Can we talk? Our school has a lice problem. Or rather nit problem as they say here. My children keep bringing home nit alert notes from school. The note says if your children have nits keep them home. But that’s ridiculous. They are getting the nits from school. What is this? Paintball? Wham, you’re down. Time to leave the arena?
I do my best, I check regularly. I’ve spent a fortune on treatment. Nothing seems to work. So now I condition and comb so much my children’s hair has lost its will to live. It lies lank and listless against their skulls.
I feel like I’ve done my bit. They go clean to school and yet they come back with hitchhikers clinging to their roots.
So now I jump on them the second they walk through the door. I’ve got a range of combs. White plastic, metal, the superlative Nitty Gritty. I personally like the white ones because the lice show up to my huge satisfaction. I repeatedly comb through my children’s hair, deaf to their screams. And out they come. The little suckers. Actually large suckers. Big massive juveniles with ipods sticking out of their ears. A couple of smug mom types wearing BabyBjorns. And their itty bitty eggs, quaking with potential.
I have become obsessed. I’ve taken to telling my children not to sit too close to others. I’ve taken to hugging them with my head stretched back so far away it’s barely attached to my neck. I’ve taken to leaping on any tiny black spot in my house.
Personally, I think our entire neighborhood needs to be fumigated. But with this credit crunch I just don’t think it’s in the budget.
picture by alvaro tapia hidalgo (flickr)