So Lice to Meet You

Lice, lice, Baby.  I hate them.  Lice, lice, Baby.  Alright stop.  Evacuate and listen.  Lice are back and they’re back with a vengeance.  Somethin’ grabs ahold my hair tightly itch like a mo’ fo’ daily and nightly.  Will it ever stop?  Yo, I don’t know.  But I’m gonna shave the head of all my family members, shave my dogs, and burn down my house just to be sure.

2014 was a year full of firsts for my sweet little family.

Bella started cheerleading and kindergarten, I started volunteering as a coach, my hubs switched practices from Cardiology to Neurosurgery, Roman discovered he could use his penis as a microphone…  it was a great year.

It was also the year my babies experienced the delicious yumminess that is Panera Cinnamon Crunch bagels for the first time.

One Sunday morning my hubs had to work so I decided to treat the babies to a new, delectable breakfast experience.  After they got all sugared up, we went back home and they played outside for a while.  Maybe an hour into playing, Bella said, “Mommy, my head itches.  It kind of hurts.”

Now, growing up I always had super long hair.  I now realize how lucky I am to be able to say that I never experienced lice.  Don’t get me wrong, I knew about them.  My mom instilled in me a great fear of the parasitic a-holes.

No sharing brushes, no sharing hats, no prolonged hugs… Wait, no, that was to avoid an unwanted pregnancy.  Sorry.  Got confused.

So when Bella said her head itched “really bad”, lice infestation didn’t come to mind immediately.

{Dandruff starts so early nowadays. Must be all the antibiotics in the Dino Nuggets.}

When I looked at her head, I didn’t see anything at first. She kept scratching this one spot where there were all these white dots. They didn’t move like flakes do. {Not that I would know.}

AWE MA GAWD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I immediately went into apocalypse survival mode.

Although I had no idea what to do, I knew I should somehow quarantine my poor little Bella without scaring her for life.

So, I guess the hazmat suit is out.

I said, “Bella, Mommy thinks you may have lice.  They won’t hurt you but they are very easy to catch and I don’t want anyone else to get them because it is very hard to get rid of.  We are all going to go inside and I’m going to put you in the bathtub.  I’m going to tell Roman to not touch you so that he doesn’t catch them and Mommy is going to figure out what to do.  It has nothing at all to do with you.  You are still my sweet Bella.  It is the little bugs that I don’t want us to catch.”

We all went upstairs and I stripped us all down, put all of our clothes in the wash, and put poor Bella in the tub filled with nice, warm water.

{Mommy, look!  I’m a mermaid!}

Now what?

Luckily, my sexy hubs is one of those that gets to wear scrubs to work.  HE WOULD KNOW WHAT TO DO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I sent him a text explaining the situation.  He promptly called back and told me to put on latex gloves before I did anything else and he would bring home some anti-lice shampoo.

Ok, that’s great but how do we eradicate the effers NOW???

I have to take down all drapes and burn them, all clothing has got to go…  Carpet?  Burn it.  Toys need to go, you know what, just burn it all.


Oh!  I remembered mid-freak out that one of my friends recently went through the same thing.  I’ll call her.

Mind you, at this point both of my kids are naked, Bella is under quarantine in the bathtub, Roman is just running around yelling, “PENIS!” and I’m naked with latex gloves on, talking on the phone.

It’s at this moment that my husband walks in.

{Hey, could you come back 45 minutes ago, you know, BEFORE I freaked out and got naked?  I’m pretty sure naked freak outs always end badly and on the news.}

In my defense, he had his own freak out, albeit fully clothed.

{Naked lice fighting coming soon to ESPN.}

While I was applying the shampoo to poor Bella’s hair and yelling him the instructions my friend gave me, my beautiful husband was bagging up EVERYTHING in her room.  Seriously, everything.  And THREW IT IN THE TRASH!  Um…

I spent the next TWO HOURS picking lice and eggs from Bellapunzel’s hair.

It was painful for both of us.  Asking Bella to sit still for any amount of time is like asking the Tazmanian Devil to be quiet and stop moving.

Then began the laundry.  EVERYTHING washable went into the washing machine on hot, extended cycle.

