The tired, the weary, and her wardrobe

I lost my voice this week. I wasn't sick, I was just without vocal chord function. You don't realize how much you need your voice until it is absent- how much you depend on sound to follow the forward momentum of thought as it makes its nearly instantaneous journey from your brain out your mouth in the form of words.

The funny thing is that when you whisper to people, they whisper back. People helping me in stores, friends, and especially Ella would carry on entire conversations in an unnecessary whisper. How polite a species we are...

Ella was very concerned about the whereabouts of my lost voice. Initially she thought the sea witch from the Little Mermaid had stolen it like she had Ariel's, but when that seemed a tad far fetched, she narrowed her theories a bit closer to home.

We were dog sitting for the lovely and very mild-mannered Zoe this past week. Ella ventured, "Zoe and Mochy and I could go look for your voice. Maybe it is behind the couch. That would be a good hiding place for a voice," she mused. And then, "But I don't think I can reach under there..."

Perhaps, if I really want to find my lost voice I should look in the same place that all my lost hours of sleep are- I would bet money they have some clandestine hiding place. Friday night I got 4 hours of seriously broken sleep and last night a mere 5 1/2. Restlessness, stress, ear infections and sheer curiosity to see how much their Momma can take have my children waking at the craziest hours these days...

We made cookies today- Ella outfitted in her tulle princess dress with full wings under her red "Cookie Taster" apron felt she needed a new name to go with her fairy chef persona. "How about Chef Ella?" I very unimaginatively suggested.

"How about Tinkerbell Rockstar?" she returned.

Following the cookie baking (which it turned out she didn't like the cookies because I made them with less sugar and whole wheat flour- the health conscious be damned) she got the hiccups. (Okay, I have to say, this account makes my life sound REALLY, REALLY boring even to me, but it was kind of funny...) She got some apple juice and said, "This apple juice will go down and make my hiccups so slippery they'll slide right away."

I'm going to hold out the possibility that Ella wouldn't eat the cookies because the truth is she was having and internal gastrointestinal wrestling match with the stomach flu. After a couple of rather dramatic episodes of vomiting this afternoon, I got her in the tub to clean her up and asked her what she wanted to wear. Comfy fleece pants? Pajamas?

She lifts her head, eyes tired and hair matted with vomit. "A skirt and a shirt and tights," she offers weakly. And then, with more gumption, "my black velvet twirly skirt with a pink shirt."

That's my girl...