There is nothing quite like the annual closing of yet another academic school year. Graduation ceremonies. Pomp and circumstance. Yearbook signing. Picnics. Hugs. Tears.
And of course your friendly, run of the mill lice outbreak…
In my four year old’s classroom, her teachers are currently waging war against an army of louse. As if these teachers needed one more thing to deal with! Have you ever spent time locked in a room with 15+ three and four year olds for hours on end? Yeah, me neither. Now add impending summer and a full blown vermin outbreak and you’ll have an inkling as to what these women are dealing with.
On Tuesday, I received an unobtrusive message from one of my daughter’s saintly teachers letting us know our baby had a confirmed case of nits. For those unfamiliar with lice-adjacent terminology, nits are the eggs.
I became quite alarmed. I’m actually not sure how I’ve made it 39 years without coming into contact with a single lice case, but it’s the truth.
There is only one person more freaked out than me when it comes to bugs crawling around their head, and that is my husband. He was really losing it on the phone, bad.
“I think we’re gonna need to burn the house down,” was his first response.
I decided to seek advice elsewhere, taking my concerns door to door.
“THE LICE GOT HER!” I began yelling, to truly anyone who would listen. At this point I was bursting into empty classrooms, begging any kind soul for guidance. I’m not proud to say that I created my own kind of pandemonium. I even pulled a friend out of a semi-important meeting.
My next stop was the nurse’s office.
I busted through his doorway, yelling: “My daughter has nits!”
The nurse stared back, nonplussed. “Oh shoot. I’m really sorry about that.”
“Can you check me?!?!”
“Sure, have a seat.”
But then some sixth graders came in; one of them had broken their eyeglasses, so I had to wait for those to get taped up, which took FOREVER. I could practically feel the individual lice colonizing my skull, all while our nurse rolled the tape around the lens, asking where the tiny screw had gone to. For the love of God man, MOVE.
“Do you want me to close the door?” he asked.
I shook my head with vigor. “I absolutely do not care if everyone sees me, or if everyone knows I have lice.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I kind of got that. Its just a routine question.”
I bent forward and flipped my hair in front of my face, so he could check the back. He began to comb and dig. “I’m really not seeing anything so far,” he said, “but I’ll keep going.”
He continued, “I know this is kind of a weird question, but um, when was the last time you washed your hair?”
Flummoxed again. Should I admit to this man the lengths I will go to avoid real shampooing? Dry shampoo is one of my many life hacks.
“Um, yesterday?” Clearly a fabrication.
“Okay, yeah, just another routine question.” He kept digging, then stopped. My heart leapt to my throat. “Yeah, so um, I’m really not seeing anything. Like anything at all. You should be good!”
PRAISE THE LORD! But now came the true test. Now I had to deal with my daughter. The nits were a ticking time bomb; we cannot let them hatch repeated in my head like a mantra.
That’s when I noticed a new text from my husband: My school social worker is getting me the name of the lice lady. Please call her.
The lice lady? I was intrigued. I called the number asap and Jamie, the self-identified lice lady, called me back pronto.
“How soon can you be here?” she asked, “Does 3:30 work?”
“I can make that work, yes!”
“How old is your daughter, and do you have other kids?”
“She’s four. And yes, I have a six year old as well.”
“Better bring both of them, just to be safe.”
“Absolutely, will do.”
“And Simone, don’t worry. I’ve got you. I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I will take care of this.”
Not all hero’s wear capes.
I hightailed it over to Jamie’s basement salon, both kids in tow. She peeled on her rubber gloves and bandana, lathered up product, and began digging through my daughter’s curly mop.
Lo and behond, NO NITS!!! No lice! Nothing. FALSE ALARM!
And truly, I don’t fault the school. Best to err on the side of caution. Because as Jamie was digging through my daughter’s hair, she was pulling out all sorts of stuff.
“I guess it was a pretty windy day today,” I suggested.
“Yeah, that’s true! But wow, what is in here? Lots of fuzz and things.”
But no nits.
And that concludes Lice-Gate 2025. I am so thankful to Jamie the lice lady, who is a legitimate gift to humanity. Here is her contact info just in case you, like me, ever find yourself in need.
Could I have dug through my daughter’s hair on my own with a lice comb and done the treatment? Sure, I could have. But would I have trusted myself when all I found were fuzzballs and debris in her hair, and nary a nit or lice? I wouldn’t have slept for weeks, wondering if I’d missed a bug!!! Wondering what nits even looked like!!
It was so worth it to get peace of mind from Jamie.
But let’s not get cocky here, folks. We may have won the battle, but the war rages on. Stay vigilant out there; keep your head on a swivel.