Head Lice and Unnecessary Homework

Oh my lawd.

Ok. So one of my biggest fears in life is head lice. I have never, ever had head lice and neither have my kids.

Going into kindergarten I sort of had to concede the possibility of it happening. Even in preschool, I was pretty shocked when it never did.

But yesterday, after the girls got back from visitation, I opened their backpacks to find this unholy slice of paper.

Kill me.

I mean, at this point I feel like it’s probably best if we all just shave our heads and burn the house to the ground.

Just, like, prophylactically.

I swear I spent all of yesterday evening digging through their electric blonde hair like a starving primate grooming for ticks.

I couldn’t find a thing, but I can’t shake the creepy crawly fear that I’ve missed one. I truly do not know if I could ever, ever feel like I had gotten the house cleared if they did wind up having lice.

I really think fire would be the only way to fix it.

I tend to overcorrect.

It’s fine.

Ew. God, my head itches just talking about it.

Also in Harper’s backpack was this ridiculous stack of papers.

“What the crap is all this,” I asked her, flipping through the reams and reams of blank worksheets.

“I told Mrs. Clopp I didn’t think we were getting enough homework and asked her if she could give me some.”

My child, ladies and gentlemen.

She’s a tiny me.

I couldn’t be more proud. After June woke me up before the sun this morning (not bitter at all) demanding Apple Jacks, Harper asked if she could do some homework.

“You get that Mrs. Clopp doesn’t actually want you to bring this back, right,” I asked her as I cleaned up breakfast and distributed pens.

“I know. I just want to do it for fun.”

“I want homework,” June said, clearly ticked by the fact that she didn’t realize that requesting extra homework was a thing one could do.

“It’s Harper’s homework,” I told June. “She’ll have to tell you what you can have.”

The work toward respecting one another’s autonomy and personal property is ongoing.

But I do see progress. June didn’t even argue or try to negotiate.

What a couple of delightful nerd birds I’m raising.

Now that they’re all situated and enjoying their homework party I’m back to my heated bed watching a documentary and blogging.

One of the greatest things about their getting older is that I am able to wrestle a few solitary moments here and there throughout the day and I am digging it.

I’m digging it so hard.

I’m sure we’ll reconvene soon.

There are lots of people from out of town here at the moment and I’m not a fan. They’re independent contractors from around the country working at the refinery.

Town is crawling with them. I get Megan’s Law updates anytime there’s a change in status within a five mile radius of my home. They tend to move around in clusters, it seems. Nothing for a long time and then bam, it’s like sex offender musical chairs. It’s messed up.

But a couple of these contractors have been picked up since hitting town, and tossed in the county jail, which gives them an address within that magic five mile radius. I presume it’s because they were registered in their home states, which they weren’t supposed to leave, and did anyhow.

Idiots.

Anyway, there’s a few apartments in the building across the alley from us and it’s filled to the brim. Not to mention the Budget Lodge across the river and every other place they can find to stay. Warren’s east end is so full with people it’s about to burst. It happens a couple of times a year or so. Always the refinery calling in contractors.

It’s kind of cool and fun. You wind up talking with them in lines and at restaurants. Lots of cool, interesting people and stories.

But I can’t help but be reminded of the Megan’s Law emails I’ve gotten since they’ve been here and my guard is up with out of state strangers across the alley. The girls like to play outside and we love to go for walks. It’s less fun with additional variables to be concerned with.

I just keep being reminded of the unlikely and uncommon but no less scary incidents that have been due to passing folks.

Vilisca comes to mind.

I already carry mace for the neighbor’s dog, which charged us one evening as we were coming back onto the alley after a walk around the block. I have to admit I’d love to mace the thing if it charged us again. Its a big, square-jawed thing. Not that I dislike boxers and pitbulls. I’ve actually never met a mean one and I don’t know that that’s the breed, as it was dark, but if it is of that family it would be the first aggressive one I’ve ever met. I just hate it when dogs are aggressive. It’s really nerve racking, with summer coming, to know that it’s aggressive, or at least territorial, and untied. We’re outside people in the summer. The last thing I need is a bully pooch to worry about.

Oh well.

Hopefully contractor season will end swiftly. One of my big triggers since Mike got arrested is people outside. I did not even hear the cars pull up, didn’t hear the officers assembling on my porch, and then their execution of the warrant was so traumatic I tend to have a hypervigilant reaction to people outside. Whether they’re here for us or not.

There for a while there was this family living in the rental behind us whose kids would come onto the porch at night to steal my cigarettes and use my wifi. I only found out what they were up to one day when I checked my Netflix history to find that I apparently had a shitty action movie and softcore horror porn problem.

Little bastards.

I’ve been doing a lot of window peeking the last few days, to see if the voices and car doors I’m hearing are at our house or across the alley.

Even when I’m expecting company, and even when it’s company I want, I still have a sinking sour stomach reaction to the sound of people outside my house.

So.

That’s Sunday.

As you were.

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