Our school continues to have a lice problem…epidemic.
It is winter and I remember specifically being told, lice can’t survive our harsh winters. They have adapted. They are in all respects Canadian and unlike our geese, have no interest in migrating for the winter. We need to start fearing them.
I received a notice the other day that there was yet another case of lice in my daughter’s class. The generic form from the health unit that has arrived home far too often this year had been amended (perhaps based on one of my posts). In black ink, the crap about continuing discussions about whether all nits should be removed had been stroked out and in hand-printed lettering, we have finally agreed, ALL NITS MUST BE REMOVED BEFORE RETURNING TO SCHOOL. Progress.
If we’re going to continue working with my plan, wheels must now be set in motion for “operation ostrasize.” Teachers should now be required to send a follow up notice to parents with these details; Dear parents, it is with great sadness I must inform you, our dear, sweet Cotter has contracted a nasty case of head lice. Please love him from afar. Salutations can include the following; a sympathetic wave in his direction followed by pointer fingers crossed one over the other, the international symbol for please stay back. You may smile but eye contact is not required.
The note should also include something about “please feel free to pelt Cotter’s parents with eggs (chicken not lice) if they dare bring him back to school with any nits still on his head.
Look, I’m not totally unfeeling. I will volunteer to head the “Welcome Back Cotter” party committee when he’s lice-free. I will also co-chair the egg collection team as I suspect this group will have a much bigger enrolment.
Just so we’re clear. The first time you bring your infected child to school, you will be egged. Repeat offenders, pterodactyl egged, third time, jailed.
Crazy hat day. You had me you lost me. I feel as though I’ve lost half my team. Asking for an additional 500 hats, crazy though they may be, each one a new critter bucket waiting to be exchanged on an unassuming, tightly braided wig is just a bad idea any way you look at it.
Finally, the bug that bit the camel’s back. Tossing and turning, mid-lice dream, last night, I was awakened by a frightened little seven year old telling me she was scared. Convinced this was a side effect to having lice, I froze when she asked if she could climb into our bed. All I could think about was hair. As I lay next to my scared, little Rapunzel, staring at the ceiling with my shower cap on at 4:30am I knew I needed to get some sleep. The kids had a big day at school to gear up for.
It’s comb a stranger’s hair day.
