Sharing Joy
Sharing Joy
~Susan Messing
During this recession, people are wondering how to stretch a dollar, return to simpler days, where the emphasis is on the traditional values that are expressed during the holiday season, not the pocketbook. In Little Cabin in the Big Woods, Laura and Mary Ingalls argued over who gets the roasted pig tail, and reveled in an orange and a walnut in their stocking on Christmas. So as I was looking for a modern equivalent for my daughter, I thought back through holidays gone by and tried to think of gifts that far exceeded a price tag.
Lice. Fucking lice. Fucking fucky fuck fuck lice. How about the gift that keeps on giving? What the fuck with this lice shit? I dimly remember as a child standing in a line to be checked to see if I had a curvy spine like Judy Blume's Deenie, but I NEVER, EVER, remember getting lice. Not in Short Fucking Hills, NJ, (now home of the infamous slut list at my alma mater, Millburn High School- google that in the NYT- it's hysterical until it isn't)- but lice is a whole other breed of hazing to a parent.
My darling Sofia Mia and my lice journey started at Chicago's Parkview Montessori School. Sorry that I had to mention you by name, PARKVIEW, but it's not like I brought them to your school when I was in charge of bringing snacks. A official sounding letter was sent home with my lovely child, telling me there was an outbreak in her class, they found nits in her hair, and gave directions on how to rid me of these pests. Speaking of RID, I ran to the CVS and bought four sets and some "natural" products. Sofia and I pretended to play beauty parlor while I dumped the poison onto our heads. Within minutes, my scalp was on fire and I felt the chemicals oozing into my brain through tiny tiny hair holes. Through the pain, I realized, oh shit, what the hell is it doing to the DEVELOPING brain of my kid? So I rinsed us off as best I could and tried to comb out the minisule teardrop shaped nits. And then I did it to us AGAIN. I'm smart that way. We sat in the sunshine and I pulled sticky little bits out of her scalp, pretending to know what I was doing, even though I'm newly farsighted and had to hold her at an arm's length. As my child will sit on a stranger's lap, I'm quite sure that I had them too- my scratching at my raw scalp wasn't just sympathy itch.
The next day I sent her to school; they called me within an hour and told me to take my child back as she was still nitty. So I picked my pariah up and said fuck it to this noise and we wore bandanas and went to the beach looking like peasants sweeping dirt in a shtetl. Yeah, we ditched pre-school like the nit-ridden renegades we were. And we had a blast. So fuck you Parkview, and thanks for nothing.
Fourteen loads of laundry later, and still filled with bug eggs, I found the Hair Fairies. For an obnoxious amount of money, these hep twenty-somethings in a beauty parlor atmosphere will patiently go through your hair and pick out the impossible to see, guaranteed- as long as you commit to at least three appointments. Sofia LOVED it there- everyone gets to watch a movie on a personal dvd player, and Ozzie, a tiny fluff ball of a maltipoo, patiently sat in Sofia's lap and saw Monsters Inc. for the umpteenth time. They found 29 nits on Sofia; 26 on me. And then they did Sofia's hair up like Heidi and she felt like a lice-free princess.
Sofia has since asked many times to go back and I try to tell her it isn't exactly a joy ride- after all, the minute you get lice, there is the delightful task of washing everything we have, not to mention the immediate bagging up of all stuffed animals and pillows for two weeks- but she joyfully got her wish to see her friends and Ozzie two weeks ago. This time The Chicago Public School system did us the "favor"- but I wouldn't have been able to spot it if Sofia hadn't gone to her friend Ruthie's gym. They took a shower and my best best mommy friend, Gabi, blew out Sofia's hair and found nits. She called on the way to my home, trying to sound upbeat and chatty. "Susan, pull out the wine! We're going to have a lice party! Won't that be FUN???" Look, I know how swell adult fun can be, but it usually involves weed and sex. Still, once you know the lay of the land, you go into action quick. I stripped the entire house in ten minutes. I made pizzas, we got drunk, we pretended we were the Hair Fairies, using their all-natural products and then after the pretense of getting the buggers out, called the damn Hair Fairies, which by now, is on speed dial. Sofia was thrilled to see her old friends; I sulked like the other parents. The righteous indignation in the room was palatable- mothers muttering, "Fuck you (insert public and private school here.)" And this time I was clean and Sofia had twelve nits. And she got to watch a movie, hang with Ozzie, and have her hair done up like Princess Leia.
Lice are equal opportunity assholes. They actually LOVE clean hair. Nits don't transfer onto another person- there has to be a live bug, which hatches between 7-10 days. Bugs don't jump- they take their dear sweet time and crawl, with purpose, to hand over the gift to the next family. I could have just shaved my girl's head and saved some money, but Sofia is growing her hair out for the second time to give to Locks of Love. I wish I had told Sofia that lice eradication was her fourth night of Hannukah gift- she really would have bought it as I'm pretty good at spinning shit into gold. Still, like special manicure days or our pretend cooking show, lice is another special bond we share together.
My friend Mort went on an awesome comedy tour, staying in five star hotels, and came back with bed bugs and had to throw away his mattress. What the fuck is going on here in this world? Yet, there are angels on earth and I can attest to them, The Hair Fairies. They have the patience and the persistence that I will never have. For a price. Stop scratching your scalp. You're fine. Maybe.
Happiest of happy holidays to you and yours. Put your kids' hair up and don't share brushes. Never hug your child again. Live in a fucking antiseptic bubble. Shoot me.
