Have I ever told you the story of the time a musky male yoga teacher who was twice my age tried to massage all seven of my chakras with his pulsating kundalini?
Oh sure, we can laugh now, but at the time I probably should have filed a police report, or at least demanded dinner first.
Anyhooo, I’m sharing that gem over In The Powder Room today and I’d love for you to read it. Bring a mat, a yoga block, and some pepper spray.
Namaste, hookers.
-Leslie
When we last left our heroine, she was about to save her helpless child from a repulsive infestation of head lice!
(You can get all caught up with how I discovered the infestation here.)
Say it with me, y’all: “Ewwwwww!”
I couldn’t agree more.
Even though I was as skeeved as could possibly be, there was really no choice but to suit up and duke it out with those beasty blood-sucking bastards.
As a serial do-it-yourselfer, I really wanted to see if I could McGyver a solution out of everyday household items like duct tape, lighter fluid, and a weed whacker, but my inner parenting voice said no.
So instead, I turned to the refrigerator and the box o’ dog grooming supplies.
That’s right, people. Armed with nothing but a large jar of Hellman’s and my dog’s plastic flea comb, I set to work.
(NOTE: I chose the flea comb, which was clean and hadn’t been used in years, because it had very fine teeth. However, if you go that route, take it from me and do not share that detail with your child’s teacher or school nurse. Trust me on this one.)
First I combed out as many bugs and nits as I could find. Then I slathered my child’s head with my least favorite condiment, combed it through, and wrapped my child’s melon with cling wrap…being careful not to cover his/her nose or mouth. (I know – best Mom ever.)
The Google said the mayo would need to be on for 8 hours to properly suffocate the live lice. Unfortunately for us, our dog wouldn’t leave my sandwich-flavored child alone and we only got 3 hours of “mayo time” in before the grease dripping down his/her neck and the constant attention from the dog drove my child to the brink of insanity.
“MOM! HELP! IKE IS LICKING ME AGAIN!”
So we washed out the mayo, or tried to at least. I haven’t seen hair that greasy since I accidentally left the lid off the Vaseline jar when Mini-Me was a toddler.
Worried the partial mayo treatment wasn’t going to be effective, I looked for another home remedy…preferably one that wouldn’t kill any of my child’s brain cells or turn him/her into an extra large dog treat.
After thoroughly researching the myriad options…
In a nutshell, it requires thoroughly covering the hair with a copious amount of Cetaphil facial cleanser, and thoroughly blow drying it so as to “shrink-wrap” each hair strand therefore suffocating the live lice.
It took three afternoons, evenly spaced three weeks apart, and was a bit labor intensive (takes a lot longer to blow dry hair that is saturated with Cetaphil), but it was safe and it worked. We are officially lice-free.
Supposedly with The Cetaphil Treatment, removing nits is optional because the three weekly treatments completely interrupt the life cycle. But I didn’t want to take any chances, so I ended up buying a professional nit-picking comb called the Nit Free Terminator Lice Comb. The extra-fine stainless steel teeth are much more effective (and less disturbing to others) than my dog’s plastic flea comb.
Oddly enough, I actually enjoyed the nit picking process. This probably comes as no surprise to my husband who has been the brunt of my figurative nit picking for the last 18 years. There was just something remarkably Zen about methodically combing through small sections of coconut scented wet hair in search of buried treasure. Maybe I’m just weird, but I dug it. Perhaps because it was one of the few elements of my life where I could actually see my progress and feel like I was accomplishing something.
It was also a great opportunity to have uninterrupted conversations with my child. Not that I would recommend a head lice infestation as a way to connect with one of your kids on a deeper level, but seeing the nit comb as half full rather than half empty is one of my finer qualities.
I’ve also learned there are folks who rid people of lice for a living! Apparently they make big bucks too. So I’m thinking I could become a Professional Nit Picker if this blogging thing doesn’t work out. Hey, I already own the comb.
So the moral of this story is this…
1.) Lice happens.
2.) Trust your gut and know what to look for.
3.) DON’T PANIC!!!!!!!!!!
