You’ve stocked up on school supplies: glue sticks, notebooks, pencils, and new shoes. The promise of freedom is on the horizon. Your children come home each day with a mountain of paperwork in their backpacks: emergency forms, PTA schedules, and assignments. You find yourself with more homework than they do in that first week. Soon enough, they’ll settle into a routine, and life will return to normal.
But then, it comes. The dreaded letter in their folder. Or even worse—a phone call. Lice.
For those who have faced a lice infestation before, the mere mention of the word likely sends you into a mini panic, your hand instinctively reaching for your scalp. Take a breath; it’s just a word. Unless you’re currently dealing with lice, in which case, pour yourself a shot of tequila and take a moment to collect yourself.
Let’s walk through the five stages of lice:
- Denial and Isolation
Upon hearing that your child has lice, your first instinct is disbelief. “Excuse me, Nurse, did you just say I need to pick up Avery from school because she has lice? That can’t be right; I keep her clean!” It’s completely normal to rationalize your anxiety—it’s a defense mechanism to cope with the shock. After you retrieve your ‘lousy’ child and rush to buy a nit removal kit, you pour yourself a glass of wine, shut off social media, close the curtains, and cry. You plan to hibernate for the rest of the day, maybe even the week. - Acceptance
Unlike the Stages of Grief, Acceptance comes second in the lice saga. As you sip your wine, you’ve just applied the strongest over-the-counter treatment available, along with any natural remedies you found online, while waiting for the little pests to die. Your kitchen has transformed into a makeshift pharmacy and salad dressing lab. Your child is blissfully occupied with video games…you think you can manage this! The timer goes off, and off to the shower she goes, where you pour warm vinegar over her head (to dissolve the nit glue) and grab that bizarre comb. - Anger
This is where the reality of the situation truly sinks in. You realize the magnitude of the task ahead. Dinner? Not happening. You bark at your partner to bring home dinner, anything at all. If you have other children, well, they need to fend for themselves today. By hour five, my son figured out I was too overwhelmed to help him, and he stopped asking. My anger bubbled up as the wine buzz faded, leaving me exhausted and irritable. Yet, I kept combing, but those stubborn nits wouldn’t budge (thanks a lot, warm vinegar…). Guilt washed over me, making me angrier. Eventually, I collapsed from sheer fatigue, only to face the same battle the next day. It felt endless, and ultimately, the nits won. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” doesn’t apply to lice. - Depression
If your family, like mine, has stubborn lice that resist over-the-counter treatments, you’ll find yourself consumed by nit removal for days, if not weeks. All personal care takes a backseat to nit care. My daughter’s long hair was non-negotiable; cutting it would have been a betrayal. My husband and son both refused buzz cuts—seriously? You have the magic ticket to escape this chaos, and you won’t use it? My own hair became a frizzy mess, and I couldn’t visit the salon while dealing with this nightmare. Nights were spent nit-picking in front of the television; my husband rifled through my hair but only noted, “I see a lot of gray hair!” Yes, he’s still breathing. - Bargaining
The final stage is bargaining. Early on, you may try to stick to your principles, thinking, “I’ll handle this naturally. I’ve heard mayonnaise works wonders!” Perhaps you even consider professional help, but balk at the cost. By the end of this ordeal, however, you’ll find yourself throwing money at any solution that promises relief. We spent a fortune on takeout, hair accessories, nit removal kits, and doctor visits—so much that hiring a professional from the start would have been cheaper. Normally, I prefer natural remedies; I even treat ear infections with warm onions. But by week three, sobbing in my doctor’s office, I told her I’d consider anything if it worked. That’s how I ended up using malathion, which is deemed safe for humans as long as you don’t breathe it in while applying. I had to silence my inner-hippie to make it happen, but in the end, it worked. I won the battle.
For anyone who thinks they’ve miraculously avoided lice through special measures, let me break it to you: lice are like mosquitoes; they’re drawn to warm heads and human blood. Clean hair or dirty hair, there’s no foolproof method to prevent them. If you’ve never encountered lice, consider yourself fortunate. If your child gets them, it doesn’t make you a bad or careless parent. Don’t hide in shame like I did; reach out for support. And if you’re that supportive friend, try to maintain your composure when someone confides in you about their lice crisis. Lice don’t jump, but save the hugs for later.
Remember, there is life after lice. You’ll learn to groom again. When others treat you like an outcast or share their long list of preventive measures, resist the urge to switch hats with their kids.
Sure, lice aren’t the end of the world—there are certainly worse things—but for those of us who have lived through the ordeal, we wouldn’t wish it on our worst frenemies.
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Summary:
The article outlines the five stages of dealing with a lice infestation as a parent, from denial to acceptance, anger, depression, and finally bargaining. It highlights the overwhelming emotions and challenges faced during this ordeal, emphasizing that families can emerge from the experience stronger, and encourages open communication and support among friends.