~Susan Messing
During this recession, people are wondering how to stretch a dollar, return to simpler days, where the emphasis is on the traditional values that are expressed during the holiday season, not the pocketbook. In Little Cabin in the Big Woods, Laura and Mary Ingalls argued over who gets the roasted pig tail, and reveled in an orange and a walnut in their stocking on Christmas. So as I was looking for a modern equivalent for my daughter, I thought back through holidays gone by and tried to think of gifts that far exceeded a price tag.
Lice. Fucking lice. Fucking fucky fuck fuck lice. How about the gift that keeps on giving? What the fuck with this lice shit? I dimly remember as a child standing in a line to be checked to see if I had a curvy spine like Judy Blume's Deenie, but I NEVER, EVER, remember getting lice. Not in Short Fucking Hills, NJ, (now home of the infamous slut list at my alma mater, Millburn High School- google that in the NYT- it's hysterical until it isn't)- but lice is a whole other breed of hazing to a parent.
My darling Sofia Mia and my lice journey started at Chicago's Parkview Montessori School. Sorry that I had to mention you by name, PARKVIEW, but it's not like I brought them to your school when I was in charge of bringing snacks. A official sounding letter was sent home with my lovely child, telling me there was an outbreak in her class, they found nits in her hair, and gave directions on how to rid me of these pests. Speaking of RID, I ran to the CVS and bought four sets and some "natural" products. Sofia and I pretended to play beauty parlor while I dumped the poison onto our heads. Within minutes, my scalp was on fire and I felt the chemicals oozing into my brain through tiny tiny hair holes. Through the pain, I realized, oh shit, what the hell is it doing to the DEVELOPING brain of my kid? So I rinsed us off as best I could and tried to comb out the minisule teardrop shaped nits. And then I did it to us AGAIN. I'm smart that way. We sat in the sunshine and I pulled sticky little bits out of her scalp, pretending to know what I was doing, even though I'm newly farsighted and had to hold her at an arm's length. As my child will sit on a stranger's lap, I'm quite sure that I had them too- my scratching at my raw scalp wasn't just sympathy itch.
The next day I sent her to school; they called me within an hour and told me to take my child back as she was still nitty. So I picked my pariah up and said fuck it to this noise and we wore bandanas and went to the beach looking like peasants sweeping dirt in a shtetl. Yeah, we ditched pre-school like the nit-ridden renegades we were. And we had a blast. So fuck you Parkview, and thanks for nothing.
Fourteen loads of laundry later, and still filled with bug eggs, I found the Hair Fairies. For an obnoxious amount of money, these hep twenty-somethings in a beauty parlor atmosphere will patiently go through your hair and pick out the impossible to see, guaranteed- as long as you commit to at least three appointments. Sofia LOVED it there- everyone gets to watch a movie on a personal dvd player, and Ozzie, a tiny fluff ball of a maltipoo, patiently sat in Sofia's lap and saw Monsters Inc. for the umpteenth time. They found 29 nits on Sofia; 26 on me. And then they did Sofia's hair up like Heidi and she felt like a lice-free princess.
Sofia has since asked many times to go back and I try to tell her it isn't exactly a joy ride- after all, the minute you get lice, there is the delightful task of washing everything we have, not to mention the immediate bagging up of all stuffed animals and pillows for two weeks- but she joyfully got her wish to see her friends and Ozzie two weeks ago. This time The Chicago Public School system did us the "favor"- but I wouldn't have been able to spot it if Sofia hadn't gone to her friend Ruthie's gym. They took a shower and my best best mommy friend, Gabi, blew out Sofia's hair and found nits. She called on the way to my home, trying to sound upbeat and chatty. "Susan, pull out the wine! We're going to have a lice party! Won't that be FUN???" Look, I know how swell adult fun can be, but it usually involves weed and sex. Still, once you know the lay of the land, you go into action quick. I stripped the entire house in ten minutes. I made pizzas, we got drunk, we pretended we were the Hair Fairies, using their all-natural products and then after the pretense of getting the buggers out, called the damn Hair Fairies, which by now, is on speed dial. Sofia was thrilled to see her old friends; I sulked like the other parents. The righteous indignation in the room was palatable- mothers muttering, "Fuck you (insert public and private school here.)" And this time I was clean and Sofia had twelve nits. And she got to watch a movie, hang with Ozzie, and have her hair done up like Princess Leia.
Lice are equal opportunity assholes. They actually LOVE clean hair. Nits don't transfer onto another person- there has to be a live bug, which hatches between 7-10 days. Bugs don't jump- they take their dear sweet time and crawl, with purpose, to hand over the gift to the next family. I could have just shaved my girl's head and saved some money, but Sofia is growing her hair out for the second time to give to Locks of Love. I wish I had told Sofia that lice eradication was her fourth night of Hannukah gift- she really would have bought it as I'm pretty good at spinning shit into gold. Still, like special manicure days or our pretend cooking show, lice is another special bond we share together.
My friend Mort went on an awesome comedy tour, staying in five star hotels, and came back with bed bugs and had to throw away his mattress. What the fuck is going on here in this world? Yet, there are angels on earth and I can attest to them, The Hair Fairies. They have the patience and the persistence that I will never have. For a price. Stop scratching your scalp. You're fine. Maybe.
Happiest of happy holidays to you and yours. Put your kids' hair up and don't share brushes. Never hug your child again. Live in a fucking antiseptic bubble. Shoot me.
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