Friends, I have now experienced a parental rite of passage. One that every parent hopes they will never deal with, but every parent does. I'm surprised I lasted this long, but in the end I could not escape.
Duncan Disorderly has lice. Had lice. I really, really hope the latter is true.
I should have known sooner. The condition he was in when the problem came to light qualifies me for the ironic Mommy of the Year award. Two days before the actual discovery, I did in fact notice that he was scratching his head a lot. Suspiciously, I checked over his head...and found nothing. Mind you, he has fairly thick hair, and I have no experience with lice. Perhaps the problem was not full-blown yet, or perhaps I simply did not know how, where, or how thoroughly to look. But in the post-construction haze of drywall dust in which we live, we're all a little dry-skinned and itchy, and I chalked it up to dry skin and dandruff.
Two days later, my friend came home (I should s'plain, Ricky. The big move is actually something we've gone into with our best friend, a single dad of three. Big house, three adult best friends, many financial and child-care conveniences). My friend came home early from work to pick up his youngest daughter, Alessa, from school because she had lice. Uh-oh. Duncan and Alessa are the closest of the kids in the family - she's about a year older than he is, and they are constantly playing together.
Check again - et voila!
Honestly, I haven't the foggiest idea how I had missed them. Apparently after my initial dismissal, Duncan decided not to complain further about his itchy head. However, he had been itching so much in the past few days that he had sores on his scalp from scratching. And there were lice. Adult ones. Big, nasty creatures. I swear, I pulled one off his head and it snarled at me.
Frenetic activity ensued, procedures which would make any disaster management organization proud. You, upstairs! Grab all blankets, pillowcases, dirty clothes. You, get down to the nearest grocery store and get lice kits. You, check all the remaining household members (no one else had them, despite the furious psychosomatic itching now going around). You - stay put, don't touch stuff! For a while it seemed like there was a delousing party going on, with my friend and I working the various stations. One child showered. Next child showered while the first child got hair saturated with lice killing cream. First child re-showered while second child got the cream treatment. Combs were boiled, linens and clothes were added to an increasing mountain of trash bags in the laundry room. The pets - oh sweet Diana the PETS need to be checked! (they were also fine, fortunately). Then manual delousing of the both of them, which was no fun task. Side by side, my friend and I hunched over our children with tiny-toothed lice combs, picking by sections and removing the offending vermin.
At last, it was done. It took about two days to get the laundry caught up, and there are still more tasks ahead of us. They need daily checks, and retreatment in two days. I don't even know for sure if they will be allowed to return to school tomorrow - I think the school nurse may insist on inspecting their heads personally.
There is one shining light in all of this, however. Duncan got the haircut I've been nagging him to get for ages - and I didn't even have to be a tyrant and insist. After all his resisting, a few days of having parasitic insects chewing on his head changed his tune drastically, and he was asking me repeatedly when we were going to get it done (the barber would not take him until 48 hours after his treatment).
Once there, the barber shaved most of it close according to my instructions, pausing to ask if I'd like to have the front left a little longer so that he could spike it a bit. Ask the boy, I said. It's his hair. The boy didn't hesitate.
"Get RID of it!"
Duncan Disorderly has lice. Had lice. I really, really hope the latter is true.
I should have known sooner. The condition he was in when the problem came to light qualifies me for the ironic Mommy of the Year award. Two days before the actual discovery, I did in fact notice that he was scratching his head a lot. Suspiciously, I checked over his head...and found nothing. Mind you, he has fairly thick hair, and I have no experience with lice. Perhaps the problem was not full-blown yet, or perhaps I simply did not know how, where, or how thoroughly to look. But in the post-construction haze of drywall dust in which we live, we're all a little dry-skinned and itchy, and I chalked it up to dry skin and dandruff.
Two days later, my friend came home (I should s'plain, Ricky. The big move is actually something we've gone into with our best friend, a single dad of three. Big house, three adult best friends, many financial and child-care conveniences). My friend came home early from work to pick up his youngest daughter, Alessa, from school because she had lice. Uh-oh. Duncan and Alessa are the closest of the kids in the family - she's about a year older than he is, and they are constantly playing together.
Check again - et voila!
Honestly, I haven't the foggiest idea how I had missed them. Apparently after my initial dismissal, Duncan decided not to complain further about his itchy head. However, he had been itching so much in the past few days that he had sores on his scalp from scratching. And there were lice. Adult ones. Big, nasty creatures. I swear, I pulled one off his head and it snarled at me.
Frenetic activity ensued, procedures which would make any disaster management organization proud. You, upstairs! Grab all blankets, pillowcases, dirty clothes. You, get down to the nearest grocery store and get lice kits. You, check all the remaining household members (no one else had them, despite the furious psychosomatic itching now going around). You - stay put, don't touch stuff! For a while it seemed like there was a delousing party going on, with my friend and I working the various stations. One child showered. Next child showered while the first child got hair saturated with lice killing cream. First child re-showered while second child got the cream treatment. Combs were boiled, linens and clothes were added to an increasing mountain of trash bags in the laundry room. The pets - oh sweet Diana the PETS need to be checked! (they were also fine, fortunately). Then manual delousing of the both of them, which was no fun task. Side by side, my friend and I hunched over our children with tiny-toothed lice combs, picking by sections and removing the offending vermin.
At last, it was done. It took about two days to get the laundry caught up, and there are still more tasks ahead of us. They need daily checks, and retreatment in two days. I don't even know for sure if they will be allowed to return to school tomorrow - I think the school nurse may insist on inspecting their heads personally.
There is one shining light in all of this, however. Duncan got the haircut I've been nagging him to get for ages - and I didn't even have to be a tyrant and insist. After all his resisting, a few days of having parasitic insects chewing on his head changed his tune drastically, and he was asking me repeatedly when we were going to get it done (the barber would not take him until 48 hours after his treatment).
Once there, the barber shaved most of it close according to my instructions, pausing to ask if I'd like to have the front left a little longer so that he could spike it a bit. Ask the boy, I said. It's his hair. The boy didn't hesitate.
"Get RID of it!"
2 comments:
Into every life, a little lice must flow.
We haven't had to deal with that yet, but it's a live issue at Owen's school at the moment, so I'm not holding my breath. One thing's for sure -- those pesky bugs don't discriminate, do they? (Actually, I once read that they prefer CLEAN hair to dirty ... and really, who can blame them?!)
Well, let's hope this is fully behind you all now!
(And I can hear you on the psychosomatic scratching thing ... just reading your post made me do it!)
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