The Apocalypse Is At My House

Last Thursday I was at work when I got the dreaded school phone call that I needed to pick up my daughter. "Crap," I think, "is it the throw-ups? Fever? Worse? Both? Will it ruin my weekend--I mean, is my precious child okay?"

That is when the nurse paused for a moment. Lice.

I had to do the drive of shame over to the school and  pick Laura up, itching itching away. Fabulous.

Just so you know, those $20 poison shampoo treatments with the useless lice combs don't work. Just go ahead and flush your money down the toilet cause it's the same thing. How do I know this? I faithfully treated her hair just like the directions prescribed, only to look down and realize that it did. not. kill. one. louse. Nope, not one. In fact, I am pretty sure I saw them laughing at me, and I think I heard one say, "do it again! That felt good!"

So after that I sat on a stool with Laura on one in front of me, and I painstakingly looked through every piece of hair on her head to pick the nits out. When I killed the first one between my fingers I screamed, but after that I became numb as a lice serial killer. Nerd Alert: I had a hiking lamp on my forehead to help me see while I picked. So while it worked splendidly, I did notice my family members giggling as they walked by.

Also, while I was picking through Laura's hair some moths flew in through the door and circled around our heads which caused me to yell, "What, is the apocalypse in my house or something?"

I am now an official lice expert. We were also able to trace patient zero back to the school bus, so remind your little darlings not to put their heads next to anyone else on the bus.

Well, I have to go. Call me if you need help picking your kids hair. I've got mad lice skills.

How could a face like this be harboring such scariness?