I wanted to go out today, I really did. I wanted to take Maggie to speech, and then let her have a play date at Duyah's house while she and I lamented over Organic something or other, and let loose our stresses and medication woes, and the fact that Spring wants to be here, it really does, but there seems to be some giant elastic band holding it back, back, back, readying it for a final release into Chicago.
I really did.
I wanted to take Neighbor Kate over some sour cream in exchange for the beef stock, both of which she has borrowed, cause I'm nice like that, so we could take turns telling her dog to shut up, and be interrupted mid sentence repeatedly by kids needing something now.
I wanted to run over to Emma's school and pick her up and bring her home so I could check her head myself. I wanted to make Maggie sit still for an hour so I could comb through every.single.inch of her hair (which would take forever, thanks, Nunn Bee) and look for nits and bugs.
But instead, I sit here and quarantine my kids into oblivion because I don't want to be that mom. You know, the one where she thinks her kids are immune to the bugs, sends them on their merry way, and sure enough, a week later, lice kids start popping up all over the place. I'm not doing that. I've worked in enough salons, and enough hospitals, to know how fast things can spread. Lice isn't something I want to tango with. Salsa, maybe. Tango, no way.
So tonight, those kids, which so far appear to be nit free, are not leaving the house. I'm vacuuming every inch of everything, and they're all taking baths tonight whether it's been a day or three days. Wash, wash, wash. Scrub scrub scrub.