116. Parasites
I am sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a cup of tea and chocolate cookies keeping an eye on the clock as I know soon I will have to face the clatter and clutter of the kids coming home.
I manage to eat enough cookies so there is an even number left thus limiting the risk of ferocious fighting. I can hear the school bus now and the faint shouting of good byes. Soon our front door is slammed open and my children come in. Loud bangs and dull thumps can be heard as various items are dumped on the tiled floor of the entrance hall. I feel so relaxed sitting here munching on chocolate biscuits and sipping my tea. As they come into the kitchen, they are squabbling and pushing each other, each one of them wanting to be the first to tell mum about the exciting things that happened at school that day. But a plate of cookies has magical powers and soon the room is in complete silence, all I can hear now is the munching on biscuits and the slurping of milk.
I have my son on my lap. I am looking at him and wondering: what does he do in school all day? How can one get in such a dishevelled state sitting at a desk all day? He is as fidgety and wriggly as ever but today he seems even more fidgety. His head seems to be the problem and so naturally I take a close look.
'Stay still for a second, please.'
I peer closer.
'Oh no!'
His older sister is over in a second and says, looking at me as if I haven't got a clue about life.
'He's got nits.'
Then they all jump off their chairs, almost knocking the milk over and start chasing each over around the house and into the garden. I am left at the table in a state of shock. My first reaction is to pick up the phone to speak to their father.
'Excuse me, your wife's just called. Your kids have nits.'
No clearly that won't do. So as quickly as the flick of a switch I go from 'chill-mode' to 'family crisis management mode'. I get up glad I had cookies and tea and not G&T. My son clearly thinks this is new and exciting; he is scratching his head, running around chasing his sisters making the sound of a racing car engine. I grab him and take him close to the window in full light. Yes. This mop of hair is definitely inhabited. DO NOT PANIC. I tell myself. YOU CAN COPE. And I repeat this as I look around for my bag and the car keys.
At the chemist's I am jogging around the shop trying to find what I need, all the while hoping I am not going to bump into any neighbours or mums from the school. I find it. So much choice! No time to read the labels. I grab several bottles of each. DO NOT PANIC. YOU CAN COPE. DO NOT PANIC. YOU CAN COPE. I am still muttering that mantra under my breath when I get to the cash desk and dump all my stock on the counter. The girl behind the till looks at me weirdly.
'Big family.' I say with a stupid grin on my face.
'You know, this is good stuff.' She says to me. 'You do not need a lot.'
I go from stupid grin to the kind of look I give my kids when they have overstepped the mark. I am not in the mood for any bit of advice. I am on crisis management mode. I pay and snatch my bursting carrier bags, almost running back to the car.
DO NOT PANIC. YOU CAN COPE. DO NOT PANIC. YOU CAN COPE.
Back home, I order all kids to follow me into the bathroom. I read the notice as quickly as I can. Once I have done one, I realise this is OK. It does not even smell horrible. It is quick to apply and five minutes later the four of them are having a stupid hairstyle competition in front of the mirror. The waiting is important so I allow some screen time and put a movie on. This goes down well as this is normally homework time. I might be doing the front thing here. Who knows? Could they think of this as a way to avoid homework in the future?
While they are settled I take the time to check my collection and to read all the labels and notices calmly. I look at my watch. 20 minutes to get the 'things' asphyxiated. Then shampoo and then homework. Then G&T. Then call husband to tell him how great a mother I am, handling such a crisis.
The time is now right for step 2 of the process. I make my way downstairs but when I get there, there is no-one in front of the screen. The movie is playing on its own, the audience clearly not enthralled. But where are they?!!! I check the garden, no-one there. I cross the whole house and go out in the front: my kids are there with a whole bunch of other kids, chasing each other and shouting.
'We've got nits! You want nits? We've got nits! You want nits?'
My first reaction is: do none of these kids in this neighbourhood do homework, ever?
So much for trying to avoid the neighbours and the other mums. But I relax as all the kids seem to be having fun. The silly hair competition is going down well with everyone wanting some gooey stuff on their heads too.
We have great fun with the communal shampoo session afterwards and then the movie. This time I am making sure they are watching it. Meanwhile I double-check with Google and find that mayonnaise works well too. Next time we can have a mayonnaise-silly-hair competition.
I am so pleased with my handling of the crisis that we order junk food for dinner. When my husband comes in, there is a party mood in the house.
'What's the good news then?' He asks.
'We've got nits!' They all shout happily.
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