4.) Buy a good nit comb. If you have kids, you’re going to need it eventually.
5.) Learn the facts and find the Zen in nit picking.
Or hell, pay me to do it for you—special pricing for readers of The Bearded Iris!
Honestly, the hardest part of this experience was the embarrassment of having to notify the school and my child’s friends. But most of them had been through it before and were very compassionate about the whole thing (the ones who replied, that is). My child was even invited to a slumber party by one of those parents, so I’m relieved to know that we aren’t marked for life…at least for head lice, anyway. {Bless our hearts.}
Tune in next time and I’ll share some tried-and-true tips I’ve learned from other parents and teachers on how to reduce your child’s chances of getting lice in the first place. You’ll be glad you did!
Triumphantly yours,
Leslie The Lice Lambaster
Ah Mother’s Day—a special day set aside just for us, and the women who ruined us.
Mom—wait, where are you going?
You know I’m just kidding, right?
(*cough cough cough*)
Sorry. I didn’t mean to wheeze on your St. John Knit. Sometimes I just have trouble breathing at my full lung capacity. Oh, no reason.
Anyhooo.
Sorry I haven’t called. I’ve just been so busy with my breathing treatments, and cranial reshaping therapy, and all. No—it’s okay! You didn’t know! It was 1970. Nobody knew not to pick babies up by their heads back then. No worries!
But my cell block mates and I have been working really hard on a collaborative article over at In The Powder Room today about passive aggressive greeting cards. It’s a series of Mother’s Day Cards that should exist! I think you’ll really enjoy it and possibly even forgive me for that time I quit graduate school and moved back in with you and bought a brain damaged pet store puppy who shit all over your house.
Please know that my one lung and I were totally not thinking of you AT ALL when we were brainstorming about the various mothers in our lives. You are a saint, and everyone in my shock therapy waiting room knows it.
With nothing but love, Mama, (and a teensy bit of pent up resentment for that time you “forgot” to come to my arraignment and went on a Booze Cruise with “Uncle” Paul and his battalion instead.)*
-Leslie
(*None of this is true. I just have an overactive imagination…probably because I was so grossly unsupervised** as a child.)
(**Again, I’m kidding. My mother is totally awesome and anyone who says anything negative about her is going to hear from me, my cell block mates, and a sock full of nickels.)
Holy Mother of God…
WTF?!
The news story out of Cleveland about the three girls who were kidnapped and held against their will for a decade by 52-year-old Ariel Castro has shaken me to my core.
Are you as glued to the news about this as I am?
How can this have happened and continue undetected for a whole decade? And in a neighborhood where the houses are that close together?
My heart is just aching for those girls and their families. Truly, this kind of violence, extreme selfishness, and utter disrespect for humanity makes my blood boil.
Evidence suggests that Castro knew at least one of his victims and her family. Can you even imagine?
And let’s not delve into the fact that this piece of shit was a school bus driver.
I repeat: A SCHOOL BUS DRIVER. Of children. For twenty years. It makes the skin crawl, does it not?
One neighbor said Castro liked to give neighborhood kids rides on his ATV.
Honest to Pete, I am shaking as I write this.
The very notion of those three beautiful young girls bound and chained inside his nasty rundown house for a decade, away from their families, friends, and basic comforts is beyond my comprehension.
And I swear to God, if I hear one more interview where a neighbor says “He seemed like such a nice guy,” I am going to pull out my hair and choke myself with it. (Although, I have to admit, those interviews with Charles Ramsey are pretty damn entertaining.)
Sure, we should all be so lucky to have a neighbor who is willing to put down their McDonald’s to help rescue someone who is obviously in peril. Not to detract from Mr. Ramsey’s heroic act and Internet celebrity status. But wouldn’t it be even more fabulous if the neighbors had gotten to know Castro better and had figured out he was a psychopath, oh I don’t know…8 or 9 years ago?
PEOPLE. LISTEN TO ME NOW.
Put your shoes on, your smart phones down, step outside, and get to know your goddamn neighbors.
We cannot as a society continue to feign ignorance when we discover that the guy next door has a freezer full of human heads or a den of stolen children being used as concubines.
