Lice happens: The truth behind my haircut

Photo credit: Christopher Carfi

Hi everyone,

See this photo? Me in a typical position at work: Talking. With another blogger (Amanda Congdon! Don't miss her phoenix-rising-from-the-ashes-so-take-that-you-naysayers news).

Only one thing's different: I'm missing a foot of hair. Wondering why? Did I get engaged like Mir? Did I do something nice for another human being?

Not even.

The truth behind my makeover lies in the photo: See how my hands are stuffed into my pockets? Hint: I'm trying not to scratch my head. Because this fall, thanks to a little six-legged infestation of Mrs. M_____'s Fifth Grade class, my ten-year-old and I got lice.

Go ahead, scream with me now...liiiiiiiiiiiiiice. What a nightmare. Imagine the response we Brady Bunch-ers got when we suggested to our ex-spouses that they might want to check their babies for cooties too.

I'm the most popular ex-wife, stepmom-type ever.

And guess what? Turns out we are the last family to catch it. Lice are the school's dirty little secret. When I tore into the drug store next to the school, I couldn't put my hands on a single bottle of de-lousing shampoo. NOT ONE.

"Ma'am, everyone has it," the pharmacist shrugged. I called the other moms of the boys in my son's posse to confess that their babies might have been exposed over the weekend. Guess what? Not news. "Oh yeah, sure, the plague that won't go away..." one mom joked before her voice trailed off into my stony silence. Did she not remember the umpteen spend-the-nights my son had there in the past months, when she didn't bother to share that crawly fact with moi?

In full crusade mode, I even called the principle's office, offering to check the heads of kids as they walked into school. "Every student?" gasped the school secretary, likely aghast at the prospect of hundreds of freaked-out parents instead of a single, freaked-out, fifth-grade mother. "Oh no..." My word, I thought when I (hung up the phone and) stopped swearing; THIS is why we as a species haven't effectively dealt with HIV infection and sexually transmitted diseases -- we can't even bring ourselves to admit to each other when we have head lice?

But you, my friends, are different. Only moms online are telling it like it is. Thank you - because you all saved me. Here's some proof: In Head lice 2: Electric Boogaloo, Julie nails it:

"The pestilence has returned....

"I asked Demi the Younger if her friend G., whom we determined to have been the original source of our infestation, was still a carrier. Ms. Younger didn’t know, but did say that G. is a “hugger.”

“Gack!” I said. “No hugging! Tell her you’ll be happy to shake hands but that there will be NOOOO HUGGING. For cripe's sake, keep your head the HELL away from that girl!”

Laughing? You won't if your little angel(s) has it, observed Jenn Satterwhite in her August post about Ayun Halliday's new book. Jenn was doubtless remembering her own experience: Lice. The four letter word that makes mommy drink:

"I raced from room to room with my vacuum cleaner screeching “DIE you horrible spawn of the worst kind of evil. DIE! DIE!” Stuffed animals got whipped into bags. Hair accessories got zip-locked and hurled into the garage. My daughter, slightly worried about her insane Mom was just waiting for me to come after her with combs and chemicals and gas masks. After calming down a bit, I convinced my daughter I would not hurl her into the garage, but would rather turn her into an Italian head pop. I poured Olive oil on her hair. Enough to keep 20 Italian restaurants in business for a year. Pour. Cry. Pour. Cry. Pour. DIE you little vermin shits! My daughter just giggled."

How bad are lice? So bad, in fact, that I see blog-readers offer lice as a call-yourself-lucky-girlfriend scenario -- even in the face of communicable diseases of the blood and eyes! Check this out:When CityMama blogged baby Wallie's painful conjunctivitis, she got this cold comfort from one reader: "Just keep telling yourself, "It could be worse -- it could be head lice.' "

Last Christmas, when Grace's daughter came down with mononucleosis and a side of hepatitis, one reader compared these blood diseases with...lice. "I hope she feels better soon," wrote Angela. "About three years ago we had a lice christmas....All 5 of us thanks to some child in my kids school :( Imagine us all sitting there itching missing the family christmas party! No fun!"

Still giggling? I feel more like crying myself...and its not just because I still have Eau de Clorox under my nails, as Blogger Mary Tsao knows. Go read her heart-breaking story, Why my nickname in fourth grade was bald eagle. Not only was Mary in agony before she was diagnosed with lice, but she suffered terribly at school afterward. Poor little thing.

My son definitely didn't want it to get around that he had...cooties. So I called his teacher, a note went out to his classmates and I called all his homies but...I didn't shave his head. I definitely planned to shave my own, but when I asked the friend who cuts my hair, she talked me out of it. Gorgeous and Beijing-trendy, she looked at me with the eyes of an older sister who's been asked to buy tequila and condoms when I suggested she give me an Annie Lennox look. "NO," she smiled. "Come back next week and we talk."

So, instead, she sheared rather than buzzed me. And by the time this picture was taken, I had washed and combed my hair and my son's with enough chemical nastiness to cause a third foot to grow out of our foreheads. Because getting rid of these little crawly nightmares was hell. HELL. I can confirm that my son's a much better patient than I, that he was nitcombed within an inch of his life while I bitched and moaned every second of the day.

My nails still peel down to the quick from the bleach I used to disinfect and change the bedclothes daily for weeks. And woe betide anyone who brings a hat into my house or touches a hair on my five-foot baby's head. I nearly had a heart attack recently when Ten-Year-Old was sparring with another child in a martial-arts class. The other child chopped and connected with Ten's head. I didn't know which boy to tackle and douse in rubbing alcohol first. While Ten wobbled, I hissed, "Can't you DUCK!? He touched your hair..."

The upshot: Haircuts are good. Lice are not. And hell, yes, online friendships are real.

You are all invited over for a playdate. Rest assured, it's safe - I still comb out my son's and my hair once a week, just to be sure. When we see the clean comb, we yell and dance around the bathroom like insane druids.

And then....we scratch.

Best,
Lisa

P.S. Do you have a lice or other critter story that I missed? Please add it in the comments section of this online newsletter. I predict 1,000 years of good karma for helping the next parent whose friends are turning a blind, scratchy eye to the problem.

P.P. S. Thank you, all of you who sent the turkey recipes and ideas! I keep looking at the bird and wishing one of you would magically appear to put your hand down its...throat....more next week.