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When you're a veteran parent and been through most of the small
stuff, and quite a bit of the big stuff too, there's very little that phases
you. Bloody noses, poop-plosions up infant's backs, catching your kids puke in
your hands (which is completely nasty but easier than running the steam cleaner
for 3 hours trying to get the stain out of the carpet)....it is just part of a
parent's life.
Until the dreaded "L"
word makes an appearance. No, it's not love, it's... (Insert dramatic dun dun dun musical effect here.) LICE.
Ugh. I can't hear/see/type that
word without automatically getting the heebie jeebie scalpy itchy creepy
crawlies. (Admit it, you just scratched your own head didn't you? It’s
psychosomatic or something.) Now, to be fair, I'm not a fan of any bugs
let alone ones that are shared between kids at the park. Although, I do find it
ironic that we spend all this time teaching our kids to share and then it
backfires when they bring things home the flu, chicken pox, or lice. Then we're
like, "I take it all back! DON'T SHARE THAT! Give it back, give it back,
give it back!"
I have dreaded the loathsome
"L" word since the first time I dealt with it when my oldest was
about 3 years old. Ever since then I've done pagan insect sacrifices and done
the dance of the terrified parent people during the full moon just to stave off
these disgusting critters. It must have worked, or perhaps I have just managed
to have a really long streak of luck, because I've managed to dodge that bullet
for multiple years and multiple kids. (I am not sure how many I actually have
at this rate because I think that they multiple in dark corners when I’m not
looking. Judging by the amount of food I buy though, there’s at least 14 of
them.)
And then I get a message from
the youngest kid’s daycare that there's been a child with lice and that we
should be doing head checks to make sure that it didn't spread to anyone else.
OH MY GOD IT'S HAPPENING! THROW
AWAY EVERY SINGLE STUFFED ANIMAL IN THE HOUSE! WASH THE BEDDING IN BOILING
WATER! BETTER YET, BURN THE BEDDING! BURN THE HATS. ANYTHING THAT'S TOUCHED HIS
HEAD, BURN IT ALL TO THE GROUND!
Of course that panic attack manifests itself mentally as I’m
outwardly calm and combing through the kid’s head, checking for the slightest
sign of intruders while simultaneously praying to the Gods that he didn’t
socialize with the infected and calculating how many bottles of RID I’m going
to have to buy to treat the entire family. And because I can multitask like
nobody’s business, all the while I’m texting the daycare woman for information.
“So, this kid that had the lice, how close is she to my kid on a
daily basis? Like “let’s try on each other’s hats” or just casual acquaintances
who meet at the sand box? What are we talking about here? I just need to know.”
Fortunately she’s experienced with the various and assorted versions
of Mom paranoia and knows how to reassure me that my kid and this kid don’t
really interact that much and it’s more than likely isolated to this kid but
they wanted to make parents aware as a precaution. (And because kids are all “Let’s
try on each other’s hats!”)
So as of now, the pagan insect sacrifices are still soothing the
Gods and keeping the harmony and peace in the kid’s hairy neighborhood. I’m
probably going to have to double down on the rituals though. He starts kindergarten
in September. Or as it’s commonly known amongst us parents: The-cesspool-of-germs-and-goo-that-shall-not-be-named-but-will-probably-be-passed-around-the-playground.
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