Tag Archives: motherhood

Lice is a four letter word.

28 Sep

Mother effer. My daughter has lice. Let me rephrase that. My daughter came home with lice two weeks ago. For the first three days, I treated the shit out of her hair…sanitized, vacuumized, circumcised and alchemized my entire house and chalked it up as a Rite of Passage. I thought we were in the clear and turned my attention back to more important things like Halloween costumes and The Real Housewives of New Jersey.

And then a week later she was all, “Mumma, my head is itchy again…”

And I was all:

Oh fuck.

“Oh fizzuck.”

Then my head started to itch too. But, I laughed and said to myself “silly woman, lice don’t like Brazilian blow outs and majorly expensive hair coloring processes. They prey on children, exclusively. You’re fine. It’s prolly just dry scalp.”

But my friend came over and checked me and she was all:

"You're so screwed."

“Dude. Youse fizzucked.”

And so ensued my war on lice. We all know that lice has a stigma. You think it just happens to poor people with poor hygiene. Nope. Let me tell you something. It can happen to anyone. But people don’t talk about it. So rather than keep this information under my do rag (we’ll get to that) and at the risk of losing every single one of my friends, I’ve decided to tell the world so that I can help you bitches prevent, treat and put a stop to these tiny, indestructible little assholes.

"Hi. Me, my mom, dad, grandma and grandpa came to fuck up your life indefintely and ostracize you from society. Got any tea tree oil we can drink?"

“Hi, I’m a baby lice and I’m a total dick. Me, my mom, dad, grandma and grandpa came to fuck up your life indefinitely and ostracize you from society. Got any tea tree oil we can drink?”

WAR ON LICE INSTRUCTIONS:

Step 1: Burn your house down. Okay, so that sounds a bit rash but you’re going to think this is a viable and rationale solution on or before Day 17.

In all seriousness, if you can afford a professional lice expert, do it. Lice is a miserable, soul crushing experience and there is a steep learning curve. So if you’re a baller, skip to item #3 on the “Things You Will Need List,” call an expert, kick your feet up and keep counting your dollah dollah bills, y’all. If not, proceed to the information below:

Trust me when I tell you that I would open mouth kiss this lady if she came into my home right now. UV binoculars and all.

Trust me when I tell you that I would open mouth kiss this lady if she came into my home right now. UV binoculars and all. And I want that chandelier in the background.

Things You Will Need:

Get the following at Amazon and the liquor store or anywhere they sell War on Lice shit. Links attached. You’re welcome:

1.) Nix (or Rid). Don’t get the generic stuff, it doesn’t work. And when your mom tells you to mix bleach, ammonia and Listerine, kindly remind her that that is called a Molotov cocktail and tell her that you have to go because Dr. Oz is on.

text

“Ya know, when I had the lice as a kid, my mother sprayed me with a firehose, soaked my hair in cod liver oil, wrapped my head in cellophane and sent me to school.”

2.)  A good friend. Your husband will be about as useful during this shitshow as he was while planning your wedding. Go ahead and say that your husband helped plan your wedding and I’ll punch you in the mouth. You’ll need a friend (preferably one that can see) to help find the microscopic nits that are the exact color of your child’s hair while you’re crying in the bathtub, wearing a do rag, listening to Joni Mitchell with a bottle of Pinot Grigio in one hand and waving a gun around in the other. Because you too have ‘the lice.’

3.) A bottle of wine. (Natch.) See #2 for further detail.

4.) Mild shampoo. Baby shampoo is fine. Don’t get one with conditioner in it. Lice love conditioner and will just do the back stroke and read your cosmopolitan magazine while you essentially give them a massage with a happy ending in said conditioner. Dry those fuckers out. Make them bleed their own blood. And some of yours.

Seriously.

Seriously.

5.) Olive Oil.

6.) Tea Tree Oil. This stuff smells like pure gasoline. The lice hate it.

7.) A metal tooth lice comb. Get a few of these. Your husband can help you. BWAHAHAHAHA. The plastic ones that come with most kits are rubbish. Toss em.

8.) A magnifying glass.

