Lice and Snow and Maybe Dying---Oh, My!

Just looking at it makes you feel something crawling around in your hair, right?

I guess I passed another of life's milestones; I had my first experience with lice. I hope "had" is the appropriate word and that we have indeed eradicated the lousy suckers. My brother's family was also infested; he suspects a Comfort Inn our families stayed in while in Philadelphia together. That's not brotherly love, Philly, but I still love you. I didn't love spending hours doing laundry, vacuuming, and nit picking (I will never feel the same way about that phrase), but at least lice don't have germs.

It's snowing today, but it's not Snowmageddon, cancel a week of school, like the last round. I despise snow from the depths of my soul. Partly because it's a wet mess that often hangs around being a wet mess for weeks, and partly because it puts my germophobia on overdrive. Why? There was a time I would have asked that very question. I miss that time. Well, think of all the animal poop in that snow---bird, rabbit, deer, squirrel, maybe even (and this really freaks me out) mouse. Have I mentioned that there is entirely too much stuff that poops all over the place on the East Coast? It must be all this dang life sustaining moisture. Imagine all of that poop sticking to your kids' shoes and clothing as they play in the snow. All of it being tracked into your house, not to mention what probably already made its way inside the kids. Shudder. So, anyway, I grit my teeth and try to enjoy my kids playing in the snow. Then it's showers and disinfecting the wet mess and laundry. The whole process is a huge ordeal for me. But I like the hot cocoa.

Oh, and I got medicated! I've been on it for about three weeks. Nothin' yet. I'm still living in a sort of constant state of panic. I almost always feel like my heart is in my throat. I hope it starts to kick in and that we don't have to go back to square one with something new. I probably still need to look for someone who does cognitive behavioral therapy though. This latest therapist didn't really do anything, other than prescribe some pills, but she didn't mention Jesus or pioneers, so I guess that's a win. 

But what really rocked my world since I last wrote was that I had a cancer scare. It looks like I'm clear. Thinking you might have cancer and waiting to get answers isn't exactly a joyride. So I imagined if I were dying, we'd head back home sooner, and I would wither away while watching my children play in my parents' back yard, in the shadow of my beloved Red Hill, where I used to play. Truly the whole thing was gut wrenchingly beautiful, yet I would rather not be dying. I really prefer to watch my kids play without the whole withering away part. But seriously, I was really very scared. I told myself that if I'm not dying, I will give up this germophobia crap. My imminent demise now seems unlikely (yay!). And yet. I can't give up the phobia and the obsession and the rituals. I really hoped that scare would smack this nonsense out of me, but I have a very tenacious mind.