Unconscious Mutterings and other stuff

And again I say to Bec – DON’T LOOK DOWN!

Go here first.

  1. Represent :: the minority
  2. Mumbling ::in my sleep
  3. Meetup ::one day with blogging buddies
  4. Tantalizing ::food
  5. Fake ::boobs
  6. Dale ::Ford
  7. Deny ::all knowledge
  8. Calories ::the bane of my life
  9. Roll ::in the hay
  10. 44 ::bottles of beer on the wall

And if it’s your first time, visit LunaNina to play.
Tonight, when Felix went to bed, he was itching his head more than usual. The head itching thing has only started since he insisted on partaking in a Nitbuster day at school (I am a firm believer our schools have taken on enough parental responsibility and this is just another program to detract from actual teaching and do something parents are just basically too lazy to do themselves.) and I olive-oiled his head and FINALLY removed the cradle cap he’s had there probably since he was a baby – and yes, it is cradle cap – not dandruff as Chef reckons we should be calling it once he was over 5.
Anyway, he actually got teary over how itchy it was. His hair has been looking atrocious – as in surfer grommet atrocious and he doesn’t surf nor is he a grommet, so there was really no excuse except for my own lazy parenting I was batting on about in the paragraph above. SO I just had one of my moments of spontaneity and said, “do you want to shave it all off?” and – NATURALLY – he replied “yes”. So we did.
It looks cool.
Until I looked at his head to check the cradle cap was not returning and the nitbusters had not actually introduced lice to our family. When…



We are not hillbilly hicks. We all shower or bath every.single.day. (Sorry Warragamba.) The house may resemble a bomb site, but it is actually – underneath all the toys, clothes, bags (what is going on with the bag proliferation???) – clean. I even have a cleaner come in every fortnight for fucks sake.

Anyway, I get his head over the sink, manage to pull them off and into the sink or shake them out into the sink and then call in the big guns. Mum.

Some time, several internet searches (are they nits? tics? OH DEAR GOD. . . BED BUGS???) and about a litre of conditioner and fine-tooth-combing later we decide they are the nymph stage of tics. It’s a Northern Beaches thing. There were about 6 bigger ones and 4 teeny weeny onesWe were at the park today, there was much foraging around in the bush parts and I believe some rolling around on the grass.

But people, it is really REALLY freaky having your kid complain of an itchy head, essentially shaving it and then SEEING FREAKING BUGS CRAWLING ON HIS SCALP.
So now, after getting the washing pile completely iradicated, there is now a massive pile of sheets, pillows, clothing and anything else Felix has been in touch with in the last day.
Even the cat got some long overdue attention as I figure she sleeps on his bed and maybe either a) they came from her or b) I’m too cheap to pay vet bills if she gets sick with a tic.
After the fug I’ve been living in (and I mean fug, not fog, because it’s been fuggly as opposed to foggy) I made the conscious decision I was not going to carry it in to the weekend as bloody hell, if I did that then suddenly it would be Monday morning and I’d be back doing it all over again, in some sick non-funny rendition of Groundhog Day. So it’s actually been a LOVELY weekend, thank you for asking.
I have now watched the Johnny Depp/Tim Burton Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in parts about five times this weekend. And I am addicted. My lust list has been well documented here and doesn’t need revisiting, but Johnny had been left off it for some bizarre blaming-it-on-the-pregnancy reason. The man is pure genius and his Willy Wonka is completely and utterly compelling.