I go to pick up the boys after work last Friday with only one thought on my mind, 'Yes, now I can relax.' Just then my 11-year old says the six words every woman thinks she'll never hear..."Mom, I think I have lice."
Pardon me while I hurl.
You must understand, I am no wussy. I have seen my son's skull through a split he put in his head. I have helped the doctor wrap a fractured arm. I have fumbled my way through curing their rashes (in boy-type places), dealing with their asthma bouts, completing their potty training and let's not forget the ever-popular cleaning up of the puke. I would do them all a hundred times over before I'd face lice again.
For those of you who have not had the pleasure, these disgusting why are they even on this earth creatures like to live in people's hair and feed off our blood. They not only hold on to the hair strand for dear life but they lay eggs, lots of eggs, and glue them onto the hair with a formula 3M would pay millions to own. A tsunami wouldn't budge the little bast_ _ ds!
My next stop is the pharmacy. The pharmacist just laughs at me and tries to be funny by saying, "Just rub sand in his hair and light him on fire." The SB in me wants to tell him where he can put the sand but I ask for the aisle with lice shampoo instead.
At home we shampoo and comb with this torture device that came in the box. Gobs of little bugs and eggs show up in the comb. (Hurling again). After that, we throw out his pillow. Change the sheets. Vacuum the bed, couch, chairs, rug and car seat. All his clothes with anything else he might have infested are put in dark plastic bags and sealed tight for days to kill the beasts.
I wanted to get into a plastic bag.
Next I check my younger son. Whew! No lice. I check myself as best I can and I also come up clean.
My older son is still itching.
I call my SB sister-in-law who is a nurse practitioner. She suggests vinegar and plastic wrap on the hair for 15 minutes followed by more combing. My poor boy sits there smelling like and Easter egg and looking dejected as the vinegar makes his eyes water. He turns to me and says in a serious voice, "We shall never speak this."
If only he had said we shall never blog of this.