Nitpicking

The long weekend started with a parasite double. 

The Easter holiday’s realisation that my daughter was riddled with nits (she hates having her hair brushed or wearing it up and often won’t let me near her with a brush) meant that by the time I spotted one they were practically jumping off her head. Naturally, I treated us all to several lavish nit combs and a bottle of Lyclear, but evolution is cunning, so shortly before Scouts (luckily it was work-from-home Fridays) I found yet another creepy crawly, so I pulled up my sleeves and deloused us all once more, embarking on a hotwash of towels and pillowcases, and treating myself to a coconut and tea tree oil overnight hair mask. It was only relaxing over Googlebox after supper that I noticed Ava was itching elsewhere as well. 

Threadworms are a little talked about (we never got them when we were kids) six monthly joy that our inner city primary refuses to acknowledge, though their loos are quite revolting compared to the eat-your-dinner-off-it cleanliness of my bathrooms, so I know it’s not our personal hygiene that’s a problem. The school flags up outbreaks of nits, but whenever I’ve noted the presence of threadworms, I’m met with resounding silence- the ick factor is pretty high. These little critters lay eggs around one’s butthole and itch like crazy. It’s unpleasant, but that’s the worst of it. 

I dutifully reacquainted Ava with the scrubbing brush, took a deep sigh and washed quilts and bath mats too, putting all the toys in the tumble dryer in a vain hope to kill the eggs. By the time I was through I was spitting nails, as well as scrubbing them. 

It’s a zero sum game in any case. Worming tablets only serve to dump a gazillion eggs all round my pristine home, no matter how much wiping and sterilising I do. You’re better to eat yoghurt and avoid sugar to cut off there food supply- but try telling that to a nine year old. I made Tom make a docs appt for something stronger on prescription, coz like headlice and foot fungus, the over the counter treatments,  just can’t keep up with the evolutionary arms race we’ve created for ourselves. And what with all the other life admin – new home, new job- (I’m through vetting now, so I’m back online!) I feel like having yet another microscopic issue to keep tabs on might just finish me off. But then spotting aberrations is a talent of mine- it’s what makes me good at noticing stray apostrophes, blackheads, dreaded whiskers (yup, I got them too!) and dust. In fact, my OCD, which I’m fairly good at controlling most of the time, tends to run amok at each new infestation, (there are some horrifying stories online!) given free rein to obsess over particles and bacteria and eggs too small to be seen with the naked eye. 

If the small stuff has been keeping me busy, the big things have also been on my mind- Tom’s birthday giving me occasion for too much celebration and not enough sleep, while the two of us have largely been ignoring each other in a spate of flat packed furniture construction and nitpicking- and mostly with each other. Why is it that a holiday always gives rise to unleash emotions pent up all the rest of the time because you simply don’t have time to express them? Classic holiday argument, hangover and makeup duly achieved, we have little more to do this holiday than catch up on some zzzs and take the kids out on a family day out- thinking The Cutty Sark but Rochester’s Sweeps Festival is also good for some genuine Maypole action.

In the meantime, I need to get over the hangover from Tom’s annual birthday BBQ last night, in which the usual suspects turned up late and stayed up longer than is wise, while the kids ran amok with weapons. A lazy day is required and that’s what we shall have, but at least my bedsheets are clean for all last night’s party has given me yet another excuse for steam mopping the floor.