That is a sincere and hearty holiday greeting, celebrating my first Christmas:
a) devoid of palpable tension and broken logistics
b) where I am not forced to eat the traditional Polish meal of breaded carp
c) not freezing my ass off
d) surrounded by many of my favourite people.
Had a lovely time with my sister and her family, despite some unexpected visitors. Let me elucidate.
Scene: December 24th brunch, after pancakes. We're sitting around, full, content and looking forward to a calm and savoury Christmas. The older child, a handsome boy of six, sports a giant loaf of hair that has not been cut in a few months. His scalp is itchy. I comment on this.
Dad: He's never had his hair this long before. He must be entering the itchy stage of growing his hair out.
His dad has been bald for almost 20 years. It occurs to me that he does not know what he is talking about; I answer that it's only with growing out a shave that one itches. Pause. Dad plunks son on knee to take a good look at his head. Dad's eyes grow wider, then narrow more intently, then widen again. Very gently, his right eye begins to twitch. He is silent.
His four-year old daughter, sitting beside them, makes an observation.
Daughter: He's got ants in his hair...ooooh...
Dad: Those aren't ants.
No, they are soon admitted to be lice. This discovery prompts a range of responses, from bewildered tears from the wee ones at the thought of creepy crawlies upon them, which soon gives way to curiosity to see the "Sea Monkeys who live in our hair", and of course, much revulsed laughter from the adults.
Mostly, though, we all begin to scratch. We cannot stop our hands from creeping towards our heads, and every itch seems to herald infestation. My sister apologizes profusely, a look of hilarity and horror in her eyes, and then quickly assures me I'm likely safe as I had only just arrived. I, remembering my nephew clubbing his hairbrush against my head the previous night, am not so sure.
The infestation seems strangely appropriate to the time of year. A revival of an overlooked detail of the biblical story, as it's likely that headlice were also carried to Bethlehem by the Three Wise Men in addition to gold, frankincense and myrrh. Then again, the homeless family featured in the story of Christmas was living in a stable, not an upper-middle class home in one of the most expensive cities in North America.
It galvanizes us all into action, collecting stuffed animals to send to the cleaners and doing endless loads of laundry and researching Pediculosis humanus capitis ("Hey, did you know that a louse can take on the colours of their surroundings, like a chameleon?") and vacuuming and running to the store for a family pack of Nix shampoo and fine-toothed combs.
Then we all bond over treatment and applaud my nephew's very short haircut given by dad, who is gloating in his baldness, and pick at each other with special combs. Being vermin-free (and treated anyway, thank you very much), it falls to me to prepare the Christmas Eve feast while my family groom each other, attentive as baboons.
Opening the wine at the first hint of darkness, I propose a round of scabies for Family Christmas 2010. Silently, I plan a holiday by myself on a remote and sterile island.
Happiest of holidays to you and you and you,
Ms. Gretchen Rutte
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