Every year, Sweden holds Melodifestivalen, a highly televised song contest, to determine that year’s participant in the Eurovision Song Contest, also a highly televised song contest where different countries across Europe showcase their musical talent . . . sort of. It’s turned into a major event around our household. Every Friday during the months of February and March, we sit down in front of the TV for the show and enjoy ‘fredagsmys’ — a word I’m not even sure has an English equivalent. The literal translation would be something like ‘Friday cozy’. For us, that means the whole family sitting down together with a few snacks and enjoying a special movie or TV show. The fact that we don’t watch TV at all during the week (we don’t even have TV service. We hook up the laptop to the TV and stream the show via the internet) makes this extra special.

This past year, the kids went crazy over the entry by Ace Wilder. The song is titled Busy Doin’ Nothin’ and before she got to the chorus, I had made up my mind. I hated it. I interpreted this song to mean the singer had no desire to work and wanted to sit around all day doing nothing, while the rest of us hard-working folks paid her to do that. I emphatically told my family that we would NOT be voting for that contestant. Fifteen minutes later, I ate my words. They BEGGED me to vote for her and, being the pushover mom that I am, I caved. After all, the money wasn’t going to her.

I’ve since toned down my feelings about the song. The singer does do any number of activities that warrant compensation. The mere fact that she walked on stage counts for something. She sings, she trains, she performs. In short, she has a craft, much like I have a craft, and she deserves compensation for that. I still have a problem with the message it sends, especially while so many individuals are economically struggling. But really, she’s only singing what a lot of folks are thinking.

But now the song is stuck in my head forever. It’s one of those songs. I hear it at the most inopportune moments.

Today is one of those days. I began the day, bright and early, with an 8 am appointment at the dentist, so they could evaluate the status of my four-year-old’s teeth. Ten days ago, he was chasing after one of his friends and fell face first on the pavement. X-rays revealed he had killed his two front teeth, or at least the pulp, and they were going to come out — one way or another. The dentist left his teeth in, wiggling and all, and we set up a ten-day treatment program. In ten days, if they hadn’t fallen out, they would do the deed. This morning, they surprised me. They changed their mind. The gums around the little wigglers have grown stronger and now they think it’s best to leave them alone until they fall out on their own.

Great news! We treated ourselves to a cinnamon bun (don’t tell!) and I dropped him off at preschool.

Less than an hour later and I get the call. One of those calls.

“Mrs. Blomberg? There’s been an accident.”

He had jumped off a wooden jumping peg onto another wooden jumping peg on the playground, but missed. His head smacked into the edge of the wooden log and by the time I got to the preschool, he was sporting the largest bump I have ever seen on his forehead. It looked completely unnatural. It shouldn’t even have been possible. Needless to say, we spent most of the day at the doctor’s office and after a thorough check they sent us home with some after-care instructions and warning signs to watch out for.

He’s finally curled up on the couch next to me, sleeping. I get to wake him every few hours and check on him – all day and all night.

My thoughts at this point are mush. I can’t dive into any editing projects I have. I certainly can’t write anything new. And so for the past thirty minutes, I’ve sat like a zombie in front of the computer screen while that annoying song keeps running through my head.

‘Busy, busy, busy doin’ nothin’ at all . . .’

 

 

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