This is not okay.
Castro’s family is doing the news circuit, trying to convince everyone they are totally shocked their dad, cousin, nephew, etc. was such a sicko.
Who else is calling bullshit on this one?
Hasn’t anyone ever stepped foot in that house for the last decade? If they had, surely they would have noticed the locks, or the girls, or the squalid conditions. And if nobody has visited him, why not? Listen, I watch enough Hoarders: Buried Alive to know that if a loved one or friend never invites you in? Serious red flag, m’kay?
When Charles Ramsey was listening to Salsa music and barbecuing with Castro, why didn’t he ever say “Hey man, those ribs are starting to kick my back door down. I need to use your bathroom real quick,” and go inside for a little medicine cabinet peek-a-boo?
I’m ashamed to admit this, but I don’t know most of my neighbors either, and vice versa. Any one of them could be directing someone to “rub the lotion on its skin” in between flesh-centric sewing projects and I would have no idea.
How well do you know YOUR neighbors?
When we moved into this house ten years ago not a single neighbor stopped by to welcome us. Not one. We eventually had an open house to invite them all over and only a few stopped by. ”Southern Hospitality” my ass.
Sadly, I’m no better. We have relatively new neighbors across the street who moved in over a year ago and I keep meaning to invite them over, but never get around to it.
I always have some excuse…my house is too dirty, or where would I put everyone, or they’re afraid of dogs, or we have lice…
But that all ends today. From now on, I’m going to go out of my way to be more neighborly.
…just as soon as I clean up a little bit.
Because I firmly believe in my heart of hearts that if we were all better neighbors, there would be much less violence and heartache in this world.
Now here is my challenge for you, dear reader. Don’t make me do this alone. I want some camaraderie up in here.
Perhaps you enjoy reading my blog because you are as socially stunted as I am and it’s easier to connect with virtual friends than real life humans. I get that. I do.
Or perhaps you’re just here for the free guacamole and/or occasional photos of my feet. That’s cool too. Whatevs.
Maybe you think this doesn’t apply to you because you live on one of those idyllic cul-de-sacs where you all get together to play Bunco every Friday night and you’re SURE that nobody in your subdivision would EVER walk into an elementary school armed to the teeth with semi-automatic weapons.
Yeah. That.
But whoever you are, and regardless of your social acumen or socio economic status, won’t you please join me in stepping outside of our comfort zones? Let’s all be better neighbors, shall we?
Don’t put it off. It doesn’t have to be Pinterest worthy. Slap some slice-n-bake dough in the oven and take a plate of cookies to one neighbor.
Maybe start with the neighbor who “seems like such a nice guy,” but never invites you in.
When he opens the door, peek over his shoulder. Do you see any ropes or chains? Hear any screams? If you do, call the police. And if the police knock on his door and nobody answers and you see the police officers shrug their shoulders and drive away? OMG. Call back! (Geez Louise.)
Stick your neck out.
Form relationships.
Trust your gut.
Be a good neighbor.
Or just sit back and be the next clueless schmuck to say, “But he seemed like such a nice guy.” Your call.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some slice-n-bake and a police scanner calling my name.
Look out neighbors! Here I come!
(Lice-removal tips coming soon. Thanks for your patience.)
They say God never gives us more than we can handle.
And I truly believe that.
Which is why I am not the least bit surprised that I had 13.5 years of motherhood under my belt before head lice was dropped into my lap.
Literally.
That’s right y’all, one of my chil’ren recently had the cooties. And I made this incredible discovery while he or she was snuggled up to me with his or her head on my lap.
(NOTE: I do know the gender of my child. I’m just trying to protect his or her privacy.)
Are you itching yet?
Don’t.
It honestly wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
Frankly, I’m feeling like Mother of the Year over here because I battled these beasties and I PREVAILED.
But I suppose I should start at the beginning…
A few weeks ago, one of my kids was scratching his or her head like he or she had just worn a poison ivy bonnet in the Easter Parade.
“Quit scratching! People will think you have mange,” I chided.
