Without A Voice

First a pajama party, now a pity party. I've been resisting the urge to indulge my self-pity since early this morning but I now admit defeat.

The voice is a powerful thing. Mine is a loud, sing-a-long, enthusiastic, opinionated, sociable, not-often-kept-to-myself kind of voice. Losing the power of my voice makes me realize just how much I depend on it. I need it to fulfill my responsibilities but more selfishly, I use it for my own enjoyment.

Today I have no voice. None. I can manage nothing more than a barely audible, hoarse bark. While taking out some recyclables, I bent to pick up an item I dropped and shocked myself with the unearthly squeak that involunarily escaped my throat. I felt like Westley in the Princess Bride when they force a moan from his body that had been tortured in the pit of despair.

I miss singing. Nothing brings the spirit of Christmas like music. Christmas songs are my favorites and I know almost every single word. I look forward to Dec. 1st when we begin singing Christmas hymns in church. My vocal quality is scarcely better than average but I love to sing, I sing all the time and I sing loudly. I drove to church this morning listening to Christmas hymns and silently lamenting that I would not be able to join the congregation in praising the Lord with my voice today. I tried to make the best of my situation by noticing other things that might normally have been drowned out by the sound of my own voice. I noticed that all of the bishopric sings bass and it was fun to hear their voices. I noticed a mother lovingly cuddle two of her young children and a emtpy-nester couple holding hands. I focused on the meaning of the lyrics and felt the music I so desperately wanted to sing. I couldn't share scriptures or thoughts in Sunday School or Relief Society and could only smile at friends saying hello. I kept to myself because it was just easier that way.

The usual shout to call the kids for lunch had to be replaced with a deliberate walk all the way upstairs for a more personal inviation for frozen pizza. After cleaning up the dishes I really needed a nap. Natalie needed one as well and since Jon would be at the church for many more hours, I depended on the big kids to entertain and care for themselves. I woke a couple of hours later, grateful for kids who played peacefully (not implying they were quiet, but they did not fight) even if they did make messes. What reprimands I have had to give have been very soft and up-close and personal, something I should make a habit once my voice returns.

December is a hard month for a bishop and his family. Most of his day is spent in tithing settlements. As much as I want to feel sorry for myself being home sick with three kids, I know it's long and difficult for Jon, too. When I woke from my nap I decided to do something for him, hoping it would detract from my own self-pity. I fixed a batch of rolls, knowing how much Jon loves them. When 6:30 came and went, I knew I couldn't hold dinner off any longer. After we ate, I did the dishes, which would normally be done by Jon, and covered the rolls to keep them fresh.

I miss my voice. I need it to be a mother, wife and friend. I need it to teach school (I've been teaching reading to first graders three days a week), not sure how I'll swing that one. I want to be able to sing.

Jon just got home (8:00 p.m) and that makes me feel better already. Time for this pity party to end.