Of Lice and Ladies

This is a disturbing and cautionary tale….a tale about how nasty things happen to clean (though not necessarily organized) people. A tale so traumatizing that it’s taken me  months to work up the energy to re-live it and want to share it…..

All those die-hard fans of mine know that one of my core parenting beliefs is this – if you think it won’t happen to you – think again, cause it will and probably worse than you imagined.

When it comes to today’s topic, lice, I orbited that happy planet where if I put DD1s coat in the dryer and changed her clothes and kept her hair dirty (some say lice don’t like dirty hair), then it wouldn’t happen to us. I didn’t need to check her head, I just needed to follow a few steps during the school year.

Ahh…to be young and naive again……

We survived three years of preschool where lice infested classmates, the classroom, the school, but somehow we came away unscathed. I should have known our number was up. So fast forward to the careless summer, a time where mornings are relaxing, schedules are flexible and Pepco struggles to keep our electricity on every time it rains. Ain’t life grand?

DD1 finished a week of summer camp and three days later, she started itching her head. See, in preschool, there are warnings…notes come home, moms whisper in hushed tones about who has lice, you stare at those kids for evidence that they are dirty, their homes are dirty, their parents slobs, you toss your kid’s coat in the dryer at the end of the day, and all is well. But in random summer camps, there is no warning, there are no notes, no hushed tones in the playground, it’s just you against beast. A nasty, horrible fight.

So DD1 starts itching her head like a madwoman and I tell her to put some baby powder on her neck, it must be prickly heat.

Solid parenting 101 over here, right?

We head off to the beach, spend a week at my mom’s house (whoops….sorry mom) and DD1 keeps on itching. My mom was a school nurse for years, she begins to suspect “he who shall not be named”, so we “check” and just see what clearly MUST BE specs of sand. My kid doesn’t have lice! WE aren’t dirty, she’s cute, she’s clean, she’s well taken care of, she doesn’t live in squalor, she’s vacationing on the beach – she must be HOT. It is the hottest summer on record, right?

Another week goes by. I start getting frustrated,  yes, with a four-year-old, and I bark at her to stop itching because she’s making her “prickly heat” worse.

Oh yes, yes I did that. My mom checked, I figured, she’d know what to look for, and besides, no one sent an email around from camp alerting us about any lice infestations. Denial is the first sign, friends.

Some more time goes by…..isn’t that wonderful? We are a veritable breeding ground at this point…..memos are being sent to other louse…come one, come all, these people are IDIOTS and this head of hair is thick and warm and cozy……and this poor kid keeps getting barked at by her good-for-nothing mother about  her prickly heat! Hot headed and idiots…these lice are thinking…….just the kind of place we like to nest….

Then one evening, I decide that the itching has seriously gone on too long, is it time to see a dermatologist, I wonder, and what do I see, but bugs, HOPPING, through her hair, practically doing a jig.

Apparently it’s not time to see a doctor but instead time to buy some RID.

The rest of this tale is not funny or really even that interesting….it just involves an absurd amount of washing, washing and more washing, hair combing through, a hefty bill to the lice lady (yes, there are people out there whose livelihoods it is to remove all lice and louse and nits from heads), more washing and more hair combing through. My kid will now wear her hair up in pig tails, something she’d never agreed to before, all I have to do is make the threat “Do you want those bugs to come back?”

And for anyone paying attention and living in fear, yes, we all had it, me, my husband, the baby, and DD1 – all four of us. When you give lice a few weeks, turns out they know how to spread.

The moral in this classic tale – denial is a bad bad thing and just creates more work. I now orbit reality, not that happy planet of denial. I operate defensively, I assume at least one kid in her class has lice at all times, I don’t let her put her coat on a hook (never in a million years), she’s not allowed to play dress-up at school (sure, mock me, but you can come do my laundry next time it happens – we have plenty of dress up at home), she’s never allowed to get on another kid’s bed at playdates, I comb her hair through 2x a day with the licemeister comb and keep her hair up or tied back every day at school.