“I can’t help it mom! It’s SO. ITCHY!”
“Oh Cheesus Crust. Did you stick your head in a fire ant hill again?”
“Really Mom! It hurts. Will you look at it?”
“OMG. (rolling eyes) Please don’t have lice. We already don’t get invited anywhere.”
I looked, but didn’t see anything suspicious. So just to be on the safe side, I advised my child to covertly swing by the school nurse’s office the next day and ask for a lice check.
“The nurse said it’s just dandruff,” was the report I got the next day.
PHEW. I felt totally relieved and proud of myself for seeking a professional opinion.
“OH THANK GOD!” I said. “Because head lice? Ain’t nobody got time fo’ dat.”
But lo and behold, even after a deep moisturizing treatment, the next day was more of the same: itchy itch, scratchy scratch.
My baby was still in total agony, “Mom—my hair actually hurts. It feels like I have bruises on my head. Are you sure it’s not lice?”
photo courtesy of the CDC
We were sitting on a park bench in the bright sunshine at the time, with my baby’s sore head resting on my Levi’s. There, in the sun, with my hand gently stroking my child’s shiny locks, I started to notice numerous teeny-weeny cream-colored oblong specks on individual hair shafts. They were about the size of strawberry seeds. I’m talking TINY. And stuck. Stuck like glue.
“Huh,” I thought. “That can’t be dandruff. Dandruff would flake off.”
(And I was right! Here’s a great “dandruff vs. nits” article and photo gallery if you need help.)
So I asked, “Have you been playing in a sandbox at school? There are tiny little grains of sand or dirt or something stuck to some of your hair.”
“No. There isn’t any sand at school.”
“Weird,” I said aloud, and then to myself: OMG! Is this what lice eggs look like?
The second we got home from the park, I started to Google things like “What does lice look like?” and “pics of lice eggs” and “are lice and crabs the same thing?” and “can lice crawl through denim and granny panties?” (No, they like to stay on heads, thank God.)
One thing lead to another and the next thing I knew I had my dog’s flea comb in hand, trolling for live bugs…on my child…the precious, itchy, fruit of my loins.
And sure enough…with the help of that thar flea comb and The Google, my suspicions were confirmed.
IT WAS LICE!
Oh Holy Mother of God. There were teeny tiny micro lobsters of doom crawling on my sweet baby’s scalp.
(In defense of my school nurse, it was a pretty mild infestation, but still. Damn.)
Listen. I read the fine print and I knew motherhood was going to be gross when I signed up. I was fully aware there would be ear cleaning and toenail clipping and epic diaper blowouts. I’ve been puked on, peed on, sneezed on… in the mouth. I’ve scraped vomit off a popcorn ceiling. I’ve nursed my various children through a circumcision revision, “mega colon,” two bouts of ring worm, and a festering puncture wound. And I have a magnifying mirror that makes my upper lip look like an angry poisonous centipede; so believe me when I tell you, I know gross. But discovering a lice infestation on a child who just had their head in my lap? The word repulsed doesn’t even scratch the surface for how I was feeling.
I immediately recalled the time we invited some friends over for dinner and they had to cancel because the whole family had gotten lice and was stuck at home with shower caps full of mayo on their heads.
Oh God. This could be bad.
Panic started to set in.
What if we ALL had it?
Couldn’t. Stop. Itching!
Well, if you’ve got to eat a louse, may as well quit staring at it and dig in, right? (Or something like that.)
Suddenly, my fears abated and I knew with a singleness of purpose I haven’t experienced since the night before tax day that I and I alone could save my child and the rest of my family from this pestilence.
Aaaaand, that’s all we have time for today my pretties. Tune in next time to find out how I rid my child of lice, strengthened our relationship, and discovered a hidden talent!
May your weekend be filled with love, laughter, and no lice.
Yours truly,
Leslie
I’m In The Powder Room today reminiscing about an extraordinary customer service experience I had recently.
Join me, won’t you? One of the commenters (KC) advises that you not have coffee in your mouth while you read it.
You’re welcome.
With love and spotty phone manners,
-Leslie
