This week in Children’s Choir, Katie had her hand raised.
“Yes, Katie?” I asked.
Eagerly she announces, “I have lice!”
And I immediately turn the conversation to other, more musical, topics.
In the back of my mind I’m thinking, Now, I know Katie’s mom and she would not send Katie to choir if she could infect others with lice. As I surreptitiously scratch.
Maggie, one of my friends who’s daughter is in choir, and I laughed about it afterwards. And scratched.
Oh, please, don’t let my children get lice, I think. Katie, herself, told me that the worst part is that you have to wash the sheets every day.
But I brush my paranoia aside. And resist the urge to scratch.
And then, Sabbath morning, I’m combing Lia’s hair when I see something. I give a little gasp, and lean closer, eyes dilating. Small, nit-like objects close to her scalp.
And just before I panic, I remember … oh, yes, we went to the beach yesterday. It’s sand, not lice.