My husband also bought spray that is supposed to kill lice on carpets, etc.  We sprayed EVERYTHING that wasn’t breathing.  We had to go back to Walgreen’s a couple of times because we kept running out.

I repeated the treatment a few days later, as per my friend’s instructions and we were all clear.

At cheerleading I told parents about our ordeal.  One of the moms said, “we went through the same thing about 2 weeks ago…”


Monday morning after the “infestation” I called her elementary school and her daycare to let them know.  She obviously didn’t get it from either place because no other breakouts were reported…

Bella was patient zero.  Awesome.

But now it was obvious.


{Um, you didn’t think to tell anyone that your daughter had lice?  Maybe a little warning?  Maybe a quick, “Hey, my kid has nasty bug hair today.  I’m gonna have her sit this game out til this shat dies off.”}

At least we’d won the war.

Or so I thought.  A month later, another infestation.  {That’s what she said.} Dam.


With the shampoo, the spray, the laundry, toy replacement, and cleaning supplies I probably spent $300 trying to get rid of these effers.  This time I needed professional help.

Unlike before, this time I had them, too.  Ever tried to treat yourself for lice?  It’s like trying to cut your own hair.

In Roswell there is a place called Head Hunters.  THEY ARE FANTASTIC.

They got us right in.  If I remember correctly, it’s $35 to do a lice check.  If the little a-holes have made themselves at home in your hair, that money goes toward treatment, which is $150.  The treatment is all natural and smells like lemongrass (yum).  (Plus, they partner with local schools and treat kids for free who can’t afford treatment.)

Most importantly, they put me at ease.  No need to jump off a ledge.

{So… you’re telling me I shouldn’t have burned my house down???  Ugh.  Oh, well.}

To all my friends who have encountered lice, let’s unite in our post-traumatic stress and help out those who are going through it or will in the future.

{The lice want you to freak out.  Take my hand and we’ll get through this together.  Don’t give them what they want.  You’re stronger than this. No, no I’m not NOOOO… I can’t- Yes, you can.  You can do this.  AHHHHHHHH}

You will get through it.  And you don’t have to burn down our house.  Unless you just really want a new one.

And you will re-live your experience over and over again.  Any time your head itches you will want sit down and write a blog post about lice.

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Proud Pretty Moments

I have to admit, this post almost didn’t happen.

Not because I had a hard time coming up with stuff, (in fact, what follows is but a glimpse into the long, long list of incidents that tell the world I should be locked in a round, rubber room), but because some of the things you are about to read (assuming you aren’t eaten by a zombie in the next 10 seconds) are CRINGE-WORTHY.

It’s so much easier to pretend none of it ever happened.  But, I promised to share the fugly as a public service to make everyone else feel better about themselves, so here we go:

{I’m so altruistic.  Deep breath aaaaand…}

There was the time in high school that I ran into the center of a double door.  During a class change.  Epic.

Also, I got a football helmet stuck on my head in PE.  Also epic.  Thanks for that, Coach Tucker.

Or the time I rocked brand new jeans to school one day feelin’ all special, sat down in my chair, ready to learn in Mr. Jerry Smith’s English class only to notice a very cold feeling directly under my left butt cheek.  Not sure how it happened but my new jeans fell apart.  A huge rip.  Awesome.

Then there was the time I drove the wrong way down 138 with my BFF in the car.  I honestly had no clue.  She was too horrified to speak.  She just kept pointing in the opposite direction.  Oops.  In my defense, it was before there was a median.  Cuz that makes it better.

Oh, Miss Salem!  Please come back from college to help us crown the new Miss Salem!  Ok!  I’d love to!  And when I ask the audience to clap for the contestants I’m going to say, “Please join me in giving the contestants a round warm of applause.”  Not my smartest moment but I did look pretty that day.

In college I opened the door to my townhouse to go outside for my 8am class, didn’t realize there was frozen ice on the stairs, and BAM!  I’m upside down on my front porch.  Of course I get up and look around to see if anyone (Joel Stringer) saw me.

