Passover Lice

Mrs Rosenfeld had just finished cleaning her kitchen for Passover when we arrived at 4 o’clock. The cupboards and drawers were empty and the countertops were bare. She was in the process of sending her two sons aged 2 and 3 outside with a teenage girl and a baby in a stroller. “Go for a long walk,” she instructed the older girl, before turning to me and explaining that the family had been to a wedding the night before and hadn’t gotten home until midnight and the children were cranky.

I brought my daughter to this Orthodox home in Brooklyn to be checked for lice, after obtaining the woman’s phone number from several other mothers on the playground at My Kid’s school. I called her the morning after I got an apologetic phone call from the mother of one of My Kid’s friends who had hosted My Kid for a playdate at her home the previous week. They had been to the lice lady and her daughter had them. After school the previous afternoon, another mother on the playground, who had already been through the lice ordeal with her twins some weeks prior became suspicious of the tiny white dots she noticed in the dark hair of this friend if her daughter who had also had playdates with My Kid.

If this had happened three years ago, I think I would have killed myself. There is no way I could have dealt with lice. Pillows on the couch. Laundry on the floor. My Kid climbing into our bed. Stuffed animals everywhere.

But, I have been listening to the lice stories of the other mothers on playgrounds and in kitchens for over three years. When it finally happened to us, I knew what to do. Call the legendary lice lady of Brooklyn and go get combed out in her kosher kitchen full of children.

I was kind of excited to go in that living-through-a-natural-disaster-where-nobody-gets-hurt way because I had heard so much about this Orthodox mother of 14 who pays her children’s Yeshiva school tuition combing out lice. It’s A BROOKLYN THING like eating cheesecake at Junior’s Restaurant or riding the Wonder Wheel at Coney Island, or having a conversation drowned out by the Q train passing over the waterfront playground in Dumbo.

This woman she’s AMAZING!

Mrs. Abigail F. Rosenfeld, Lice Consultant functions a family therapist. That’s what you’re paying for. We paid her almost as much as we paid the lawyer who did our taxes. But, it was worth it. There was an extra charge for the time it took to comb through my daughters butt-length hair which I didn’t mind paying and I bought an extra German-engineered surgical steel lice come out of sheer paranoia.

As Mrs. Rosenfeld combs the child’s hair she calms the parents and teaches them how to do it themselves. People do crazy things, she said. There is no need to cut a child’s hair. She tells parents not to panic or exhaust themselves.

When I first heard of lice I learned that you have to wash anything made of fabric in the house that the child has touched; All the bedding in the house, All the child’s clothes, Shampooing carpets and upholstery, wipe down every inch of everything and all the toys in the house have to be sealed in plastic bags for two months until the lice on them die. This sort of thing can be accomplished by quitting work and staying home to clean 24-hours a day for a solid week or two. I had also heard of killing the lice by covering the child’s head with olive oil or mayonnaise or some other goey disgusting substance and leaving it there for hours. On the internet I saw a video of a woman demonstrating going over a child’s head approximate 20 hairs at a time pulling off nits individually. It’s an impossible standard. And many schools have a no nit policy which means children can miss weeks of school while their mother struggles to figure out how to get rid of them and putting her own job in jeopardy staying home with kids who aren’t even sick.

This is what Abigail Rosenfeld Lice Consultant told me to do:

Wash all the child’s bedding and the bedding of any other bed she has been in or on. Vaucum all the furniture and carpeting. Wash the clothing the child has worn. The school backpack has to go into a plastic bag for two weeks. Stuffed animals go in plastic bags for two weeks. (Much less time than the two months I had in mind) If the animals or dolls is very special it can sit alone on a high shelf out of reach for two weeks. (and not suffocate in the plastic bag of stuffed animal jail as My Kid calls it.) If they hang together all the family’s coats need to be washed or dry cleaned but as the dry cleaning bills and exhaustion increase–if you can’t deal with it, just put it in a plastic bag for two weeks.

