Nits!

The summer holidays are coming to an end; the kids are going stir crazy; they are desperate to get back to their friends; they are fidgety and whiney and quarrelsome.

And then in the midst of all the rationalising I'm doing about how they can't wait to get back to school I notice something slide out of my daughter's hair. She's in the bath and has requested a hair wash. She lies back in the water and I apply a good squirt of strawberry-scented shampoo. The creature slips down to the end of her hair as I comb it through - and I am mortified to realise that it is a louse!

I have learned a lot about the life-cycle of head lice over the past couple of weeks - the amount of time it has taken me to get rid of all traces of infestation in my daughter's hair. Heaven knows how long she has had the things, or where she got them from. She is not given to cooperating over having her hair brushed during the school holidays, much less having regular nit inpsections. The critters in her hair looked pretty established - and fat!! She's certainly been feeding them well.

In my search for lotions to eliminate the unwelcome guests I learned that the nits themselves are actually the tiny white eggs of the lice, that are laid in the shafts of hair close to the scalp, and "glued" on with a substance it is impossible to shift with a dry comb or brush. You need something oily, to loosen the nits' hold. At first I was determined to beat the creatures using natural products, and read on the internet about smearing the hair with mayonnaise, which kills the imposters, then combing out the remains.

Well I didn't go as far as mayonnaise. I bought a product called Wild Child from Boots, which claims to contain no nasty pesticides or chemicals that could not only damage the nits but my daughter too. I also bought a nit comb called the Nitty Gritty, which has been acclaimed by Richard and Judy (?) as being the most effective weapon against the invasion of nits. For 2 hours my daughter and I (by this time I was convinced I had things running around in my head too) sat with Wild Child plastered all over our heads and sealed in with a disposable shower cap. (I'm glad I wasn't expecting any deliveries that day.)

The nits hatch into nymphs, tiny brownish creatures with wavy legs, which can be seen congregating around the edges of the hair, over the ears and in the fringe, as well as deep in the scalp, so all areas must be gone through, literally, with a "fine tooth comb." (Is the English language truly indebted to nit-nurses for this phrase?)

The Nitty Gritty comb claims that no other lotions or chemicals are needed with it - just your regular conditioner to loosen the grip of the bugs. I have to say that this claim is very sound. After Wild Child I combed our hair through with the Nitty Gritty and managed to remove a large number of nymphs and grown up lice.

The trouble is if you don't get to all the critters at the same time the cycle repeats itself, the nymphs grow into lice then lay their nits again, so there followed many hours on consecutive days of raking through my daughter's hair, each time eliminating a good clutch of wildlife.

Nits have become my obsession. I now have the eye for them, I can spot them at a distance, and neither of my children can come anywhere near me now without me staring fixedly at their scalps and poking around in their hair.

Two weeks of itching is way too much for anyone, so in a final attempt to banish the parasites I lathered all our heads in a preparation called Full Marks - which claims to work in just 10 minutes. That's 10 minutes sitting with a sticky head, followed by another good 15 - 45 minutes' meticulous combing.

Who knows whether they're all gone? Much to my daughter's horror I have decided to instate "nit night" on a Monday just to keep the situation in check. And each day I shall be sending her to school reeking of Tea Tree, as this is apparently a good nit repellent.

All in all I have spent £35 on my nit arsenal. And I have to agree with Richard and Judy then the £10 Nitty Gritty comb is the best investment.

Marian Alder 1918 - 2008

My Grandma was a gold medal-winning gymnast - not an Olympian, but nevertheless a champion of Marsh Gym in Leigh, Lancashire, and holder of the George Holden Cup. She worked in the cotton mills of the 1930s, and was whisked off her feet at the top of Blackpool Tower by Cyril Alder, my Grandad, who promised her the moon.

Marian was beautiful. She was an actress and a dancer in Leigh Amateur Dramatics. She married Cyril in 1941 and spent the next 40 years sharing his early mornings opening up the family bakery, delivering pies, pasties and barm cakes, as well as keeping house, making clothes, doing embroidery, and crocheting.

