So we read the preschool outbreak notice, gather up our possibly infested trio of puppies, and take the boys home.

We go about our usual business, but I feel itchy.  Despite the fact that I’m sure there is some sort of gestation period, for a week I find my scalp crawls just at the thought.  Even when I’m not thinking about it.

Meanwhile a day or so after the notice was posted, Nate calls me to his room, “Qwickly!”

He tells me, “Mama, there’s lifez flying around my room.  Little tiny ones.”  He gestures with his hands to show tiny airborn bugs.  When I come to see these “lifez” he tells me his foot is itching.

And then last Friday I get home from work and Jake tells me, “Mom, I had lice today.”

“You did?  How do you know?”

And he says, “I saw a big pack of them climb up a tree and then jump onto my head.”

We have a serious infestation of phantom lice.  The only treatment may be brainwashing.

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