The combing out process itself is simple and takes place in her kitchen where she is the calm eye in the center of the storm as her own children run in and out with homework questions and requests for money to go to the corner store for ice cream or crispy snacks. As she works she speaks on the phone which rings frequently, talks to the parents of the child she combs and guides her children with words.

A boy of about six decides he doesn’t want the tuna bagel he just brought in from the corner store. She instructs him to put it into the refrigerator. Ten minutes later when the preschool boys arrive after their walk she tells someone else to get the bagel and divide it between the little ones.
“Give him some of your tuna bagel”
“It’s a mitzvah to share with your brother.”
“Could you get the toy of that top shelf for them.”
“Would you mind holding the baby.”
“Please take the laundry downstairs.”

First she puts Pantene conditioner on the child’s dry hair. (Pantene brand conditioner was not created to remove lice, but it is the right consistency to immobilize the bugs and it’s easy to see the tiny insects and nits against the product’s bright white color) She combs through the hair looking for lice. She wipes the conditioner off the comb onto a white tissue looking for lice which she then shows to the parents and children so they will know what to look for in the future. Second, she sprinkles some baking soda on top of the creme rinse and combs it out again, this time to get the nits, or lice eggs which I was also taught to identify. The baking soda acts as an abrasive and scrapes the nits off the hair shaft.

Her little children want juice and attention.
Her bigger children want homework help and cash for the corner store.

Because the kitchen was clean and bare while we were there, she was constantly handing out dollars to different children who went to the corner store for their after school snacks and collecting the change from them when they returned. One little boy came in with salty chips she didn’t like him to eat, but she let it slide after she made him share most of them with his brothers. When the tired two-year old started mouthing off she let it slide saying, “He’s a real boy.” The experienced mother of 14, recognized the futility of disciplining a tired and hungry two year old.

There are other older children, but I did not see them. Perhaps they choose not to pop into the kitchen while their mother was combing the lice out of some yet another strangers hair.
She told me one of her daughters prefers to use the fine-toothed metal comb for daily hair care. Gee I wonder why.

When her husband arrives home at the end of the work day, he moves about the house with a stethescope around his neck, as he continues to see patients in another room.

Mrs. Rosenfeld hadn’t yet started dinner when a family arrived from Manhattan, late for their 6:00 pm appointment. (In a Volvo, from Dalton, the Upper East Side school Mariel Hemingway’s character attended in the Woody Allen movie “Manhattan”)

I wondered if the Rosenfelds were able to keep up this pace because as Orthodox Jews they know that every Friday they will have to (or get to) turn everything off and stop working completely.

Putting things in plastic bags for two weeks. How similar to the preparation for Passover when all the bread must be removed from the house and countertops and other things are covered with plastic for the 8 days of passover.

As of the last day of school before spring break, 9 children in my daughter’s 3rd Grade class had been identified with lice.

Oh and by the way, the Third Plague in the story of Moses in the Book of Exodus: LICE

High Heels and Lawyer Pants

 

I just got home from rehearsal at the Producers Club.  I had to take my kid with me, bribing her with the promise of a McDonald’s Happy Meal in Times Square if she was good.  She only disrupted once, when she was running up the aisle and fell and scraped about 5 inches of her shin.  There was no blood, but there will be a bruise and there were tears.  My clown piece is about multi-tasking and living for somone else–like my kid who interrupted my rehearsal with her injury and her tears.

On the way home she asked me;  “Why are you wearing high-heels and lawyer pants?”

I think I got the costume right!  I am trying to look like a professional woman.  The clothes I chose for my costume in browns and blacks are from my own closet and the outfit I put together is similar to the clothes worn by the mothers of my child’s classmates who are lawyers.  The only clown makeup I’ll have on is a small circle of red glitter on my nose and a clear rhinestone under each eye.  Other than that I will wear normal stage makeup which for a small house is just street makeup a little thicker and a little darker; foundation, lipstick, eyeliner and mascara.

This piece is for the Emerging Artists Theatre (EAT) Laugh Out Loud Festival.  I am in tomorrow’s lineup. 