Her daughter Christine was born in October 1943, while Cyril was serving in Africa during the war. Grandad wrote home about the delicious fruit they were getting to eat, whilst worrying about what kind of rationing his wife and daughter were having to endure.

Cyril died in 1985 at the age of 65. Marian never fully recovered from her own grief, and continued to help friends and relatives of her husband as long as she could.

Marian gradually lost her own health and mobility through a series of aneurisms. Christine looked after her mother full time until 2002, when Marian became a resident of High Peak Nursing Home in Leigh.

Marian was buried on Thursday 28th August alongside her husband in Leigh Cemetery. Reunited at last, Cyril will finally be able to give her the moon.

"God Bless"

Metamorphosis

Never has a summer holiday gone by so quickly as this one. Somehow we have managed to cram in such a lot of stuff that we haven't noticed the time whizz by - and though I should be looking forwards to the kids' return to school next week, I'm not sure I'm quite ready for them to go. Have they had a good enough break? Have they enjoyed themselves? Have they spent enough time with their friends playing out and chilling - or have we forced them into too much of an adult itinerary, packed with things we think our kids will enjoy, rather than allowing them to make their own arrangements, and even be bored for five mintues?

The first week was spent on the golf course at our club's Junior Week event, which hubby helps to organise. It was a fantastic week, with over 60 kids between the ages of 4 and 18 in attendance, and there were daily competitions and skills challenges to keep everyone involved and entertained. Both our children took part this year, so I went along to assist. My hubby had even managed to recruit his Mum to help as well - so we both had a fantastic week walking around with the youngsters and, literally, marking their cards.

During the second week I decided to take off with the kids for a couple of days camping while hubby stayed at home and got on with some work. It was the first time I'd ever put a tent up on my own - and much to my surprise it neither let in water nor blew away, despite the less than clement August weather conditions.

After that we have made our annual trips north to stay with parents and parents-in-law in Lancashire and Cumbria, and fitted in rounds of golf and trips out to Blue Planet Aquarium near Chester, Blackpool Pleasure Beach, Longleat Safari Park and a performance of High School Musical at Oxford New Theatre.

Hubby and I also managed to grab a night away in Rydal in the Lake District, to celebrate our wedding anniversary. We climbed Great Rigg from Grasmere, walked along the ridge to Heron Pike and descended steeply back into Rydal over Nab Scar. We covered no more than 5 or 6 miles, but ascended 2500 feet, which explains why the back of my calves have been agony for a few days.

Sadly on the same day as our climb my Mum gave me the news that my Grandma passed away that morning. I felt extremely torn about whether to go ahead with our anniversary trip or not in the circumstances. In the end however I was glad I went, and I felt a real sense of purpose in getting to the top of Great Rigg fell, to place a stone on the cairn in memory of my Grandma, and shed a few tears.

We have got precisely seven days of the summer holiday remaining, into which we will cram a further wedding and a funeral. All life has happened during this short month of August. I'm not sure we're going to emerge from the end of it with quite as much renewal and feeling of being refreshed as we hoped. This summer has left me feeling more groggy wasp than beautiful butterfly.

Left-handers' Day

The note in my diary reminds me that today, 13th August 2008 is, for some reason, Left Handers' Day. This is significant for me personally as I am left-handed, and I wondered what could be special about this day. Maybe a day when all right-handers should be made to live left-handed? Or a day when left-handers can wear a badge so they can easily recognise each other and say Hi?

As it turns out today is also the 13th of the month. Unlucky for some, or so the saying goes. For me I've never been particularly bothered by the number 13. It's our address, and I never cringe from Fridays which carry this date.

However, today has been a real stinker for me. Firstly I played the worst round of golf in about 5 years, lost a grand total of 5 balls, and scored an appalling 15 stableford points over 18 holes. Maybe, ironically for today, I would have done much better if I'd played right-handed.

