We have a particular strain of common cold at our house, one characterized by a bad ass cough; not “the hack” from last year, which was a dry, irritating cough, but a real thick, hearty soup of a cough. A beef stew of a cough, if you will.
I feel for the wee duffers, I really do. They are ridden with snot that we keep trying to swipe away and at random intervals their lungs seize and they are wracked with coughing fits and their eyes are watering and they can’t drink hot tea or take cold medicine so they just have to suffer. I know they are not dangerously sick because between the attacks of snot and stew and general pathetic-osity they are quite willing to play, shout, frolic and ask questions. However, because of the throat issues, the shouting in question, it is so very, very…
…muted. Our house has not been this quiet in months.
Yesterday afternoon Fresco had no voice at all. The injustice of it! Quiet as the day he was born! Whenever he opened his mouth to say anything, this hoarse, rasping noise came out, like he had spent the previous day at an outdoor rock concert shouting “HELL YEAH, FREEBIRD!” and smoking unfiltered cigarettes.
Of course it is sad when one’s children are sick. But 1) they are sick so much I don’t so much bother misting up anymore and 2) it is just plain funny when this particular child opens his mouth and nothing comes out. Don’t anyone fret; as of this evening he is clawing his way back up to Shout Force 2000 and that is its own relief. After this many months, we are learning to embrace his boisterous ways and anything different does mean he is not himself. We miss him when he’s not himself.
And of course, as soon as the kids are better we too will succumb. So we laugh while we can.