It wasn’t like I was proud of my hair in a haughty way. I never viewed it as better than anyone else’s hair, just better than the permed, dyed, flat-ironed, Jersey mess it used to be. But then two weeks ago I got a case of head lice so severe that I started contemplating shaving it all off. For real. Because after three unsuccessful pesticide rinses in an eleven-day period, I missed out on Thanksgiving festivities because I was holed up in my aunt’s guest bathroom soaking my hair in yellow Listerine (for an hour), cidar vinegar (for an hour), and olive oil (for yet another hour), per the doctor’s orders. And as I tearfully removed nits from what little hair I had left, I heard: “Uh-oh. Mama!” I turned my Medusa dreds toward the door and there stood TWO, the very child I hadn’t seen in three hours, with an accident soaking through her pajama pants. “I forgot I didn’t have a pull-up on.”
After suffocating my family with lice and urine apologies, I left Chicago early Friday morning with a scalp so fried that I couldn’t lift my eyebrows without wincing. Yet I could still see nits in the mirror. How was it possible? I broke down. My scalp was bleeding and I felt the lice creeping through the smoking debris on my head, and down my neck. I conceded. They’d won. And somewhere between Illinois and Indiana, while on the phone with a “Lice Happens” technician, my pride resurfaced just long enough to force me into asking if they would be parking a plain, inconspicuous vehicle in front of my house, or one with a company logo on the side.
By the time we hit the Pennsylvania Turnpike the sun had set and girls looked like they might finally fall asleep. And while I didn’t want to put a pull-up on TWO (because clearly I’m aware of the mixed signals they send) we didn’t have another car seat, should she mistake hers for a toilet. So I grabbed the extra pull-up I’d stashed in the snack bag, only to find it filled with pizza flavored goldfish. I shook it out and told her to lift her bottom a little. I banged my head on the portable DVD player while trying to remove her skirt and underwear without taking off her seatbelt, but her legs were locked and I couldn’t get her underwear off. I smiled at her instinctive chastity and said a silent prayer that she’d always keep her legs locked in such a manner. But before I could seal my thoughts with an “amen,” her legs boinged opened like kitchen tongs, almost splitting her panties into two perfect strips of material. When I finally got the pull-up on, and fell back against my seat, she started whining:
“Mama, I don’t want this pull-up! I smell like a snack!”
Which led to the hunger whines, and TWO having to go to the bathroom. Badly. And after all the lectures about never using the pull-up when she was awake, I couldn’t tell her to pee on herself. So we started looking for gas stations. After ten miles of pee squirming and whimpering, we found a bathroom. In a McDonald’s. It was the first time they’d ever been in a McDonald’s. And they were hungry. And there was nothing else nearby. And then they found the Happy Meal display. What’s that? Hello Kitty and food?
The next day, a lice technician showed up and combed through everyone’s hair, during which time she also gave my husband a card with laminated lice on it, and he said:
HUSBAND: You know, the lice on her head didn’t look anything like this.
NICE LICE TECHNICIAN: Really? Because I can’t find anything in her hair, either. What did they look like?
My husband walked over and they dug through my scalp together, like I wasn’t even in the room.
HUSBAND: Like this.
NICE LICE TECHNICIAN: That’s not a nit.
HUSBAND: What is it?
NICE LICE TECHNICIAN: I don’t know, but it’s not lice. Or any other bug. Maybe just some dried skin?
My jaw dropped. (Just like in the predictible, made-for-TV movies.)
ME (whispering): But…but…but…the doctor said it was lice.
NICE LICE TECHNICIAN: Well, honestly, it’s been my experience that doctors aren’t always good at identifying lice and…
I’m pretty sure the conversation continued on. Words were exchanged. A check written. Good-byes said. But all I could think about were how many hours I’d spent in the bathroom scouring my scalp with a mini pitchfork, how I’d missed out on seconds of Thanksgiving dinner, how my child didn’t have to pee on my aunt’s new mattress…or learn that McDonald’s served food.
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{ 19 comments }
at least it wasn’t ‘the bugs of which we do not speak’… right? maybe it’ll inspire a cute short haircut? er…now you’ve got some good material for your next standup?… it could always be worse!
ha! you are so right! (and I am actually thinking about cutting it off…)
Yep. My old school nurse could NEVER find or ID them. I used to always have to tape one off the kid’s head and send it up to prove that the child DID INDEED have lice. My experience comes from being a camp counselor and a teacher many years… Oh… that and I had lice. LOL Glad you don’t have it. Here’s to your scalp healing!!
“I smell like a snack!!”
I’m sorry, I just can’t get past that line. Hilarious!
I’m with Gibby. I am going to be laughing all day remembering that. So sorry about your not-lice experience, but this is hysterical. When the heck is someone going to give you a book contract?
After the past two weeks, my ego totally needed a little boost. Thank you, Alison!
so glad you don’t have it!!! my mom couldn’t enroll my older sister and I for school right after we moved once. We were in elementary school and the nurse had discovered we had Them when we were in the enrollment process. There are five of us total…5 girls with long, thick hair….and we all had Them. The house smelled like Lysol for a long time….and all our stuffed animals had to be bagged and tagged and banished to the attic for months!
That sounds absolutely horrific! I cannot even begin to imagine how awful that must have been. Your poor mother. (And you guys too, of course!)
So glad you did not have lice!!! I thought I caught it once at Brownie Camp and now I religiously spray my head with water and tea tree oil any time I go near them!!! LMAO!!
The wonders of motherhood!
oh wow…did you call the DR and rip him a new one? I would have…
but uh, at least it’s not lice…
HORRIBLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I mean good thing it wasn’t lice, but part of me woulda been kinda pissed, too.
YES! Thank you for understanding! After all that, part of me really wanted something to have been wrong…of course having lice was a crappy option, too.
I am so sorry this happened to you. I’m really glad it’s not lice.
You are kidding me with this.
No f-ing way! You didn’t have it after all? Un be lievable. You should have come here for Barfsgiving instead of driving to Chi-town. Misery loves company.
Oh. My. God. I’m so glad you don’t/didn’t have it. Honestly. But to go through all that olive oil/Listerine/nit picking hell? Hugs, hugs, hugs and an itch-free scalp to you, dear friend. (btw – Tea Tree Oil Shampoo helps dry scalp/dandruff too!)
I went out and bought it! It’s really soothing and minty. Thank you so much for the recommendation.
This is the worst day/week/holiday I’ve heard of. This is just tear-rolling-down-my-face awful. And Gibby’s still right because “I smell like a snack” is beyond awesome, as comedy relief goes.
Sorry about your lice-shaped dandruff, sweets. Glad Jane got to your blog earlier than I did, because I would have said tea tree oil. It is a daily (diluted) leave-in spray for everyone in our house because of the frequency with which letters go home about lice at school.