Secondly, while hubby was looking after the kids earlier, our daughter pushed our son over and he cut his head open on the corner of the radiator in the hall-way. (This is a five year old girl we're talking about, and her brother is 10.) I came home to find bloody tissues littering the kitchen and our son sitting in front of his computer with a very blood-drenched plaster over his right eye-brow. (At least it wasn't the left one - that would've been spooky.)

Also on my return from the golf course my hubby told me there was a letter for me. As soon as I saw it I knew it wouldn't be good news. It was very thin, with only one sparsely written side of A4 folded efficiently and properly, informing me that I haven't been successful with my recent job application. I am gutted, to say the least. Back to the drawing board on this one.

I'm not used to having bad days. I'm usually quite a cheerful and optimistic soul. But today has been tough. I haven't had a day when I've felt the need to retreat for a long hot soak in the bath in the middle of the afternoon for a long while. But today has been one of those days.

I can't help wondering if the unpropitious nature of 13 is compounded by the sinister influence of left-handedness? I know that being left-handed has long been considered "undesirable". So why mark the occasion on the 13th of the month?

Who says kids aren't competitive?

For the past couple of decades - or so it seems - a debate has been raging about whether or not it is right and proper to allow children to compete against each other, in races, football teams, highway code quizzes (does anyone else remember these?- I was never on the team but was totally in awe of my classmates who had swotted up on the highway code and could recite whole tracts of it), and all manner of other childhood pastimes, such that the outcome leads to winners and losers.

Minis' football in the UK very conscientiously refuses to admit to having a winning team in its events, which means that teams who become over-excited by the fact that they have scored 5 more goals than their opponent will soon have their joy and exuberance stamped out as every single member of both teams receive a medal for taking part.

In recent years my children's school has shown minimal interest in putting on Sports Day, claiming that it traditionally shows the highest rate of absences out of any other day in the school year. Hmmm - I wonder which came first, pupils' alleged non-interest in the event, or teachers' lack of enthusiasm for sport?

Last year my husband was most digruntled at having taken time off work to come and watch our son sit on his bottom for three-quarters of an hour, waiting for his turn to jump up and down three times on the spot. The poor man was so incensed that he even offered to organise a long distance race (well 3 circuits of the school field) for anyone in the school who wanted to take part. To his astonishment and fury, this offer was rejected on the grounds of health and safety.

Nevertheless, the format of this year's Sports Day was considerably different from the shambolic event of last year. I'm not sure if the words my hubby had with the head were anything to do with it at all.

This time every child was given the choice of which races they wished to take part in, and everybody got the chance to run a long distance race at the end - if they so chose. The atmosphere and level of engagement in the children was unrecognisable in comparison with last year. There was a real buzz on the playing field and children took as much pleasure in supporting their team mates as they did in winning.

For me this showed that children are completely capable of making the right choices for themselves, rather than being politically correctly herded and manipulated. Whenever this happens all the joy, spontaneity and good will is leeched away and children are left looking bored, feeling fidgety, and privately arranging with themselves to be off sick this time next year.

I have written beofre on the dangers of not allowing our children to experience what it is to win and lose. Ever since my daughter could speak there has been a constant jostling between the kids for the winning position. Such exchanges as "First one to clean their teeth is the winner - I win" and "Last one in bed smells of snakes" (?)have become part of the soundtrack of our family life.

So children are in my opinion naturally competitive - and - given the opportunity, naturally gracious in defeat (except perhaps in the case of siblings, or children who have been made to feel utterly unloved by touch-line parents who get completely stressed out at minis football matches). The more we give our children the opportunity to compete, the more they are learning, and the more their confidence and motivation builds.

Last week was a great winning week for our son. Not only did he win his golf competition on Sunday, he also won a Lego modelling competition at youth club, and a school Design Technology competition to build a hat out of newspaper. These are important land-marks in his development, and deserve to be celebrated, if only to remind him that competing is more than just taking part, it's all about winning (and losing) too.

