There is no greater gift for the father of your children than an over-reaction to potential lice.
Humor Parenting

What Do You Get the Man of Your Dreams for His Birthday?

There is no greater gift for the father of your children than an over-reaction to potential lice.

By Kristin McCarthy of Four Princesses and the Cheese

Well, friends, today the hubs turned thirty-five years old.  He even scheduled the day off of work so that he could relax for a bit before we took the twinnies out for a birthday lunch. My man had a nice day planned for himself and I was happy for him.  The guy works so hard and he deserves a day off to celebrate.

But this is the McCarthy family, so things didn’t quite turn out as planned… like at all.

Personally, I woke up feeling like ass with my head aching and my tummy turning somersaults.  It didn’t help that one of the toddlers decided that sleep was the enemy and we should be up playing Peppa Pig at 6 am.  No worries, I told myself.  Daddy is home all day long.  We got this.  This can still be a great family day.

The rest of the morning went fairly smoothly.  Nice recovery! I thought to myself as I finished combing my eldest daughter’s hair.


That can’t be.

There is no way.

Is that…

Is that a F*CKING NIT!

No no no no no, must be dandruff.  Breathe, Kristin.  Stay calm.

Oh my God, there is another.  I better Google “Lice eggs.”

Won’t move off of the hair shaft…check

Glued to one side of the hair follicle…check

Slightly translucent…holy shit, I think the kid has lice!

There are only two paths here.  I could remain calm and make a plan of attack or I could go bat-shit crazy.

Of course, I flipped out completely because this is what I do.

I bolted upstairs with my pink bathroom billowing behind me.

“SAM, WAKE UP!  I THINK OUR DAUGHTER HAS LICE….AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”  I screamed into the dark bedroom before I continued tearing through the upstairs, ripping bedding off of the mattresses, knowing that days of laundering lay ahead of me.  Jesus, I hate laundry.

My dearest wandered downstairs fifteen minutes later to his daughter sobbing in the bathroom and me swearing, ranting and frantically combing through her hair. The twins and the middle child had been left to their own devices Lord-of-the-Flies style and the house was in complete chaos. There was no birthday breakfast, no presents (they are on back order as we speak) and no singing to poor Daddy.

Bickering ensued since that is our go-to mode when we are overly stressed or disappointed, but then we suddenly stopped.  The hubs and I agreed that we could spend the day pissy at each other and be completely miserable, or we could combine our parental forces and kick some louse ass.

Shitty as the circumstance was, we are parents and we are in this crap-tastic thing together. We got to work combing through all six of our heads…never saw a damn bug on anyone.  Heads were treated with chemicals, with oils, with vinegar, and with prayer.  We checked heads again…still nothing.  Not a single egg-looking thing was present.  The furniture got vacuumed, the floors and baseboards were scrubbed, the mattresses were sprayed and vacuumed along with the interiors of both of the cars.  Every single sheet, pillow, toy, shirt and towel took a ride through the spin cycle on Sanitize.

We did a third comb through…still nothing.  At this point, I was starting to lose feeling in my fingers.  Scrubbing and mopping took place in the bathrooms, the brushes and hair ties were tossed, and a trip to the store was made to replace all of the items that I threw away in my spastic mom meltdown.  I forgot to grab a birthday card, and I did not grab treats or candles.

Sleeping bags were laid out and yet another comb-through was done before bed.  Again nothing.  By 8 pm I started to think more rationally, and it only took me half a day to get there! Did she even have lice?  Holy hell, did I just freak the f**k out over nothing?  I could have sworn they were eggs twelve hours ago, although now I don’t know…

I have no clue what to even call this event.  Maybe-lice, maybe-crazy, definitely over-reactive on my part.

Seated here in the silence that 10 pm brings each night, I can hear my husband softly snoring.  What a trooper he was today.  We make quite the team, he and I.

He really is a great man and I am so grateful that he puts up with my crazy ass.  It might have been his birthday today, but I was the one feeling like I had gotten the gift.

This post was originally published on Four Princesses and the Cheese.


About the Author

SAHM mom of four little blonde girls ages 8, 6 and identical twin 2 year olds. Lover of cheese, craft beer, top knots and BRAVO. Hate of Thomas the Train, Caillou and laundry. You can find Kristin and her little Blonde-tourage hanging out at popular Suburban hot spots like the local Target and Home Depot. Kristin is the cynical mind behind and is also a regular contributing writer for Suburban Misfit Mom, Hooray For Moms and Red Tricycle.