Then there was the time I had to give a presentation in my Spanish Lit class.  It was awesome.  I was performing while speaking Spanish so I was excited.  After class my professor pulled me aside and said, “Did you realize that every number you said was in Italian?”  Well, I do now!  Yay!  I’m confused but I’m pretty.

And in Drama class one day I got to do an improv skill opposite a guy I had a huge crush on.  We were allowed only 3 lines or less to give the audience where we were and what we were doing without saying it directly.

No prep, no rehersal, aaaaaand GO!

I was so excited that I just ran at him.  Like a spider monkey.  I had no idea what I was going to say or anything.  I scared the shat out of everyone.  It was horrible.

Our teacher stopped the scene, thankfully, and let us start over.  Luckily I composed myself and redeemed my acting skills but I think he was pretty scarred from the whole experience.

Ever shown up to a “white elephant” Christmas party with a gag gift only to realize once you’re there that it isn’t actually a “white elephant” party but a “get-the-best-gift-you-can-find-for-$30” party?  I have.

When someone picked my gift and opened it, the disappointed look on that person’s face still haunts me.  And the best part was that someone else yelled, “who would do that!?  Whoever you are, you should be ashamed!”

I am.  I am ashamed.  But I’m going to sit here without saying anything and just look pretty.

Then there was the time I was talking to the Athletics Director of the rec team I coach for.  It was right before a game, I was dressed for it.  Looked like an amazing Cheerleading Coach (cuz I am).

I thought he seemed really interested in what I was saying.  Obviously, I’m awesome.  Or maybe he’s thinking, “Wow, she is an amazing Cheerleading coach!”

Nope.  All of a sudden he says, “I’m not sure if you know this, and I hope I don’t offend you, but you have a piece of food stuck in your teeth.”  Yaaay!  That’s not pretty at all.

My favorite is when my kids call me out. Like when I’m exercising, trying to get back to my pre-baby weight by digging deep to the Insanity Workout with my mentor, Shaun T, and my then 3-year-old daughter tells me, “You aren’t very good at this, Mommy.  Are you?  No, you aren’t.  But I am.”  That’s right, Bella.  Thank you.

Then there was the time she said, “Mommy, do you have another baby in your belly?”  No.  Your brother wanted to be sure he had room for all 9 lbs of himself so he stretched my uterus out reeeeeally big.  Now it won’t go back to its normal flat state because it is in shock.  Just like I am.  That a 9 lb human came out of that.  I realize it isn’t pretty.  Thank you for pointing it out.

AND my most recent “pretty moment” came courtesy of a nice older man named Phil.  I know him because we are both regulars at the same Starbucks.  He is very jolly, super friendly.

On this one day in particular, I decided to wear a sweater to work.  It was December, almost Christmas, so the weather was a bit chilly.  As I’m leaving Starbucks to go to work I wave to Mr. Phil and say hi.  And he smiles and says, “Ugly sweater day at work today?!  That’s great!”  To which I replied, “It is!  You like my choice?”  It was not ugly sweater day at my office.  It was normal sweater day.

Talk about being paranoid for the rest of the day.

Please tell me I’m not the only one with “pretty moments”…

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Beware of Paper Towels

Chopsticks at Panda Express… why?  You’re at Panda Express.  And you aren’t from China.  It’s like wearing a sombrero and poncho to Taco Bell.  Although, I think I’ve figured out why those who use chopsticks are so skinny.

Today at the gym a woman who looked to be in her 70’s walked from the shower and placed two paper towels on the bench in front of me.  While she was covered in a towel she hiked it up and sat on the paper towels while putting her shoes on.  She stood up and the paper towels got stuck in her butt crack.  No, I’m not joking.  The best part was the giggle that came out of her.

Does anyone else with kids feel like they’ve run a marathon after bathing 2 kids???  It sounds like it should be so simple!  Bathing 2 kids… it’s like herding wet cats.


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A New Year and I’m Still Pretty

Remember that thing about holiday expectations?  Yeah, New Year’s Eve came with a few.

Nice dinner with great friends, fun times, kids kept safely at home, everyone ends a fun-filled night safely in bed ready to start the new year off right.