9.) New hair elastics and clips.

10.) A parting comb.

11.) A hooker. Just kidding. Wanted to make sure you’re still paying attention.

12.) A do rag. Get one for each member of the family that has lice. And no, it won’t be your husband. Because God made it so that lice doesn’t like men’s hair…including their pubes…which I may have prayed for once or twice during this catastrophe.

You think I'm kidding. I have never been more serious in my life when I tell you that these have been a life saver. Shower caps are so uncomfortable and my daughter wouldn't keep her's on. She's straight up Outkast in one of these.

H to the izz-O, V to the izz-A                        Fo’ shizzle my nizzle used to dribble down in VA

You think I’m kidding. I have never been more serious in my life when I tell you that these have been a life saver. Shower caps are so uncomfortable and my daughter wouldn’t keep her’s on. She’s straight up Outkast in one of these. I have been wearing one to bed too. It helps suffocate the lice and keep the hair off your child’s face while she has the Molotov Cocktail rinse in her hair. See step 3.

13.) Isopropyl Alcohol. Not the kind that you drink. And don’t get confused in the heat of the moment.

14.) Disposable Tupperware and paper towels.

15.) Electronic Robi Comb Lice Killer from Outer space

16.) Lice preventative shampoo. For your entire household to use for the rest of your natural lives.

Step 2: The first night or Day Zero Dark You’re Fucked

You need to apply the treatment to dry or damp hair. Follow the instructions on the box. After you’ve combed through the hair thoroughly to get rid of the actual bugs, nits and their suitcases, do it again. You weren’t thorough enough. There are a few bugs that you’ve missed, and they’re high-fiving and mocking you right now. Dicks.

I feel itchy.

“I feel itchy.”

Note: Make sure you wipe the comb after each swipe through the hair on a paper towel soaked in rubbing alcohol. Periodically run the comb under hot water.

Also, on Day Zero Dark You’re Fucked, you also need to strip beds, sanitize linens and spray furniture, beds and cars with the Rid spray. Throw away hair ties, ribbons, bows and head bands. Wash hats and soak helmets in hot water and vinegar. Put those expensive throw pillows shaped like a peacock that you just had to have in the dryer on high for twenty minutes. And then punch yourself in the face for buying them. Purely decorative.

Step 3: Baby shampoo with tea tree oil

After the treatment and combing, put a few drops of tea tree oil in the baby shampoo. I know. Up until now, you haven’t so much as fed your child anything but grass-fed, organic, Monsanto free food. You wash her hair with green products and only clean your home with Shaklee. Well, shit’s about to get real, my friend. Now, you’re basically poisoning her. You may as well start serving Chef Boyardee and Cheez Whiz. I won’t tell anyone. Mix the concoction and apply liberally to head. Comb, braid tightly and put the do rag on that little G. Good night.

Step 4: Repeat

Rinse the hair first thing in the morning. Comb, comb, comb. Reapply shampoo with tea tree oil, braid and put the rinsed out do rag back on. Leave this on for about eight hours. Rinse, comb and let dry.

At this point, your husband has moved into the basement, your own hair is falling out in clumps and your child is permanently scarred.

Mommy's just a little overwhelmed at the moment, dear.

“Mommy’s just a little overwhelmed at the moment, dear.”

Step 5: Robi comb and olive oil with tea tree oil

Now you’re weeping and wondering which Pope you put through a woodchipper in a former life. Once the hair is dry, section off and carefully run the robi comb through the hair. You’ll hear a beeping sound when it hits a nit. Stop and remove the nit and finish combing hair thoroughly. Apply olive oil with tea tree oil liberally, braid and slap that do rag back on. Put your mini Tupac Shakur to bed and go watch Bravo. You deserve it.

Repeat the olive oil with tea tree oil for the following two nights. It creates a hostile environment and suffocates those little shits. Also wash pillowcases, shirts and sheets daily. Lice can’t live away from the hair for more than a few hours, but it’s important to be aggressive.

Things you need to understand about lice:

Lifecycle of lice.

Life-cycle of lice.

