Not the Medicine the Doctor Prescribed

Stinkerbelle is recovering from a fairly nasty chest cold. And while she does, we’re housebound, for the most part.

This is good. She needs the quiet time. She’s not been sleeping well, so she’s pretty tired, but also, whenever she gets active, it sets her to coughing pretty furiously. So we have been trying to keep things pretty low-key.

This means we’ve been trying to find quieter activities. We have watched A LOT of TV, mostly gentle things like Kipper and School House Rock. We’ve folded loads of laundry. We got out the purse and hair bows and costume bling that That Girl got for Xmas and spent some time getting GORGEOUS, DAHLING. And I have done more laps of the attic than I care to count, pulling Stinkerbelle and assorted stuffed pals around in the wagon she got for Xmas from her Auntie Tena and Uncle Randy.

But it’s hard, being quiet and stuck at home, for both of us.

A couple of days ago, Stinkerbelle had a pretty rough night, and so the next day she was feverish and tired and her sleep schedule was totally effed up. Consequently, we found ourselves at 8 pm with a little girl who had no intention of sleeping. So we thought we’d let her sit up with us and watch something on TV.

The problem? We were watching one of our favourite movies, Pirate Radio. Which, set in the 60s in a rebellious floating rock radio station, you may know is peppered with a lot of the more colourful language that a pair of potty mouths like BDH and especially me have been trying to censor around the small parrot we call Stinkerbelle, at least until we can teach her the concepts of “appropriate use” and “power of language”, which won’t be for a long while yet. So.

But, remote control in hand, we figured we could just skip past the more colourful moments and just enjoy the brilliant music and the fun of the movie. So we did. Well, you can’t skip ALL the cuss words and off-colour references. PARENTING FAIL. But That Girl was pretty lethargic and quiet, and mostly was in it for the snuggle time with Daddy, and kind of dozed a bit of the time. So we had a nice time and when it was over, she was plonked into bed with no argument and went right to sleep.

But that night, I made note of the mess that is our movie collection since our reorganization of the attic space. And yesterday, I thought it would be something quiet to do for Stinkerbelle and I to sort and organize our movies together. I could sort and shelve, and Stinkerbelle had piles of movies to stack up and use like big blocks. So that was fun. We completely reorganized our shelves of movies, into what I thought was a good personal system but most people would find completely unfathomable.

So that was good for a couple of hours of fun for That Girl, AND I tacked a project that has needed doing for quite a while. And we chatted and played and sang songs while we worked.

Stinkerbelle has finally given up singing Christmas songs, and for the last week or so has been singing her usual school songs and kids’ songs. Sometimes she just sings random snippets of tunes or little songs she’s made up. But for the last day or two, she’s been singing a little song over and over again. It’s not been one I recognized, but that’s nothing new. I often don’t clue into the songs she’s picked up at school until I hear it from the source — Stinkerbelle’s versions tend to be faithful in spirit but not so much in lyrical accuracy or tunefulness.

Yesterday she kept singing this song, though. And then she’d look to me and say “Now your turn, Mommy!” I couldn’t join in because I had no idea what it was. She was growing frustrated that I could not clue in.

And then, yesterday afternoon, I asked her what she wanted to watch. She kept saying something about “The Girl” but I had no idea what she was talking about. So I sat here and watched her walk over to the shelves of videos. She looked through the spines of the videos — she can’t read, remember — and eventually, on the fourth shelf, she pulled out a video and said “THIS ONE, Mommy!” and thrust it at me.

Not a Disney movie, or a cartoon, or one of the many kids’ movies we have in our collection. Oh no. Not my kid.

It was Pirate Radio.

And she started singing her little song. And suddenly, I clued in.

I put Pirate Radio in the DVD player, and watched as Stinkerbelle sat, enraptured, as one of the best, most joyous opening scenes in our movie collection unfolded, and Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s awesome deejay’s intro and the opening strains of The Kinks’ “All Day and All of the Night” burst from our speakers. And in time with the music and the people dancing through the opening sequence, Stinkerbelle suddenly started singing along and dancing for all she was worth, a little jig of joy around the room.

I stifled the tears of pride and joined her singing and doing my best worst 60s dance moves.

When the opening sequence was done and the song was over, she shouted “AGAIN MOMMY!”

We watched it over and over, maybe ten times or more.

So much for restfulness. It seems That Girl had some energy to burn. And that pretty much indicated she was recovered from her cold.

She’s got a bit of a cough still, and we’re keeping her out of swimming today until the meds she’s got have had a good kick at the ear infection she had brewing. One more day at home will be good, and then it’s back to school tomorrow.

But I am sure today will be a more energetic day. And probably there will be some 60s rock and roll to keep things interesting.

2 thoughts on “Not the Medicine the Doctor Prescribed

  1. It is amazing what little ears pick up and remember when we think they are not listening or paying attention.
    I am glad she is feeling better and hope BDH is improving as well.
    Love to all.

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