It’s been a REALLY long time since either the hubs or I had had a New Year’s Eve night out. So when our lovely neighbors asked if we wanted to spend it out with them we said, “HILL YEZ!”

Baby sitter, check, dinner reservations, check, spectacles, testicles, wallet, and watch, check, check, check, and yes, well, I have a cell phone so that counts.

First, dinner. Our options were Ruth’s Chris, Oak, or the Club (which is right down the road. Seriously, we could walk if we absolutely had to which is a plus because no one can throw down like a mom on a rare night off).

We decided on Oak so K made reservations. 9pm was our best option. A little late but gave us plenty of time to eat and still party like the rock stars we know we are.

Oak is a super nice restaurant at a new development called Avalon. Avalon itself is very awesome. Outdoor shops, restaurants, movie theater, surely there would be some festivities for ringing in the New Year!

Nope. So we would have to eat at Oak and find our way to a party. No biggie!  Uber is there when you need it!

Only rate hikes would mos def be in effect at 11pm on New Year’s Eve. Anyone want to pay $200 for a 5-mile ride??

I don’t do hookers, so no. I don’t.

We decided the smart and simple thing to do would be dinner at the Club and stay for the party!  Perfect. We got ready. I even poured myself into some leather. Pre-gamed it with some Dom at our house then off we went.

Dinner was nice. Mixed-age crowd, no red flags… until the band started setting up…

The party was a different animal entirely from dinner. Everyone was my Granny’s age. No lie. Some may have even fought a turf war with my Native American ancestors.

Luckily, I was a few bourbons in.

We were the youngest whippersnappers there by a good 30 years.  But, hey, we’re here to party.

The highlight of the night in a Twilight Zone kind of way was C Dog gettin the “L” by some old chick for not dancing. This old lady formed an “L” with her hand and shoved it on her forehead at him.

Um, we aren’t losers. We are here partying it up with you old farts. I started getting ready at 4:30 and I’m wearing leather pants. Show some respect.

We finally had enough anesthesia alcohol to numb ourselves to the unexpected sounds of a band whose 50-year-old lead singer kept saying, “Ok, folks, this next song is one of my dad’s favorites!”  That’s not a joke. Really happened.

The four of us gave it our all and danced the night away trying not to offend the fox-trotters with the grinding that we all grew up believing was the only appropriate thing to do on a dance floor.

After toasting to 2015 with our champagne we safely drove the mile back home. The hubs and I gathered up our sleeping babies and we safely walked across the street to our house assuming that the night was a success and everyone would end the night safely in bed.

To that point, I thought C getting the “L” from the old chick was the highlight of the night… until I fell into the bushes of our front yard while holding my sleeping 3-year-old nugget.

Did I fall because I was drunk?  No. Honestly, hand to God, I was walking in stilettos up our driveway and I happened to take a look up at the sky.  What can I say, I get distracted easily.

I was thinking how beautiful and clear the sky was and my balance was thrown off. My son is a tank of solid muscle so with his dead weight I was front heavy. {THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID.}

Seriously, how does that happen??? I walk successfully all night in these shoes, stay focused, at one point have a few drinks AND STILL DANCE WITHOUT FALLING!!!!   I get home, have one of the most precious humans ever in my arms, asleep, fully trusting his Momma to safely walk the required three feet home, and I FALL????

So, now our poor bush looks like this:


{Is that a face??? I think I have a face in my bush and it’s laughing at me. That’s what she said.}

And my hand looks like this:


No, not pretty.

{And, yes, I do have a hitchhiker’s thumb. Don’t stare. Or mention it. I don’t like to talk about my flare.}

My sweet baby has not a scratch on him. Of course, he’s pretty pissed that I disrupted his sound sleep. But, otherwise he’s perfect. Aside from the emotional trauma my hubs has caused me since that moment by continuously saying, “Roman, you remember that time when your momma threw you in the bushes for New Year’s?” To which Roman replies, “Yes! I we-memba! I kwied. Wight, Daddy?”

Awesome. Epic Fail. And not my finest moment. But, I did look awesomely pretty in those pants. Even face-down on my sidewalk.

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