*I couldn’t post a photo with this because the Google image results made the gyro I ate for lunch come alive.

Little Yenta Girl left preschool on Friday with a note that made my skin crawl – literally. LICE, it said. Don’t come back until she’s been fumigated, you filthy family, it said. Well, not literally, but I could smell the judgment. It was even more mortifying than that time she bit three kids in one day.

A school nurse tried to make me feel better by telling me that lice only like really clean hair, actually, and that there is absolutely nothing wrong with my mothering (except for, you know, maybe the swearing.) I was just relieved she cut her own hair and this wasn’t discovered by the frou-frou stylist at the salon. And thank the heavens my poor bubbie isn’t alive to know about this – not only would the horror have been too much, she probably would have cut me out of the will.

Honestly, can you think of yuckier way to spend the Sabbath than picking nits out of your child’s hair?

Strangely, it was some of the most relaxed mother/daughter bonding we’d had in a long time (she’s usually pinching my armpits or singing “Old MacDonald Drove A Bus” at top volume in my ear whenever we’re together.) She sat in my lap and watched “Tinkerbell” while I combed tea olive/tea tree/lavender oil through every single hair on her head and tweezed off the little buggers. The stuff smelled so nice I conditioned my own hair with it, but don’t worry, I’m not going to start telling your about some new fabulous home remedy. I do not want to ever be an expert on this. If your kid has lice, you’re on your own.

LYG got the “all-clear” this morning, and the nurse complimented me on my delousing skills. I’m proud?