Bean woke up...God, it had to have been at least 10 times last night, and I am NOT exaggerating. It was one of those nights where we just lost count after awhile. This morning, it turns out, she is coming down with something snotty, so that explains it.
Sister had lice, but the nurse at school cleared her this morning. It only took a big bottle of stinky shampoo and thorough combing of her thick locks with not one fine-toothed lice comb, but two. They BETTER have been all gone.
All the potentially lice-y--or lousy?--bedding has been washed with hot water and is hanging up in the sun this morning to dry. The possibly lousy stuffed animals and pillows have all been bagged up and sealed to slowly suffocate whatever might be in there over the next 10 days. There are a few choice stuffed animals in the freezer, 'cause apparently that kills them quicker. Combs and clips have been boiled. The list of all the extra house-cleaning chores I've had to do in the last 18 hours goes on and on.
I should be exhausted and in a hateful mood, but I'm not. Know why? I just busted out Husband's electric drill a few minutes ago and drilled about 100 holes in a big, black, plastic garbage cart, ushering in its new life as my compost bin. There's nothing quite like using power tools to bring back the sense that I am the mistress of my destiny, especially because this is a task that I had diplomatically delegated to Husband last week--you know, since it involved power tools and all. (Though I'm quite competent at using a number of them my own damn self, thanks. And do use them, if I feel I've been waiting too long for a request to be fulfilled. Man, does that ever get Husband hopping over the next couple of days to get stuff done! FYI.)
Anyways, if y'all ever have one of those out-of-control weeks, think power tools. I'm telling you. Go drill some shit and your life will be all yours again!