A voice is a terrible thing to waste
I am sitting here in silence, wondering how it can possibly be
true. Was Mom right? Had it finally happened? Had I really talked
so much that I am now under doctor’s orders not to for the next
seven to 10 days? Did The Husband pay him to say that?
A voice is a terrible thing to waste
I am sitting here in silence, wondering how it can possibly be true. Was Mom right? Had it finally happened? Had I really talked so much that I am now under doctor’s orders not to for the next seven to 10 days? Did The Husband pay him to say that?
I am struck silent finally, by my job. I love my job. I get to interact with people all day long and tell them that they want to buy ad space and what I think should go into their space. It’s a great job. I get to sell what I think, and people actually buy it!
The problem with that is, I have to talk. A lot. So much in fact, that when I began swallowing a few days ago, I wondered how come it felt like Tiger Woods had left a couple of golf balls in my throat.
So I drank a lot while sitting at my desk, in between telling people what I think in person and over the phone. I made appointments and read ads out loud. I laughed with co-workers. I even talked to myself. Out loud. All of those wasted words; and now, I am at the mercy of my children, who very well may get used to their mother not being able to scream at them for offenses ranging from falling asleep in front of their TVs with pillows wedged up against the bottoms of their doors, so no tell-tale flickers appear from beneath (The Boy never ceases to amaze me) to not doing their chores until the last possible second, when my car is pulling into the driveway.
The irony was not lost on me. The writer, forced to write, and yet not a single pen in the house works. The Husband must be enjoying this immensely.
Before the Moratorium On Mom’s Voice, I told The Boy that I would not be talking. He smiled at me, but didn’t say anything. It scared me. I told him that he could talk to me, though. He could ask me questions that I could either nod or shake my head to.
All moms have wisdom, but what would The Kids do without my special brand of wisdom?
“Okay, mom,” He smiled again, and ran off. This is only hour one into Operation Mute Mom and already I am thinking of so many things to say. There were so many things left unsaid. We go through our lives taking our voice for granted. We always assume that we will be there to be able to say the “I love yous.”
But you all know me better than that by now. I’m wishing that I could tell The Girl to start dinner and The Boy to get ready for Tae Kwon Do class but they are upstairs and out of my line of vision so they can’t even see “The Look.”
I am going to have to rely on “The Look” a lot in the next few days. It’s the one that says, “You know what you have to do, so don’t make me get up out of this chair,” That’s the look of love, to my kids.
It really is true what your mother said. “If you keep talking all the time, you’re going to lose your voice.”
Happy now, Mom?
