Nits. We have nits. We are pariahs. We are no longer welcome at kinder. I have to try and eradicate all traces by Friday when we begin three days of birthday parties.
Isn't it glamorous, being a writer? Isn't it earthy, being a mother? Isn't it marvellous, living out in the bush, side by side with wildlife - parrots, kangaroos, echidnas, wombats, owls, mice, giant spiders, nits. Aint life grand?
In other news I went and looked at two primary schools today - both the local schools had open mornings. One was lovely, clean, orderly, very computery. The other was small and feral and wild and fun. In one they have a visiting social worker and speech pathologist and a young energetic staff and electronic whiteboard in every room. In the other they have ancient computers and a deeply suspicious attitude towards the Internet; they also have a librarian one day a week, a newly planted orchard, a kitchen garden where the kids can help themselves to tomatoes and strawberries and lunchtime Cubbyland, where the kids use available materials to make cubbies and start their own savage communities like Lord of the Flies (but without Piggy killing, the principal assured me). In one school the staff were young and energetic with lots of new ideas. In the other the staff were older, more experienced, but also perhaps a little jaded and certainly not up to date with the technology. One is old and wooden and sweet and adjacent to Fred's current kinder. The other is crouched and brown and ugly, 1.5km down the road. Both have big playgrounds and ovals. One has 120 students this year and 16 preps. The other has 65 total and 4 preps.
And she won't be allowed at either if she doesn't get over the current NITuation.