Nitpicking

Today, at work, I was working furiously to meet some frighteningly upcoming deadlines; and, as is the way of things, I received a phone call from my daughter's school.

It was the school nurse. I sighed, feeling sure in my bones that the OG's congestion had morphed into some little fever, AGAIN, and that I was going to have to go get her.

Sadly, I was only half right. I did, indeed, have to go and get her, but - sigh - it was head lice.

I know lots and lots of people who have gone through this, but my family was lucky growing up. Except when I was a teacher, long ago, I've never seen them, and really had no idea what to do, until the nurse told me.

And? Well, all I can say is....ewwwww.

Cripes, this is one disgusting, annoying task to interrupt your badly needed workday. First, there's the shampooing and the pulling the tiny, pulling little comb through the thick red hair of a recalcitrant and hyperactive eight-year-old. Next, there's the washing and/or bagging of every piece of linen in the house, and the stuffed animals, and the pillows. Then, there's the vacuuming of all of the couches and carseats, to be finished off with much MUCH more hair washing for the OG, and all of the rest of us, too, of course. (Then, we do it all again next week.)

And, though neither The Man nor I can see any trace of critters on either of our scalps, our heads are ITCHING like crazy; psychosomatically, one assumes. (Probably also from looking up louse pictures on Wikipedia.)

Cross your fingers for us. (And, if your kids have seen my OG lately...um, check them.)