I feel much better about it now, after rehearsal, than I did last night and this morning when I didn’t know if I was going to be able to work on the piece any more at all.   I was preoccupied with my parents arrival tomorrow evening to the  point of wondering if I should back out of the perfomance so I could be at home to greet my parents when they arrive and let them into the apartment.

The key I sent my parents so they can let themselves into my apartment when they come from the airport did not arrive and will not arrive because of the holiday weekend.  There were multiple phone conversations about contingency plans involving neighbors, the landlord and possible going straight up to mid-town to either watch my piece or to sit in a hotel lobby because that’s where people with luggage can feel most comfortable (at least I do).  But, my parents would rather wander around my neighborhood in Brooklyn because it is less populus and they were here once two years ago.  They want to hang out in the diner, but our local diner closes at 5:00pm.  They will be less comfortable in the pub and I fear they will go with their luggage for just a short time and then sit on our stoop for a very long time.  Please don’t sit out on the stoop with your luggage in the dark.

 Last time they were here my dad started to take out his wallet on the steps of the Museum of Natural History and I said “Dad don’t!” and the homeless guy went away and then kept circling back to curse me as we ate our ice cream.  I felt like a terrible person.  But, I also didn’t want my dad to take out his wallet in his slow Midwestern way in such a touristy place where pickpockets and muggers scope out potential victims.

 By the way, my cell phone was lost–OR STOLEN–last Wednesday.  I had to take out my credit card and pay full price for a new phone because I didn’t have phone insurance.  I used it twice walking down Montague Street right after I sent the keys to my parents from the mailing store.  Somone must have seen it fall out of my pocket and instead of saying “hey lady you dropped your phone!” as I would have done.  They picked it up and kept it.  I know because as soon as I realized it was gone, I started calling it from pay phones.  The first two times I called it rang and rang and then went to voice mail.  The second two times I called, it went straight to voicemail.  So somebody picked it up.  And that somebody kept it.  And that somebody turned it off.  They could have answered and told me where they were and I could have met them and gotten it back.  I was still within blocks of anywhere I could have possibly dropped it.

When I was on the phone last night my mother kept asking me specific questions about where things were and what are the names of the cross streets and all I could say was, well I don’t know, I can google it and call you back.  She’d say no I didn’t need to do that.  I was braced for it this time.  

Last time they visited I was humiliated by my inability to answer a single specific question–and my parents asked a lot of specific questions.  (I gave my family the Meyers-Briggs test once when I was still living at home.  I’m an INFP and my other family members tend to be ISTJ.  

Digresson:  Meyers-Briggs has 16 combinations on some continium of I or E (Introverted or Extroverted) N or S (Intuiting or Sensing) F or T (Feeling or Thinking) and P or J (Perceiving or Judging).  Basically all my information comes from feelings and impressions and other members of my family of origin get their information from actual facts.  Other than the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building, I couldn’t name any a single building on the New York skyline.  We had been in New York for several years when my parents finally came to see us and I thought I should know more.  I was mortified.  I couldn’t give them directions to the nearest Catholic Church (of course they wanted to go to morning mass…)  I could have showed them if we had gone out the front door and I could have pointed to the cross street at the end of the block, and bent my arm and pointed my finger in the way they should walk.  They would have come to the church, it is impossible to miss.  But, I didn’t know the specifics.  I didn’t know the name of the cross street for the church.  I didn’t know if the turn was left or right (without facing towards the street it is on and making the L with my index finger and my thumb to know which way is left).  Of course I don’t know North, South, East or West (UNLESS THE SUN IS ACTIVELY RISING OR SETTING) I don’t know how many blocks away the church is.   I have never counted (I never needed to I just see it every time I go that way).    Later in the visit when we were on a subway platform on our way to some tourist destination my mom asked innocently “Will we see such and such?”  I blew up.  “I DON’T KNOW!”  My mom was sad and I felt bad.  

I’m pretty sure I have some sort of learning disability.  Apparently I’m bright enough to have faked it all these years.  But, there are definite gaps and they have never gone away.

So I am a clown.

I have a show tomorrow.