Stop this muddled meddling!

I was most put out by the news of Lillian Ladele, the Islington registrar who last week won an employment tribunal against Islington council, citing "bullying and harrassment" as she refused to officiate at same sex civil partnership ceremonies on religious grounds.

What next? A judge being exonerated for failing to convict a serial rapist because, according to his religion, rape is an acceptable way to treat women?

Civil partnerships for same sex couples are now legal in this country, therefore a civil registrar is duty-bound to officiate at such ceremonies, regardless of his or her own religious convictions.

To be fair, Ms Ladele's victory was more to do with allegedly having suffered harrassment, and with the carefully argued fact that the tribunal found her actions not to have in any way impeded the provision of services to the homosexual community of Islington.

Of course it is wrong for anyone to be discriminated against, whether for their sexual preferences or their religion, and I do not condone bullying if indeed that took place. But to sanction someone's exemption from official duty on the grounds of their religious prejudice, just because the council was able to find a satisfactory "work around" solution, strikes me as morally arbitrary and rather dangerous: "Prejudice is usually wrong, but prejudice on religious grounds is OK - especially when the perpetrator is not indispensable to our function."

This entanglement of religious opinion, legal sanction, human rights and civil duty is a symptom of the extremely confused reasoning that becomes inevitable when the political landscape has ill-defined boundaries between church and state.

In a secular state we would not allow our common sense to be hijacked. Our lifestyle choices, such as what religion we belong to, would not, in the eyes of the law, be allowed to influence our attitude towards the lawful needs and choices of others.

The alternative is a doomed future of increasing political correctness, endlessly tip-toeing around each other and spending inordinate amounts of time and money trying to accommmodate everyone's preferences.

Where our lifestyle choice is incompatible with the public function or service we have chosen to pursue, then we ought to take responsibility for ourselves and step down from our public role, rather than expect the public office to flex and shift to our particular demands.

Now where's that subscription form for the National Secular Society?

Born on the Fifth of July!

My sister-in-law gave birth to a baby girl in the early hours of Saturday morning, having spent most of the previous week in hospital waiting for labour to start. What a relief! And what a wonderful gift the new baby is.

I really spent the whole of last week on tenterhooks, jumping out of my skin every time the phone rang.

But she's here now, safe and sound - and I'm going to meet her later this week. It is so exciting to have a new baby in the family, a little cousin for our two, and for it not to be mine!! I'm looking forwards to lots of cuddles and fun, AND to not having my sleep disrupted! Excellent.

One thing I learned BIG TIME last week is how difficult I find "not knowing". Not only did I "not know" when the baby was coming, my head was also done in by "not knowing" about the job I've applied for. The pressure really started to build up, as the void of not knowing left me vulnerable to day-dreaming and being totally unproductive. I didn't even manage to play a full round of golf!

In turn this restlessness led me to lose connection with my hubby and the kids, and as usual this caused me to experience seering pain in my body, particularly in the form of mouth ulcers, and stiffness in my neck and across my shoulders. It's been one heck of a domino effect, but I'm pretty sure the main culprit is the phenomenon of not knowing, and not being OK with that.

Thankfully I had the good sense to stop wrestling with it on Thursday and chose instead to go round to my friend's house to celebrate her birthday with her. It was great to get together, to chat and laugh and let off steam with each other. It was a great way to open a safety valve. Meetings like that always make me feel so grateful for my friendships - and always slightly guilty that I don't see more of my friends.

Unsurprisingly then on the same day I found out that I HAVE got an interview for the new job. Knowing this somehow felt like some kind of reward for dealing with "not knowing" in a different way. Rather than fight it, I gave in to it, and went to spend a lovely day with my friend. I used the time far more productively, and as a result, received the outcome I was hoping for. Thankyou universe, or whatever you are. Maybe I should go off and read the Secret now?