Soup and Bugs

What a week. On Sunday night, I was pretty sure that I found nits on the top of Roman's head. We had him stay up until 10:30 at night to do a complete treatment and clean his room. On Monday, Dr. Google had me convinced that they weren't really nits. On Tuesday morning, sitting in the story hour at the local library, little Selah comfortable on my lap, a louse crawled out of one of her curls on top of her head. Anger and disgust welled up inside of me. I pulled the little blighter off of her scalp and smeared it between my fingers.

We stopped by CVS on our way home, and I bought everything I needed for another treatment. This time I did Roman, Selah, and myself, as a precaution. I e-mailed our dinner company and let them know that they might want to rethink my invitation. One of the sweet girls declined dinner, but offered to come over and help bag and wash everything! Another friend responded, "Soup and bugs? Sounds like Thailand. Count me in!" I loved them both for such great responses.

I have checked Matt, Dawnielle, and Jessica. No one else seems to be under the curse. I will continue to comb out their little heads everyday for the next 2 weeks. Goodness gracious.

Oh year, Tuesday morning Selah pooped in the bath tub for the seventh or the eleventeenth time. So I had to bleach the tub before I could use it to de-louse them. Really? When do I get my paycheck?

Also, this morning while I was boiling the lice comb, I ran upstairs for "a second". I came back down when the smoke detector sounded. Both children were standing in the living room stricken silent and still by the beeping. "Is there a fire!?" Roman asked.

I had boiled the pan dry, and melted the plastic handle grips to the bottom of my favorite sauce pan. Both are done for. Love it. Fantastic parenting.

And a snippet of a conversation you would have heard following us back from the park...

"Be careful Roman, if you pull on my hand like that and slip, you will fall into the road."
"And the cars will make me dead?"
"Well, you could definitely get hurt."
"And then you wouldn't have a little boy anymore?"
"Oh, sweetie. Mama's job is to keep you safe."

Dear goodness gracious, how do I respond to this boy?