Nit Picking

I finally found out what that saying really means.

And I can thank my daughter for it.

In all my 13 years of schooling I never once came into contact with the dreaded head lice. Add my sisters’ education as well and between us we managed to avoid the experience for a total of 37 years. My son’s been at school for nearly 3 so far and never brought anything extra-curricular home either. Less than one and my baby girl has shown us what we’ve all been missing.

Oh what joy. (For those who have never experienced it, or whose sarcasm meters are malfunctioning, I actually mean the exact opposite.)

About two weeks ago, after noticing that my little girl was having a great old time scratching her head, and being aware that lice were running rampant in the kindergarten quarters, I took a look through her hair. There was what appeared to be a teeny tiny fly wandering along, so I picked it out for closer inspection and asked my Beloved if he thought it was lice. “I dunno, I’ve never had ‘em” says Mr Helpful. A little desktop research and a phone call or two to other mums and we decided it was not this case this time (“lice don’t have wings” apparently).

I did a quick trip to the local pharmacy to stock up on solution and a lice comb just in case, then I gave her a ‘natural’ headlice treatment just to be sure, and treated myself at the same time (I don’t know about you, but I only have to start thinking about nits and I get all itchy up on top, so you can imagine the trouble I'm having using two hands to type).

Anyway, last weekend she was at it again, so I took her out to the sunshine to see what I could see. And what do you think I saw?

Yep, there was a louse in da house!

Let the nit-picking begin. Oh. My. Goodness. What a tedious procedure that is (hence the terminology)!

Armed with 3 different types of headlice busters, 1 plastic and 1 metal double-sided comb, a mini magnifying glass, and a full box of tissues …and with the entire family for an audience, I assumed the position behind my little lady (who usually trembles with fear at the first sign of combs or brushes anyway) and started sectioning the hair and dousing any louse that dared come into view.

When my arms and feet got tired, still the little buggers kept coming, and I was feeling rather itchy and scratchy myself, I unceremoniously handed the tools over to my Beloved who attacked the other side of her head.

Well, both our son and the dog lost interest way before we looked like finishing the job, and my darling daughter had a tear or two trickling down her face at the discomfort and indignity of the whole affair (those tissues came in handy in more ways than one); I almost joined her in a silent cry of frustration at the seemingly never-ending parade of parasitic critters in residence on my girl.

About an hour into it, I made the decision to operate.

Grabbing the scissors usually reserved for trimming wayward hairs from my Beloved’s mop top, I asked my Beloved to stand down, took a deep breath, and channeled my sister the hairdresser and made the first incision. That wasn’t so hard, so I pressed on undaunted, creating a chunky funky hairstyle that any 5 year old would be proud of. (Hey, anything’s better than the bowl-cut-special of mothers of the 70s, am I right?) “It’s not straight.” my Beloved critiqued. “It’s not meant to be,” says I, gaining confidence with every snip. “It’s asymmetrical. It’s cool!” I declare, stepping back to admire my handy work. Even my daughter’s tears stopped when she saw her new ‘do in the mirror. “Coooool” she said, which was good enough for me. It also meant that the lice comb finished the job with much less stress, et voilà! Nit-free and funky! Yeeha.

While I was in the mood I took the clippers to my Beloved (which those who have been following this blog for a while will know is not a favoured pastime of mine) and my son too. Then I eyed off the dog. Since I have only recently been down that path he managed to escape for another week or two. When I started looking at myself and contemplating what a 'Number 4' would look like on my noggin, I knew I had probably inhaled too many chemicals for the day and it was time to pack it in.

Being a conscientious parent that I am, I then informed the school about the infestation, only to be told they knew all about it and it was a real problem because “these kindy kids keep cuddling”. So we had a little chat with our little girl about that. (It’s not so much a problem with the boys, especially since they reach the ripe old age of 7!)

I’m happy to report that with due diligence (and a special nit-removing shampoo every other day) we are all clear for the time being. I’m also pleased to say that the kids are getting compliments on a daily basis about their trendy haircuts (my Beloved, on the other hand, is copping comments about his pointy head. Hey, not my fault, it’s the shape of his skull I say). And now I know that if anything else like that comes home from school for an uninvited play-date, I’ll be straight onto the scissors, and cut out the nit-picking pronto.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go scratch again.

Jx
©2009