Kids we love: the day I had no voice
On the very last day of August, I awoke to realize I had lost my voice.
Somewhere in my bed, I imagine, as I had it before I fell asleep, I’m sure of it.
But it was missing when I awoke, and it stayed away while I prepared for the day.
A day without a voice. Woo, boy.
Benson and I were parking the bike when a whole bunch of Buddings big girls came rushing to the window.
“Talia!” “Talia!” They shouted.
Mari pried open the mail slot and shouted out her hello.
“–” I tried.
I shook my head.
I pointed to my throat, Ariel-style, shaking my head, and then made a little attempt at a cough. Almost nothing came out, but – Lucie was here today, too! – Lucie, Clara, and Mari understood right away.
“You can’t talk?” they asked.
I shook my head.
“How come?” they asked.
But all I could do was make a small cough and shake my head once more. I gestured to them that I would see them at the gate, and headed for the door. This was going to be an interesting day.
Inside, it was end-of-the-month madness. All 16 spots were already filled from 10 – 12, and the numbers stayed in the low teens until 5pm.
I “explained” to Sarah, Sara, and Ehlssie that I had no voice, and made a sign that explained it to everyone else. I taped it across my shirt, with a sad face: I have no voice 🙁
… but actually, I wasn’t too worried. I stuck the train whistle in my back pocket and got to work.
Without a voice, Sarah and I agreed that I could still help kids in the bathroom, so I started on the list.
My girl Rachel talked the whole visit about taking care of her baby doll, and about her sister Elise, and the diapers and wipes her mom buys, at the store. I nodded along and tickled her under her chin whenever she stopped chattering – seldom – and we washed hands and she turned out the light.
Henry was next. He’s one of the sweetest boys in all of Buddings, and he is getting so big. So big, he’s potty training. When we went in, he sat through my train whistle rendition of the “pee, pee, pee” song – all in one note – and when it ended, he gave me that look, of deep concentration… and peed! “Toot! Toot!!” I whistled with pride, clapped my hands, and gave him my biggest smile!
He was also very excited.
After washing our hands, he turned out the light, and I turned back to the list.
Neither Henry nor Rachel had been bothered by my voicelessness, and actually, I’m not that surprised. Children see and experience feats of seemingly incredible skill and ability from the adults around them all the time. It doesn’t occur to them to doubt that anything could happen. We’d performed a many-step routine that they knew from practice, and what little help and guidance they’d needed, I’d been able to provide.
Me having no voice was no big deal.
Me having learned to speak train, though, was Declan’s dream come true.
I brought his wipes and diaper to the front room, so I could show him what we had to do, and as I tapped him on the shoulder, I whistled.
“Toot! Toot!”
Declan turned around eagerly, clutching to his chest:
1 small Thomas the Tank Engine toy
1 green passenger car
2 blue coal carrier cars
1 red party train car
This was as many cars as he could hold in his arms, and while they were pressed against clothes, they couldn’t have been closer to his heart. His favourite trains.
His eyes met mine, and I tooted again.
This time, the smile that spread across his face was as dazzling as the sunlight in your eyes when you come out of a long tunnel. He whistled his own signature chirp, the one reserved for his true friends, and – dropping his trains – he rushed over to me, and did a little nuzzle-greeting against my knees. It was the sweetest gesture, of a puppy, or a guinea pig, squeaking with happy affection.
We went along to the bathroom happy as can be, and I swear, in his shining eyes, I saw what it must be like to feel really understood.
The bathroom visits didn’t stop, and before we knew it, it was 12:00pm. The teachers and I got kids’ hands washed, and organized the tables, and soon everyone had their lunch in front of them, munching away.
When most of them had finished and moved on, I went to the kitchen to prepare my own food – not that I remember what it was! From behind the counter, I noticed Malcolm sitting backwards on his chair, with his mouth full of food. His lunch tray was dangerously close to the edge of the table, and the other kids were looking at him, and trying to figure out if they could turn themselves around on their chairs, too!
We were seconds away from toddler table anarchy!
“Toot! Toot! Too-OOT!” I whistled urgently.
Malcolm froze.
“Toot!” I added, gesturing – now that I had his attention – for him to turn around on his chair.
Chagrined, he quickly righted himself, and resumed eating.
“That worked,” Sarah said.
Disaster: averted.
After lunch, with three kids needing naps, and so many big kids in the house, we needed to divide and conquer.
Sara took the sleepers, and Ehlssie and I joined Jackson, Mari, Lucie, Clara, Ethan, Dalila, Mason, and Marcus, who immediately began squabbling in the front room. Julian and Arianna sat on the side-lines, but the group was still too big to function. After a warning toot from my whistle, Ari, Luce and Dalila left to play house on their own, and the rest of us began a restless weaving through the centre, looking for things to do.
For an hour, we started a number of games, beginning happy and cooperative, but endlessly escalating to loud squawks and arguments. They read books with Ehlssie, but when they got excited, the others couldn’t see, and they complained. They played music together, but the band broke up over who would play xylophone. The game that lasted the longest was one of families, friends, and neighbours, living in the two big box houses set up side-by-side – braced against the wall.
Even still, the tensions rose, and there was still an hour before snack…
When yet another eruption flared, and the kids were again shouting at each other, I realized tooting wasn’t enough.
My voice had not returned, but I was now able to push sound over my tongue, in a whisper.
The oldest trick in the teacher training manual, to cool raging tempers, everytime, is to turn off the lights. At Buddings, they’re all on one switch.
I hit it, and the squawks stopped mid-squawk.
Before the shock wore off, I knew I would have to follow up with something equally dramatic.
I gathered the kids around in a circle, and whispered that I had to tell them a story… A spooky story.
Jackson perked up instantly. He was most prone to silliness, but also had the most vivid imagination. If I could engage Jackson, the rest would follow.
“A ghost story,” I whispered, knowing his fascination with all things occult.
I quickly googled “Ghost stories for preschoolers” on the iPad in my lap and scanned the first couple hits.
The Hairy Toe came up, and I decided to go for it.
Hairy toes are funny, and the kids followed along as I whispered the words, scanning the iPad and their faces intermittently.
The old woman was looking for potatoes for a soup, found a hairy toe, cooked it up and ate it, and then went to bed.
Cue the scary winds, which I could do very convincingly, blowing softly over the train whistle. Cue the scary footsteps: we all stamped our feet, slowly. Spookily…
“I want my toe!” I cackled out, with my broken voice. “I… want… my… tooo–oe.”
The eyes that met mine were wildly waiting. They were riveted.
I scanned the rest of the story: the old woman, unable to produce the shadowy figure’s toe, was never seen again. I read the intent faces before me and decided to bring it home.
“But since the old lady’s toes weren’t hairy, the monster went away. He slammed the door and never came back, and the old lady lived happily ever after, totally safe, because she didn’t have hairy toes.
“Do you guys have hairy toes?”
Thankfully, none of them did, and we all lived happily ever after as well.
Ghost stories for kids always require some creative censoring. Thank goodness it was time for snack.
By 4:30, my voice started to come back, but it still hurt to talk, so I didn’t press it. When parents arrived, the kids told them about how I’d been unable to speak, and I nodded along, adding, with a shrug, that it had been interesting.
