There are bound to be hundreds of things that parents dread
as they raise children. Your son decides that the only acceptable undergarment
he will wear (at the age of 17) is festooned with images of Spider Man. Your daughter’s prom date is a guy named “Snake”
who looks like he fell down face first in the bolt section of Home Depot. Those
things are mere blips on the radar of parental nightmares. Last weekend, I
reached the pinnacle: The Pie had lice.
I don’t mean one or a few little buggies…I mean a head full
of the wee parasites. I found myself shocked, embarrassed and horrified all at
once. I never imagined I would experience the humiliation of pulling insects
from my daughter’s hair, much less writing about it, but it happened. And I’m
okay with it. Sort of. Here’s what
happened:
We had traveled to my cousin’s home in Kansas for spring
break and discovered that the weather was much colder and unpleasant than I
planned for. We had been there only a couple of hours before I decided to go in
search of warmer clothes. During my solo shopping trip, my cousin called and
stated simply, The Pie “has lice.” In the middle of the store, I shouted, “WHAT?”
which drew the attention of all the other shoppers. I was instructed to get
mayonnaise and come on back for treatment.
I looked around, wondering if everyone could see the neon light of shame
blinking over my head: “MY KID HAS LICE!” I skulked around Wal Mart with my head down,
paid for my two giant jars of mayonnaise and drove back to my cousin’s house in
tears. I scrolled through my mental Rolodex, trying to determine how this could
have happened. I wanted to blame someone and I wanted to be mad. I knew that I
must advise all of the children The Pie played with, as well as the mother of
the children I babysit. It was most humbling to send texts to four mothers,
explaining that my child may have infested theirs.
When I returned to the house, my daughter sat in the
bathroom with a head full of mayonnaise and my cousin slowly drew a flea comb
through her hair. I was grateful that I wasn't forced to struggle with The Pie
for that activity…she will do anything for my cousin, so that eased the
situation a little. After we all dumped a tub of Hellman’s on our heads, we sat
for two hours, playing Monopoly, while the little parasites slowly suffocated
within our follicles. We washed EVERYTHING we brought with us and tossed
stuffed animals in the dryer to fluff them on the high heat setting for an
hour. Very late into the night, we finally washed the salad dressing from our
hair and went to bed.
It is every mother’s
nightmare to have their adorable little cherub scratching her head like a stray
pup with fleas. I may be misremembering, but I don’t recall having to deal with
a head lice infestation of my own in childhood, but I am familiar with the
social stigma attached to it. I spent hours trolling the Internet, looking for
some measure of clarity regarding head lice. What calmed me most was the website of the
Centers for Disease Control (yes, I went there!). It explained that head lice
are not an indication of poor hygiene or filthy conditions; in fact, they
prefer clean, healthy scalps for their encampment.
We did a follow-up treatment and I have placed cotton balls
soaked with tea tree oil all around our beds. I still check The Pie’s head
every time she scratches, and I am gladdened every time I find nothing. I would
like to think that this crisis is over, but I am fairly certain I will see it
again. Kids, especially younger ones like The Pie, play in such close proximity
of each other – like a litter of puppies – that there is bound to be a sequel
to this horror show. I’ll just make sure
to stock up on the mayo!
