The roundup

It's been quite a challenge, these last few weeks.

Sick kid, sick kid, sick computer, sick kid, sick kid....not all at the same time. Not really all with the same illness. Capped off, of course, with sick Mom.

Which is definately not allowed.

Everyone seems to finally be on the mend. (knock on wood-- cross fingers-- buy vitamins)

Just when I thought I could get back into the water, Audrey hands me a note afterschool, with the heading: "Letter to Parents Regarding Lice."

I almost dropped the page it was printed on immediately.

Ew ew ew ew freaking ew!

I'm still shuddering. I find myself checking her head every five seconds. Any minute now, I know I will throw her in the tub and scrub her to pinky-cleaness with a vigor that would make Shrimpy Nana proud.

I know it's probably not a big deal and the school has to send these notes home. But have you ever watched little girls play? All the hugging? All the handholding?

Resisting the urge to put panic in her, but unable to stop myself, I told her: "No hugging. No holding hands, no sharing jackets, no sharing ANYTHING."

(Come on. You cannot tell me that you haven't reached up and scratched your head once since reading this. I know at least one of you who's squirming right now. Because lice, they're really just head-ants, right?)

Lice are just one of those things I may have no control over, and I know from personal experience. I was a victim back when I was Audrey's age, and it cost me my long hair.

My Mom tells me it was the hair or her sanity, and I can't fault her for making that choice, especially when, now that I am a mother myself, I know what a beautiful, fragile thing sanity can be.

My hold on it slips by the minute, as I sit here and feel......itchy.

My idea of a date

I managed to con Mr W into running errands with me on Sunday.

Partially because I wanted him to be aware of how much a trip to Costco really costs...so he'd understand why I blanch at his suggestion "Let's go out to eat" after I finish grocery shopping. (You just can't have it both ways with this many kids and that little money. Seriously. Dude.)

We were in PetsMart (the dogs eat too) and as we approached the checkout, he gestured for me to go in front of the cart. "Is this your way of saying I'm buying?" He nods. (I like to think it's just because he likes the view walking behind me. Or he's being a gentleman. Ladies first.)

"Why did I bring you along?" I sass. "Oh, I seeee. You're the muscle on this trip." (It was a big, hernia-inducing bag.) He nods as he says, "No."

I cock my head to the side, grinning, "Aaaahh, you're the eye candy, then."

He answers, "As long as you recognize I'm the eye candy that sits in the bottom of your Nana's purse, all covered in lint."

"Those always were my favorite," I giggle, as I turn to pay.