Evicting Lice ..

... and other cool styles

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We found one (or two) in his hair, and so the cycle started all over again. Fifty pounds later and I was laden with lice mouse, lotion, and another set of fine tooth combs. My plans for the morning were immediately canceled, and everyone was in for a treatment to evict any unwanted visitors.

I always thought lice was an easy thing to sort out. A quick treatment of lice shampoo and as the box advertised, all lice and eggs would be eliminated. What a load of marketing bollocks! If you find one louse you are guaranteed that he has made himself at home and deposited some eggs, and the treatment DOES NOT KILL EGGS!

So that's why you need to comb!

Now considering my eldest cries like a cat in distress when fine combing his hair, you can only imagine how my youngest son struggles to cope. Diagnosed at three with autism and sensory processing disorder, he cannot tolerate anyone near his golden locks. And his hair is long, for the same obvious reasons, no haircuts. I also won't begin to mention the complexity of explaining why we have to go through the process, he just doesn't get it.

But we have worked so hard at all these complexities, and years of practice, we now know the ways to success.

So there we stood. Me and my husband, a bottle of mouse lice eliminator at the ready. I looked to my team mate and nodded, then we breathed in and ran. We ran into the room like a couple of child entertainers, full of energy and excitement. Nothing like removing the fear of rubbing a load of mouse in your son's air by being massively over enthusiastic!

“Rhys, let's do hair” I shouted, then I pumped a small white cloud into my hand, ready for the launch “Ready, steady, go” I danced towards Rhys, I laughed, and I got a good coating on the top of his head as we ran around the room like a pair of lunatics.

Then it was Daddy's turn, and he put on just as good an act as my hysterics.

In five minutes Rhys was coated, and in a further thirty minutes he had been bathed with freshly washed hair.

The same method was then executed once again, the “Ready, steady, go” and the counting down from five as I danced around the room and fine combed every lock of his hair.

I got all those buggers.

After a load of chocolate rewards and a good binge of Peppa Pig, I looked once again at my son. I didn’t want to do this again. I wanted the lice to never return, and I knew there was only one thing for it.

We couldn’t keep the long hair, it was too much to manage, especially when his sensory challenges meant he couldn't always tolerate the brushing and the washing. It needed to be cut, at least a little bit shorter.

So I started the routine once again. My plan to not go too mad, and retain some sort of long surfer layered look. I told Rhys I was ready, “Ready, steady, go” I said, slowly and clearly. I realised running around with sharp hairdresser scissors was not the best idea, so I cut lock by lock each time he paused and sat. I nailed it, well except for the front.

My son now has short hair, but a few strands hid themselves away in the creases of his neck when he pulled his shoulders up to his chin. And then there was the front. He squirmed thinking I was the tickle monster, and laughed each time I came close. A few long pieces framed his face. Excessively long pieces!

But it is better, and I have made a call into the hairdresser fairy, who comes at night. She will chop the last few bits and put some thinning shears through it over time.

It took all morning. For some of us the goals are different, they are won with laughs and giggles and dancing that really should only be done after a few drinks.

But we do it our way.