterical than watching our three year old trying to get her groove on by doing the Chicken Noodle Dance. Her legs are covered by her dad’s socks and she sports a Cinderella crown to get her dance on. Her Cinderella dress can only be seen by her and don’t you dare argue with her that she’s naked. She isn’t naked. You just can’t see the dress because you aren’t Eden Marie Chase…you’re a stinky poo-poo head.

The other day, I walked down the stairs to find Eden Marie dancing to one of her preschool videos. I sat down on the step and watched. There was a part of the song that went, “Toot. Toot. Toot Your Horn!”  She sang along and then stopped abruptly and ran to the bathroom. Once in the bathroom she screamed to the television: ”I’m tooting! I’m just going to toot my butt and you guys can toot your horn!”