It’s only week two of school for 2018 (in Queensland at least), and I spent last night treating and combing out head lice. Let that sink in. IT’S. WEEK. TWO.
It really isn’t a fun way to spend an evening as a parent, when you’ve still got lunches to make, laundry to wash, and dishes to do (because the dishwasher is broken and yeah, clearly 2018 is gonna be my year) and you just want to sob into the empty bottle of conditioner you’ve just used on your daughter’s rather long, parasite infested hair.
But, as I’m sure is the case with hundreds of other families, this is our life during the school year. I’m pretty sure the itchy critters have become resistant to the treatments, and I’ve hand-on-a-bible taken to spraying the insides of hats with Mortein before I chuck them in the wash.
Given it seems I’m one of the minority parents who bothers to treat their kids’ head lice, I’m considering just giving up and welcoming them to the family; maybe giving them names or something.
I don’t recall this being an issue when I was in primary school, and I think this is owed largely to the nit nurse. Remember the (admittedly, rather anxiety inducing) day when we’d all line up to get our hair picked through thoroughly, so anyone found to have head lice could be sent home with orders for their parents to treat that shit, and don’t come back until it’s gone?
Unfortunately with various issues surrounding parental consent and whatnot, the nit nurse is no more, and lice are free to jump from head to head, laying their eggs and destroying the souls of parents (mostly mums) who are left to clean up the mess.