The thing about lice is this, it doesn’t cause illness, it is almost impossible to see (until you are a complete idiot like me and have bugs hopping happily around), and you can live in your house thinking things are peachy keen for quite a while – so it’s just a hassle. It’s a gross, nasty hassle and lice are definitely not pro-environment given the volume of laundry they create and trash bags of bagged stuffed animals they waste.

Speaking off, stuffed animals could be an entirely different entry, take a look around your house…see all those friendly soft critters, every single one of them is a lice breeding ground….and you don’t realize how many you have until your kid has lice.

So in the end, what did I learn? No matter how clean you are, how nice your house is, lice is an equal opportunity offender and never harbor feelings of ill will towards parents of kids who bring lice to school or your house….cause you never know when you’re going to be walking in those miserable shoes………oh….and comb through the kids hair 2x a day.

Feeling itchy yet?

Short-Cut Mom

A friend came over for dinner last night with her two boys. When she came in, DD1 and myself had christmas cookies made and ready to be decorated by the kids. It seemed like an activity that would create an enormous mess but would be fun for them and allow us to have at least one uninterrupted conversation and take a few sips of wine. Her reaction upon seeing the cookies was this: “You are SUCH a good mom!”

Umm….not such much, I thought. Now, maybe the bar is set low, maybe I give-off more of an Oscar the Grouch style of parenting vibe, or maybe she mistakenly assumed this was a start-from-scratch kind of Betty Crocker project made with love and patience.

Think again friends.

On the motherhood style continuum, I’m probably somewhere between Oscar (though lately I’m thinking I look more like Rudolph’s nemesis, the Abominal Snowman) and the parents in Home Alone….where they looked organized and superb on the surface with all their planning and fabulous vacation, but still forgot the kid at home.

In truth, the cookies came from a box kit from Trader Joes – all we had to do was add butter and eggs, mix, then bake. The kit even included icing, sprinkles and the cookie cutters.  Upon further reflection, I should’ve bought  four more of those kits, who cares that the end product really isn’t that good. Further, we’d made the cookies days ago but hadn’t yet had the time to finish the project – the icing and decorating part- so it all just worked out for our playdate.

Nothing screams amazing mom like 3 day old cookies from a box kit with pre-made icing, right?

Her comment really struck me because people are so quick to exclaim “You’re such a good mom!” when they perceive you’ve done a work intensive project with your kids. I don’t do those. Who has the time? Especially when you have more than one kid, if the younger one is still baby-ish – who has time to measure flour, sugar, make sure you have vanilla and any other ingredients, let alone find the right cookie cutters, make sure your sprinkle supply is well stocked – it just doesn’t happen. Not chez moi anyway. First of all, I’m pretty sure I’m one trip to Target away from being completely banned from entering. DD2 refuses to sit in the cart and tends to prefer to use her arm as a destructive device, that would be pulling all items off  low shelves as we scramble through the store, my list lost somewhere between the parking lot and front door.

Which means, I’m a half-stocked kinda gal – in my head I have everything I need for a recipe – and in reality I’m texting neighbors desperately at 6pm to see if they have lemons and bell peppers, promising to replenish their supplies days later (if I don’t forget it when I’m in the store and just think I’ve picked it up for them in my head. Again,  common problem).

This is when it dawned on me – I am a short-cut mom. I love doing projects with my kids but the start from scratch to finish process just isn’t realistic for me. I don’t feel bad about it – it is what it is. You will never find me icing cupcakes at 2am. I’d rather buy the pre-made icing if I know I won’t have time to make it from scratch. A gal needs her beauty rest, especially this delicate flower.  I love doing arts and crafts projects with my girls but mainly when it comes from Michaels in a package with all the supplies you need and a simple picture of  instructions to follow-along for the 5-year-old in the house. I don’t read instructions. I follow pictures though.

So – I am a short-cut mom. Find me a box kit, I don’t really care how much more it costs than ingredients from scratch, and I’m all over it. I ain’t afraid to admit it. And in case you were paying attention, my friend and I did not have one uninterrupted conversation last night. In fact, we didn’t have one full conversation about anything.  I’m thinking short-cut motherhood enables half-conversations..which is still better than no conversations.

