The War on Hygiene
“I love your haircut. You don’t look homeless anymore,” I say to The Young One.
He levels his eyes at me. He’s not amused.
I can’t help myself. “Really, you look like a kid who has a family and a home and doesn’t sleep in an open field. I bet the new sixth-grade girls will say you look cute.”
“Actually, Izzy, I don’t think a single one will even think that.” He’s still mad that his father chopped off his tangled locks. And I did not jump in to save him.
The kid likes, what I call, homeless hair, which probably isn’t a very nice thing to say. More accurately, it’s extreme bed head. Curls that lop over his face. Sometimes I call him Mr. Jack O Lantern, the gigantic roundness of the hairstyle resembling Charlie Brown’s pumpkin, and tell him to be careful crawling through caves or other small spaces.
My hair is my thang.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I like crazy, wild, arty hair on guys that play bass and are totally wrong for me. My preference is eccentricity, not conformity and I, in no way, want to force the kid to part his hair into symmetrical sections. So then, why did we cut his trademark curls?
“My hair is my thang,” he’d pleaded the night before, standing in front of the bathroom mirror with a retired, blue towel draped over his slumping shoulders. The cruel grinding of the electric clippers started up, drowning out his final cries, “Daddy, you dig?”
I had to look away. After all, it’s gorgeous hair and I do dig, but it’s just too long and he’s heading back to school on Monday.
The last time it had gotten this long, he’d also gotten himself some lice. Those buggers know a good head of hair when they see one and they’d been living in bliss until his teacher spotted one saunter out of hiding to take an arrogant look around- conceited louse!
The Young One was promptly sent home to avoid “public humiliation by the other children.” I’m convinced the classroom banishing was truly meant to protect him from militant parents. Upon hearing the disgraceful news, they’d eagerly be calling for his beheading. “Off with his head. Keep that scornful child away from my innocent baby!”
Your lamb of a child is where he got the lice in the first place. Just sayin.
I think we all agree that when there are lice, the hair (not the head) has got to go. Let me qualify, almost everyone. When The Tall One was forced to cut his own rumpled mane (as a necessary consequence of sharing hairbrush, towels and your basic bathroom utensils with his brother), he was none to pleased. “I don’t care if I have lice, just don’t cut my hair!!!!” Spouting obvious crazy talk, his long hair career was abruptly cut short.
I think we all agree that when there are lice, the hair (not the head) has got to go.
The unwelcome louse in the house presented some tough realities, like: I no longer live alone. Gulp.
I now share my living quarters with man-children (and their lice apparently), so when they bring in unwanted critters that create sudden chaos, I can no longer retreat to my sterile apartment until all is clear. I’m now a partner in this, so I better start doing some laundry.
It was during this moment of self-awareness that I made a new household rule: HAIR IS KEPT SHORT UNTIL YOU’RE SIXTEEN. This declaration will buy me, if I’m lucky, at least one more year of louse-free living.
After forty-seven loads of laundry and several unhappy meals together, (“I won’t eat again until my hair grows back”), we emerged victorious…and very clean. I pronounced myself House General and said, “It was war and I earned every disgusting star.”
As a tribute to this success, my sister awarded me with an I Heart Lice t-shirt. “Make friends with your enemies, she advised. This is the only way to win.” I wear this “badge” proudly to Whole Foods where other weary mothers salute me. We share an understanding. On the battlefield for good hygiene, we carry on.
For a discussion on the battle for good hygiene, go to the Whole Milk Forum or leave a comment on this post.
Tags:back to school, crazy talk, haircut, homeless, hygiene, lice, war
You gotta put a “I heart LICE” shirt in the Stepmother’s Milk Boutique. I’ll buy one!
I second that!
So far, my kids love their hair short. Even the girl! I tend to be the one to encourage them to grow it long, but then they learn they have to take care of it, so it gets buzzed not long after.
I won’t eat again until my hair grows back? That is totally awesome.
Although, Izz, are you sure about this 16? Maybe you should go with 18? Cause then it’s time to go off to college? Just sayin.
This was hilarious. I needed a good laugh!
You’re right. 18. The right to vote and the right to cut. They go hand in hand. I will amend the rules promptly.
IR
You asked for it. You got it. The husband knows how to deliver. For all of you who want your own I Heart Lice t-shirt (like for the back-to-school PTA meeting) check it…stepmothers milk boutique - upper rt on the home page- selling like hotcakes right now!
IR
The mere mention of LICE makes me itch. I used to have really long hair when I was little (up until I was old enough to insist cutting it all off) and I would get lice all the time. It was hell.
Then one of my friends came back from a visit overseas with LICE FROM HELL. It was horrible, and took three helpings of that nasty smelling crap to get rid of it. All of my dolls disappeared for a year.
In short, SHAVE THEIR HEADS. Anything to prevent it…
I heart lice.
I agree with the 18 rule.
You are a real badass Izzy. As is your sister, I must say.
Even though I dread to think of the day that I confront lice with my own future carriers, I mean children, I absolutely loved reading this post! It reminded me of the day I ended up the outcast child sent home from 3rd grade with a head full of critters. My sister who was in 1st grade was sent home too, just for being related, poor kid. I had hair down to the middle of my back, luckily it was blonde and the little buggers had less camoflouge. My mother was not as lucky as you and haircuts were not an option!!! She shampood our hair with what seemed to be gasoline at the time and then bent us over the kitchen table, which was covered with white paper, to ensure that she had gotten them all. She combed our hair out with those lice combs and believe me, some of those things made it through the acid wash. All I remember is the pain of that comb and the screams when a survivor evacuated my hair and ventured onto the table. I screamed and my parents cringed at the thought of what torture the neighbors might think was being inflicted on me. Just writing this post is bringing on phantom itching. My poor Mama (now was labeled as the “mother of those kids with lice”) but she turned the tables on the school. She was not going to be accused of being the cause of those things attacking the heads of the supposed innocents in the 3rd grade class. She told the school, her babies would not be back until they could gaurantee her that we were not going to be exposed again. You go girl! The only snag to her plan was that she ended up checking 30 heads of hair because nobody else would. She is the best and an “I Heart Lice” shirt is definitely what my Mom needed after that whole experience.
Well done Izzy! Wear your shirt with pride. You have earned it!