On Nit Patrol

Every weekday afternoon I wait in line to pick up my twin boys after school, and each day they greet me with a golden nugget from their school day.  Kindergarten can be full of drama.  Some recaps are happy, some are teary, and some just leave me flat-out speechless. It's kind of like reaching into a grab bag.  I never know what I'll get on any given day.  Yesterday's greeting was extra special.

            "Francine has head lice," one of the boys informed me as he climbed into the truck.  Okay…

            "What?  How do you know that?"

            "I found a bug in her hair."  Oh, boy.  Here we go.

            "Really?"

            "Yeah.  It was crawling around." 

            "What happened, exactly?"

            "We were all sitting on the carpet and Francine was next to me.  I saw a head lice in her hair."

            "Did you tell your teacher?"

            "Yes, I told her." Of course you did.

            "What did she say?"

            "She said, 'Come here, Francine.'"  Then she looked through Francine's hair.  She didn't see anything, so she sent her to the nurse."  Great.  Poor Francine.  Guess I don't have to worry about him getting a girlfriend in the near future.

            "So did she come back to class?" My head began to itch.  I thought I felt something crawl across my scalp.

            "Yeah, the nurse didn't see anything."  Now the girl is truly traumatized.  This will be one of those memories she carries with her for life.  My son's name will be on her lips as she talks to a therapist about her childhood.

I can't say I blame my son for his concern.  The pesky parasites seem to be a constant affliction among Kindergartners.  We have been battling head lice for the last couple of months.  I have treated and re-treated the boys several times.  Between the chemicals and the haircuts, I'm becoming concerned about the rate of new hair growth.  They'll be the only first graders using Rogaine.  I'll have to buy them that spray on hair from Ron Popeil.

Believe me when I say I have bleached, sprayed, and boiled everything that has or will come in contact with human heads in our home.  Bugs take one look at our place, smell death, and head for the neighbors' houses.  However, my town must be home to some mutant form of head lice, because they seem to be resistant to any and all traditional pesticides.  It is both mystifying and frustrating to be battling bugs that keep popping up like weeds in a pea patch.    

Head lice infestation is embarrassing.  They are spoken of in hushed tones among parents during play dates and birthday parties.  We all dread hearing the news that our child has contracted the critters and we find ourselves instantly seeking someone else's kid to blame.  Do not think for one second that I'm not dying inside as I write this, knowing the potential number of strangers who may read it and think we're nothing more than a bunch of redneck hillbillies munching on turnip greens and cornbread, as we shoo the dogs off the sofa we keep on the front porch for company.  Totally untrue.  We hate turnip greens.

Door's Open, Slither On In

Why are the uninvited always showing up at my house?  Is there a sign out front beckoning any and all who pass by?  An invisible force, maybe, that pulls in visitors like a powerful tractor beam?  Whatever the reason, no unwanted guest to date compares to the one who dropped by last night.  In fact, I'm calling my therapist first thing in the morning to schedule an appointment before the nightmares begin.

"Oh my god!" is what I heard from a corner in the den, where my husband stood, bent over a pile of his man toys.  Knowing he's not one to scare easily, I went on high-alert in an instant.  The hairs on the back of my neck stood on tiptoes.

"What is it?" No answer.

"Is it one of those huge roaches?" I hate those crunchy suckers.  "Do you need a shotgun?" 

Still no answer.

I peeked in the den from the dining room, not even close to prepared for what I was about to see.  As I leaned forward from the table, I witnessed my husband morph into some type of Indiana Jones and Crocodile Dundee hybrid. Without wasting a millisecond he reached for a small saw.  I then watched in horror as he began delivering rapid blows to something on the floor I could not see.  At that point I knew whatever beast he was slaying could not have been a bug, not even one of those saddle-laden roaches I've dueled with many a time.  No, this was worse. 

"What the hell is it?  What are you killing in there?" I hollered from the chair I stood on for safety. 

"Some sort of viper," came the reply.

"What?"  I could barely breathe.  A snake?  In the house?  He had to be kidding.  I pictured an eleven foot python all chillin' in my La-Z-Boy and felt my eyes begin to roll toward the back of my head.  For some reason I put my hands over my ears.  I guess I was afraid the snake was into wet willies or something.  You can never tell with snakes.

I waited for the battle in the den to conclude before I uncovered my ears again.  My daughter heard the commotion and emerged from her cave at the other end of the house. 

"What's going on?" She looked up at me as if it were totally normal to see me standing atop a dining room chair with a look of terror frozen on my face.

"There's a snake in the den.  Don't go in there."  I pointed for emphasis.

"Cool," she said, and walked into the den like I had just told her an orpaned kitten was in there.  Freak.  Without the slightest sign of fear she inspected the defeated intruder.

"Put it in a bag and take it outside," my husband told her.  She walked closer to the snake.

"It's okay, Mom, it's only about a foot long.  I'll pick - (scream) after you kill it first!  It's still moving!"  My hands slammed over my ears again.  I really don't know why.

Indiana Dundee went another round with said "viper" before at last emerging the victor.  My brave daughter took the bagged-and-tagged body outside.  I waited a few more minutes, for good measure, before I set my feet on the floor.

 No, I don't know what kind of snake it was, nor do I want to know.  I don't even want to think about how he slithered into my house, past my useless dogs.  My dogs have a stern lecture coming about who and what they allow inside.  Goofy neighborhood kids are one thing, but I must draw the line at reptiles.  Sorry guys, there's no more room at the inn.