A farm mom without a voice

The first time I lost my voice was during the middle of my week-long stay at Bible camp. As a middle schooler without a care in the world, losing my voice wasn't so bad. Actually, as I look back, it was kind of cool. The condition garnered lots of attention (what pre-teen doesn't love attention?) and the camp nurse doted on me until I could speak normally again.

Now, there's absolutely nothing cool about being voiceless. This ridiculous cold virus or bacteria or whatever it is has held nothing back in attacking my body. And now it's holding my voice hostage. It didn't take long to realize that being a farmer without a voice is not very efficient. Now, instead of yelling to find Glen or yelling to ask him a question or yelling at Dinah to get back to her spot, I have to actually look for Glen to find him and walk to the back of the barn so he can hear me whisper and personally usher Dinah back to her spot. At least it's wintertime and we're not trying to lower the silo unloader together (a job which requires super-yelling).

Glen didn't even ask me this morning if I still wanted to attend the feed mill's customer appreciation day. He must have been anticipating my answer: "No! The only thing worse than losing your voice is having two dozen people ask you what happened to your voice and then expect you to answer."

Actually, the only thing worse than losing your voice is being expected to parent without a voice. I never really understood how much yelling I do as a mom until I couldn't yell anymore. Fortunately, Dan thinks it's pretty cool to whisper, so the house has been remarkably quiet. Unfortunately, whispering, "Don't sit on your sister's head!" doesn't really get the point across quick enough to prevent a Monika meltdown. A mom with no voice also means Dan has been reading the books at story time; it's pretty interesting to hear his version of the stories we read.

I keep telling myself I can't be sick forever. And sooner or later I'll get my voice back. I just wish I had a camp nurse here to dote on me until I feel better.