Ninja Illness

Have you ever noticed that during the times when you're sick enough to lose your voice and no one can hear you anymore that apparently they can't see you any more, either?

I am Ninja!

With laryngitis.

There you are, stuck with one crying child in your arms and another in a swing and you're waving your arms madly at your 6 year old as if you're trying to catch some air and she can't see you. Now, this is mitigated by the fact that she's reading and you know she can't hear anything while she's reading (apparently an inheritable trait from moi), including your desperate Psst! Psssst! Now you sound like a tire expiring upon the road, but you cannot be heard over the cries of twins.

Now what?

Now, of course, you pound on the table like you're trying to make a point in debate class. When that doesn't work, it's time to pound on the wall like an inmate trying to get out.

An inmate of the loony bin, of course.

Where else would you find such a sight? Wild eyed, wild haired, PJ-clad woman desperate to escape.

To the bathroom.

I think I might have to produce some paper signs to wave about.

I spent all night tap-tap-tapping Eric on the chest like that famous Raven, only there would be no croaking Nevermore! from my throat. Whispering just doesn't have that oomph, ya know?

Tap tap = Get the baby.
Tap tap tap = Take this baby.
Tap tap tap! = Get the other baby.
Tap tap tap tap = Take this one now.

Booting with feet didn't go over well, I noticed.

So here I sit, trapped in my own silent movie.

I am a game of charades gone entirely wrong.