I Have THE Solution for Headlice


I’ve written about my kids having lice before. My daughter had extraordinarily thick long hair, and I’ve spent upwards of 16 hours in two days picking nits from her head. I NEVER filled the prescription for Qwell, it’s Malathion and I’m not about to dump Malathion on my kids’ heads.

My Aunt was a school nurse and she told me about the Robi Comb. The Robi Comb is the best $30 that a parent can spend.

Robi Comb for head lice

Not only is it a chemical free, quick (relatively) way to get the lice out of your child’s hair, it’s also incredibly satisfying. Let me explain.

First you brush your child’s clean dry hair so it’s as tangle free as possible. Next, divide the hair up into sections and then start with a very small section of hair. You turn the Robi Comb on (it’s battery operated) and start with it against your child’s scalp, and comb each small section a few times from root to tip. The comb makes a high pitched noise until it hits lice, then it goes silent because it’s doing something wonderful.

It electrocutes the little beasts.

That’s right, you’ll hear the high pitched noise stop, and you’ll have the intense satisfaction of seeing a fried lice (because I’m an adult I’m not going to make the obvious Engrish joke). It’s like an electric chair for lice… you bite my kid, I electrocute you. HAH.

In any event, I see a lot of parents agonizing about headlice this week. I’ve been there, done that, and I can help with this one. Go buy the Robi Comb even if it’s not your turn, yet.

Check me out on Child’s Play


Go on and gimme a click
Or twenty

Cuz I’m writing about headlice again, and I do recommend you give your kids the lice wash before school begins.

Eff You Lady: Adventures in Head Lice


Dear Myla’s Mother,

Fuck you.

I could end the letter there but I won’t. I’d like to elaborate on why you can go fuck yourself.

This house has been head lice free for almost a month. Why? Because when my daughter had them I took care of her. We stayed home for a few days to get the job done.

When your daughter had head lice you sent her to camp. How do I know this? Because my daughter told me so. Myla explained to the girls that she only had a few left.

Not. Okay.

So, Myla’s Mommy, I’d really like to let you know that I’m over you. I’ve never met you in person, and your daughter (by all accounts) is lovely. But you are on my shit list.

This time I’m using the Robi Comb. My aunt is a school nurse and recommended it.


Head Lice: Actually Mom This is Fun


Talking with the Pediatrician is always a load of fun. Mothers like I need mint flavored shoes because we spend so much time with our feet in our mouths. I’m sure the kids really enjoyed my screeching at him, “Malathion?! You want to prescribe Malathion for my children’s scalp? Are you trying to kill us all?”

Fast forward a few days and I’m standing over my son, holding back tears and pulling yet another nit out of his hair I’m hoping it’s the last. I say to him, “Just be still Alexander if we can get you 100% nit free you can go to camp tomorrow.”

Like a cherub, my little guy looked up at me, “Actually Mom, it’s a lot of fun just staying home with you and Jane.”

Although my heart absolutely melted and my stressed out shoulders dropped for the first time in four days, I’d really like to know what the fun part was? Which one of the 15 nit picking hours was the finest? Was it the hour when I had to walk outside and scream fuck at the top of my lungs? Was it when I accused my husband of catching a cold on purpose so he couldn’t help? Maybe the fun part was when I couldn’t find the lice because I was crying?

At some point between hours 11 and 12 I called in reinforcements and The Picky Mom gave me three precious hours of her time. She called me a Saint, I sat down and cried a little more. I cannot begin to tell you the anguish and failure of having another woman performing a parenting task that I know I should do. However, it’s worth noting that this particular failure was the smartest thing I could have done. If was a gazillionaire I’d have that woman move in with me for a week. Alas, three hours is all I can afford.


No, the best part is probably when I declared, “No one is allowed to touch Mommy.”  Clearly, there is a parallel universe. One where I’m not a wretched, weeping, cursing, drinking, screeching, nit-picking mother.

They love us. Our children love us no matter what we do, no matter how poorly we behave. I need to be keenly aware of that.