Sore Throats & Sour Pickles

“Whew! My throat hurts. That was a hard song to sing, wasn’t it?” Jessie asked her friend Justin.

“Yeah, especially since we had to sing it eight times to get it right,” Justin replied.

“Okay, kids!” said the choir director. “We only have one more practice before we sing in church for your parents, so keep practicing at home.”

In the car, Jessie hummed as her dad drove her and Justin home. Justin frowned. “Jessie, do you have to keep humming that song? We already sang it enough tonight.”

“But I really want to get my part right,” Jessie explained. Justin rolled his eyes as Jessie turned toward the window and continued to hum softly. She hummed all the way into the house and to her bedroom. Jessie sang as she put on her pj’s and even tried to sing as she brushed her teeth— “Praish shim, praish shim!” Jessie finally stopped singing when her parents came to say good night.

“It sounds like you enjoyed music practice tonight,” said Mom. “You’ve been singing all evening.”

“Yeah, I want to get it right, so I’m practicing as much as I can, except my throat feels kinda scratchy.” Jessie coughed.

“Well, maybe your poor throat just needs some rest,” said Dad.

“Maybe,” said Jessie, settling onto her pillow. Jessie’s parents kissed her good night and were just leaving when Jessie suddenly let out a huge sneeze—whaachooo!

“Oh, dear,” said Mom. “That doesn’t sound too good. Get some rest. Hopefully, you’ll feel fine in the morning.”

But Jessie did not feel fine in the morning—she felt terrible! Her nose was stuffy, her eyes were puffy, and her throat hurt! Jessie wrapped her robe around her and tromped down the stairs in her slippers. “Mom,” she croaked softly. “My throat hurts.”

Mom felt Jessie’s forehead. “Hmm. You better go back to bed. I’ll check on you in awhile.” Jessie trudged back to bed and fell asleep.

Two hours later, Mom finally woke Jessie to take her temperature. “Would you like to come downstairs?” Mom asked.

Jessie opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. She tried again but could only make squawking noises.

“It sounds like you have laryngitis,” said Mom. “It’s probably from catching a cold and singing so much yesterday.”

“But, Mom,” Jessie squeaked.

“Uh-uh.” Mom shook her finger. “No talking. Let your throat rest while you get over your cold.”

Jessie got comfy on the couch downstairs and leaned back to watch a cartoon on TV. Soon she was feeling hungry. “Hmm,” she wondered, “how can I tell Mom I’m ready for lunch?”

Jessie waved at her mom, trying to get her attention. “Yes, your Majesty?” Mom teased.

Jessie tried to speak, but she sounded like a croaking toad. She snapped her mouth shut and frowned.

“I told you, no talking,” said Mom. “Let’s make a game out of it; you can use signs, and I’ll try to guess what you mean.”

Jessie nodded and thought to herself, “How do I say lunch?” Finally, she put her fingers up to her mouth and pretended to chew some food.

“You’re a cow chewing gum?” asked Mom.

Jessie held out her hands and shook her head as if to say, “What?! No!”

But Mom laughed and said, “I’m just kidding. Would you like some lunch?”

Jessie nodded her head eagerly—yes!

Mom went to the kitchen and soon came back with a cheese sandwich and a small bowl of applesauce. Jessie prayed then bit into her sandwich. “Hmm, it’s missing something,” she thought to herself. “But how do I get Mom to understand I want pickles?”

Jessie poked at her sandwich.

“You want another sandwich?” asked Mom.

Jessie shook her head.

“You don’t like your sandwich?” Mom guessed again.

Jessie gave up and tried to speak. “I ’ant ’ickles.” But her words sounded like a squeaky little bird.

Mom stared at Jessie. “Umm.” She thought for a moment then exclaimed, “I know! I’ll be right back.”

Jessie sighed with relief, glad her mom finally understood. Soon Mom came back into the room, smiling. But she wasn’t bringing pickles—she was carrying Freckles, Jessie’s cat!

“Here’s Freckles to snuggle with you.” Mom started to hand Freckles to Jessie, but Jessie didn’t want the cat! She shook her hands frantically. Poor Freckles didn’t know what to think. He peered back and forth at Jessie and her Mom—and then decided to bolt! The fat cat leaped from Mom’s hands, pounced up and over the couch, and raced up the stairs to find a quiet place to hide.

“I must have guessed wrong,” admitted Mom. Then she got an idea and handed a pencil and paper to Jessie. “Here, Jessie. Try writing it.”

Jessie grabbed the paper and wrote the word pickles on it then handed it back to her mom.

Mom looked at the paper and laughed. “Oh! You wanted pickles for your sandwich.”

Jessie nodded and clapped.

Mom went to the kitchen and came back with a dish of dill pickles. “There you go,” she said.

Jessie bit into a sour pickle, which made her lips pucker up. “Finally,” Jessie thought to herself, “Mom got the right message.” She grinned and gave her mom a thumbs-up.

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