A Lousey Plan Is Hatched
Judy Gruen
www.judygruen.com
My husband and I had just landed in New York for a weekend getaway, ourfirst in three years. After working day and night for a week to get readyfor the trip, I felt heady with excitement. I had even managed to getthrough airport security without having to take off my shoes or surrender mytweezers. Life was good.
We were still in the car heading to the hotel when my cell phone startingthrumming in my purse. I sensed this was a bad development. The only peoplewho call me on the cell phone are my kids, and they only call to alert me toa crisis, such as the discovery that we are out of ketchup and it#146;s hot dognight.
I answered fearfully, the way one does when one suspects it#146;s the principalcalling again, saying it#146;s time to reconvene to discuss young Cheyenne andher #147;need for excessive socialization during class.#148;
#147;Hello Mommy?#148; It was my charming young daughter. #147;Bad news, Mommy. Me andthe boys have lice.#148;
Now I like to think I#146;m a pretty good mom, and as such, I had contingencyplans for many emergencies likely to strike during my absence, such as earinfections, civil unrest and earthquakes. But tiny disgusting insectscongealing to my children#146;s heads was one I hadn#146;t figured on.
#147;You have lice???#148; I fairly screamed across the nation. #147;Are they sure?#148;
#147;Yeah. You need to pick us up. They don#146;t want us in school.#148;
#147;I can#146;t pick you up, because you are in Los Angeles and I#146;m on the LongIsland Expressway!#148; After stating this simple fact, I broke down in tears.Why had the good Lord done this to me? I tip fairly. I hold doors open forpeople. I don#146;t even eat the last donut in the box, and don#146;t think that#146;san easy thing. Where was the justice in this?
For the next several hours, I cursed the fact that I hadn#146;t coughed up theextra few bucks for the national calling plan on my cell phone, because Ihad to make about seventy-five calls, all of which entailed cripplingroaming charges. But I had no choice. Hours of time spent making elaboratechildcare and sleepover arrangements were down the drain. Who would take myplague-infested children now? I started calling in favors (real andimagined) from friends and relatives. No amount of pleading, begging orgroveling would be beneath me. It would take a village to de-louse mychildren. And the villagers would have to -- I was on vacation!
I mean, talk about a bad hair day.
But that wasn#146;t all. Because, as everyone knows, once lice are in the house,you also have to launder every scrap of material under the roof, everystitch of clothing, bedding, and teddy bear, (no matter how fragile). Or, ifyou are unwilling to do 450 loads of laundry, you can simply take all thecontents of your household, including the children, and have themhermetically sealed for two weeks, after which time experts claim it is safeto unseal them.
Later that evening, I basked in the comfort of knowing that I had real, true friends, the kind who buckled under the pressure of my threats and cries of desperation. I had friends who actually came over to lather up my kids with expensive anti-lousing agentsand launder my every possession. I also discovered who wasn#146;t my friend #150;namely, the Commandant of Lice at the school. She was the one who at firsttold me not to worry, she would take care of my kids till the end of the dayuntil their carpool picked them up. She made it sound as if she was justdoing it because she was filled with the milk of human kindness. She thenpresented me with a bill for two-hundred and fifty smackers upon my returnfor services rendered.
I still didn#146;t get off so easy. Even now, two weeks later, yucky things arestill hatching on my kids#146; heads, we are still laundering like crazy andoiling each other#146;s heads as if we are getting ready to be anointed Pope.Feeling paranoid, I even had the kids begin to check my own scalp, whichthey were happy to do and which elicited many gasps of #147;Oh my God! I didn#146;tknow you were so gray!#148; and #147;I think I see something! Oh, never mind, Ithink that#146;s just rust.#148;
We are now resorting to more drastic measures, and one of my sons now sportsa military crew cut. If these diabolical creatures don#146;t stop erupting inour hair, the rest of us will do the same thing, and I will end up lookinglike Sigourney Weaver in the movie #147;Aliens.#148; (Well, since she#146;s eight inchestaller than me and we have other, trivial physical differences, maybe I won#146;t look exactly like her, but once you#146;re walking around with a shaved head,who notices the rest of you, anyway?)
All this goes to prove one thing, in my opinion. During these times whenmany of us still fear the threat of domestic terrorism during air travel, wedon#146;t even know the half of it. The real danger may be nesting in our kids#146;hair.
Judy Gruen is the author of
"Carpool Tunnel Syndrome: Motherhood as ShuttleDiplomacy."
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