The “Good” Baby

There’s a belief out there that has bothered me for years, and reading a friend’s blog today, reminded me again how much it bothers me. This idea of the “good” baby. If you’ve had a baby (and – whimper – today is my baby’s second birthday. how is that possible???), then you probably have heard: “She is such a good baby.”

WTF does that mean?!?!?!! Have you ever found yourself wondering this? Are there bad, evil babies that pour battery acid into other babies bottles, laughing maniacally? My sisters like to joke that my babies used to sit there and judge them….but that doesn’t count as a bad baby. That’s just hilarious-expression on her face baby. So where is this bad baby that makes my baby seem so good?

Are babies “good” when they are quiet and cute and “bad” when they scream and are stinky? Is that what it is? Seriously – who has a bad baby? And is it all just about how much they cry? Cause I’m of the belief that babies who cry a bunch aren’t getting their needs met by their parents, not that they are “bad.”

So wait – I am getting a stroke of sheer brilliance here – what people should really say is “Wow, this baby is so quiet, you are such GREAT PARENTS.”

I mean – isn’t that what this idea is all about? This baby isn’t bothering me, so this baby is good. This baby is bothering me, so this baby is bad, these parents must have such hard work at home because of this “bad” baby. I move to strike this whole idea of good and bad babies from our heads. 

And speaking of babies, why is mine 2 already? Why?

Boulevard of Broken Promises

Does this sound familiar, below the scene, act one, plays out around August 1, 2010:

“Honey, did you call your mom and talk to her about Thanksgiving?”

Honey: “I didn’t get around to it. I’ll do it later.”

Fast forward another few weeks:

“Hey, did you talk to your mother yet? An email, a phone call, courier pigeon? Smoke Signals?”

Husband “Oh, right. I forgot. I’ll do it this week.”

Fast forward to Halloween:

“DID YOU CALL YOUR MOTHER YET? THANKSGIVING IS IN THREE WEEKS. IF YOU DON’T CALL I AM GOING TO (insert any threat you can think of)

Husband “It’s still so far off. I’ll get to it, relax.”

Do you think I’m secretly live-streaming your own household conversations on the web? Right? Is this not eerily familiar? Is it me or do husbands FAIL miserably when it comes to communicating with their  mothers. Right?

Do I hear an “oh hell yes” echoing from the masses? I’m sure I do.

With all the lists of things to do that come with the holidays (and really any other time of year), let’s never forget to add “call your mother-in-law” to that list because no matter how many times you ask, how many times you plead, how many times your bark, bitch and threaten, they don’t call their mothers.

We can talk about the second shift, gripe about how much we do around the house, all the laundry, but what the professionals never add to that list is calling the in-laws. This is just more work and it inevitably falls on us. Sure, I”m sure there’s some miracle husband out there who calls his mother regularly and when August rolls around starts thinking ahead to the holidays and how family time will be split, and bites the bullet and calls his parents to discuss when the family is coming to town, directly answers any difficult questions and certainly never deflects or says “I’ll talk to Susie about it” (so then when the answer he knows is the right one comes out, Susie looks like the bad guy and not him) but I don’t know him. Do you know him? Are you  married to him? Can he start teaching lessons to my husband? I’ll pay. Whatever that amount is, I”ll pay. But only if his teachings deliver tangible results, not empty promises.

We all like to talk about how husbands taking initiative around the house is a turn-on and is better than a little robin’s egg blue box under the tree….but do you think they realize how much more this is true when it comes to clearly communicating with his own parents? For the love of GOD. And ESPECIALLY around the holidays when we have more parties, more gifts, more planning, more errands, more baking, more of EVERYTHING to do, we would really love to not have to handle managing the logistics of both sides of the family and fielding difficult questions being asked by someone else’s mom.

So honey, for Thanksgiving, for Christmas, for Hanukkah, guess what – call your MOTHER and make some plans yourself!