Currambena life….
We’ve started a blog at www.currambena.nsw.edu.au – if there is anything you’d like to get off your chest about school, or just life, let me know on kirsten@kirstenlees.com. In the meantime, here is my tuppence worth for the week.
I was rushing back from work on Monday to pick my children up from after school care before they had polished off all the golden syrup (no need for bread, it is just a distraction) when I had one of those moments of public horror that freeze you in time and make you – momentarily at least – want to move interstate.
I stood up to get off the bus as it approached the school, and whether it was my over-stuffed workbag bag, unaccustomed high heels, or just the light-headedness any mother gets when she has had seven full hours of adult company without a nappy to change or the need to stop and explain to a four-year-old where babies come from and whether it is in fact a good idea or big mistake, but I was a bit unsteady on my feet.
The bus jerked to a halt and my bag went flying. Notebooks, pens, grimy stubs of lipstick, mobile phone and the forgotten debris of numerous confiscated party-bags went flying.
Lane Cove is a friendly place. The bus filled with a kind of well-meaning murmur of sympathy and understanding as a dozen pairs of hands reached under seats and into the aisle gathering together the scattered contents.
Then it happened. Silence. A pair of eyes met mine. I looked down to where a hand that had hovered helpfully over the last item froze mid air, then withdrew. Lying on the floor in full view of all was the head-lice comb.
Not one of these plastic, use-once-after-all-every-child-gets-the-occasional-parasite, head-lice combs. I am talking an industrial strength, heavy duty piece of equipment, designed to tackle the kind of head-lice that has evolved complete immunity over generations of chemical warfare. I am not sure, but there may have even been the dismembered body of a lifeless louse still caught between the comb’s teeth as it lay on the floor of the 253 from the QVB.
What kind of parent needs a tool like that? What kind of mother needs to have a lice comb with her at all times?- and above all, the silent crowd screamed, which school do her children go to?
I picked up the comb. I wasn’t going to be phased by tuts of disapproval – real or imagined. I’ve read the articles, listened to the talk-back radio shows, and downloaded reams of comforting information from the web. It is not just my children. It is not just our school. It is not because their hair is dirty, or their parents neglectful. It is not their friends, or their friend’s families, or the fact that recent water restrictions have been a perfect excuse to avoid the struggle on hairwashing nights.
I stepped off the bus, glanced sideways to Currambena, then strode with confidence in the opposite direction, through the conveniently-placed gates of a nearby school.
I could double back and get my girls when the bus had gone!