Translation. The females are whores and can lay several eggs a day. They can also move very quickly in hair and go up and down the shaft at lightening speed. <That’s what she said.>

The eggs, or nits, can withstand a nuclear holocaust. Don’t assume that the noxious chemicals that have easily eradicated all plant life, the family dog and almost every other living being in your home is going to get rid of head lice too. You need to follow all of the steps.

There are like eleven life cycles of lice. Be vigilant. Don’t assume lice is gone, even if there aren’t visible nits. You need to comb and check, rinse and repeat for six weeks.

Much like Teresa Giudice, ‘the lice’ were put on this earth to test our patience, steal our souls and remind us that we are more intelligent than they are.

Godspeed, bitches. Give em hell.

My Husband is MIA for DIY

22 Sep

I’m married to a carpenter. He does beautiful work. In other people’s homes.

We’ve lived in our home since 1997. Since then, I have asked him, bribed him, threatened him, cajoled him to fix a few things around the house and to help me maintain day-to-day functions. Like not leaving his huge man things everywhere and not allowing the garage to morph into an episode of Hoarders.

My vision:

I want.

I want.

My reality:

No, we don't need three nonfunctioning lawnmowers and a baker's dozen fly swatters.

No, we don’t need three nonfunctioning lawnmowers and a baker’s dozen fly swatters.

I went out and bought a docking station to tame those pesky wires and um, Sharpies.

Aaaand he turned it into a wire gang bang.

And he turned it into a wire gang bang.

One day, it started to rain. And then this happened. It was 2003.

No. I don't see Jesus's face. Fix the fucking ceiling.

No. I don’t see Jesus’s face. Fix the fucking ceiling. Love you.

It remains like that to this very day.

In an effort to streamline the bajilly pieces of paper that enter our home daily (seriously, it’s 2013, people…would it kill you to save a tree?) I went to Home Goods and picked-up like fourteen baskets to put shit in. I asked the hubs to start putting the mail in files.

My vision:

Serenity now.

Serenity now.

Nailed it:

Now that's what I call a filing system. Call Martha Stewart.

Now that’s what I call a filing system. Call Martha Stewart.

My vision:

A beautiful beachy chic mantle.

A beautiful beachy chic mantle.

I tell you what. Nothing says elegant coastal living like this big, yellow fuck off wire draped across your mantle.

A little to the left...

Nailed it.

I even told him that I saw on Dr. Oz that leaving your kids’ toothbrushes next to the sink can cause malaria.

It's like the man has no fear.

It’s like the man has no fear.

I admit. I like pretty things. So do you. Sure, it’s not always rationale or functionally necessary to have an antique decantur next to the baby food, but it makes me happy to create a beautiful home. Regardless of the amount of lead paint in an heirloom.

Yup. That goes there.

Yup. Those go right there.

He took down all of our closets to “add space.” Now, we have nowhere to keep the vacuum.

What if someone suddenly drops a cookie. What if?!

What if someone suddenly drops a cookie. What if?!

Or our clothes.

So when I said walk-in closet, I didn't mean for you to construct a huge fucking rack. In the middle of our bedroom.

So when I said walk-in closet, I didn’t mean for you to construct a huge fucking rack. In the middle of our bedroom.

My vision:

Too much to ask?

Too much to ask?

We like it Dr. Seuss style I guess.

We like it Dr. Seuss style I guess.

I’ve even tried reverse psychology. “Who needs mirrors? Mirrors are for vain people. Don’t hang those mirrors. Ever.”

If you don't mind, I'd really rather imagine how many more wrinkles I have this morning.

If you don’t mind, I’d really rather imagine how many more wrinkles I have this morning.

Oh look! There I am. Nope.

Oh look! There I am again. Nope.

I even promised extremely kinky sex to slap a fixture on this bad boy. We moved here sixteen years ago.

I even promised extremely kinky sex to slap a fixture on this bad boy. We moved here sixteen years ago.

So I played hardball and gutted the bathroom while he was at work. Last May.

Um, sorry?

He called my bluff.

It’s all fun and games until you see your house in the daylight. Sober.

No husbands were harmed in the making of this blog post.

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