Call Me Larry

Right now, I’m whimpering, “I WANT to be woman!”

For over a week, I have had laryngitis. (You got really confused by that first sentence didn’t ya?)

As far as I know, everything is still intact…except the voice. I’m trying to remember if I have been drugged and forced into a non-consensual sex change. I FEEL like a woman, I HOPE I look like a woman…although I have been pretty slack on the hair and make-up these last few days…

Alright. I look like Mufasa.

This strain of laryngitis didn’t cause me to lose my voice completely.
(I wish.) This is the kind where my voice is so deep; the choir’s bass section has given me an invitation to fill in for bubba.

It’s been rough. My cell phone’s automatic sensor doesn’t ‘recognize’ my voice…and it’s because I sound like Gollum- on drugs.

When I laugh, I sound like a SiNiSteR madman. My cackle startles the kids. (Hey- when you look like Mufasa and sound like Gollum…)
In an act of self-preservation, they retreat like spooked kittens, backs arched, carefully backing away from me...

This bout of laryngitis has had its perks. Last Thursday when I woke up in the morning, I turned to my sleeping husband. Grinning wickedly, I tried to turn the 'sexy’ on. “HeLLo HaNdSoMe,” I said in my throaty voice, winking, my voice 10 octaves lower than normal.
(James Earl Jones has nothing on me)

I’ve never seen a man startle awake and fall out of a bed - in quite the way he did.
Darn hubby. He took all the blankets with him.
Sigh.

Since I am up for the day, I make some plans.

Another PerK? Waking up the kids. If I get as good of a reaction as I got from my husband…THIS is going to be fun….
(Two devil-like horns sprouted from the top of my head)

But my kids are fast learners. They figure out how to play this game. The kids discover that mom’s ‘infirmity’ is a definite advantage. They begin to torment each other in pure delight, knowing mom can’t yell at them to stop, so they pretend they ‘can’t hear’ as they continue to scream through the house like chipmunks on 15 cups of coffee.

(Yeah, that’s a pretty precise visual. I suppose if you DID give a chipmunk 15 cups of coffee, aside from the endless, frenzied circles they’d be spinning, it would equal the accuracy of my children’s regular behavior…)

SiLLy, amateurish kids. Scream all you want.

Moms are wickedly resourceful. We ALwaYs have a secret weapon. (No, not the remote control. The other one, the one we use in times of absolute desperation.)

I begin to sing.

Singing while afflicted with laryngitis is, by far, the worst act of torture you can execute on your kids.
I started to serenade them…and I sounded worse than William Hung. (If you really want to hear him sing, Google: William Hung and you’ll develop great empathy for my kids – and what I subjected them too. But I don’t care- I kept singing, happily fulfilling my torturous act.)

Today, I’m mute.

Realizing the kids don’t understand pantomimes, or how to interpret sign language, I stay pretty quiet. When the kids DO act up, I look like a football referee as I try to intervene.
“You!” I say authoritatively, using my extra-deep ‘man’ voice, “Flag down, 2nd penalty. Offensive lineman, you will go to your corner! If I see you stand up, 5 minutes will be added to the clock!” With a warning glance to my other kids I say, “Offensive backfield, you will be penalized too by going to your rooms for personal fouls. Mom’s room is now the ‘red zone’,” I growl hoarsely. “You can forget the ‘line of scrimmage’, for there’s no such thing, and if you ‘fumble’ your way out of time-out and I SEE you, they’ll be no ‘hail Mary’s’- and I’ll squash you.”
(As I move my arms, I look like I’m dancing to ‘Mr. Robotic’)

Due to the laryngitis/mute strain taking over, my hashed voice, my determination hamburger, and the kids trying to reign over the household like PeTeR PaN’s Lost Boy’s where adults don’t exist - I desperately resort to the previously mentioned and now acceptable, secret weapon.

I hand them the ‘all powerful’ remote control.

As the chaos stills, it puts a grin of exhilaration on my face and I wonder. Is it just MY family, MY kids who pounce for an opportunity to exercise control when mom ‘loses’ her voice?

When it happens to you, never underestimate the power of mom’s ‘secret weapons’: The remote control, William Hung’s sing-a-long tapes- and a referee whistle.