ticked off

Say what you will about Sasquatch, but he's rarely boring. I can think of lots of other descriptive words that fit from time to time, but dull is not on the list. Take Wednesday for example. Any story that ends with him sitting fully dressed on the edge of the bathtub and includes hot matches, hydrogen peroxide, a flashlight and a bottle of canola oil is par for his course.


He had headed downtown after school to hang out with his friends. We are blessed with a true downtown area, and after school it is a big hang out, especially on early release days. He didn't call me until six, and that was to tell me that he was at one of his friend's houses and that he was going out to dinner with them. This friend's mom is one of my best friends, so I said go ahead and go, but how are you getting home? He said he'd walk, I said be home by eight and that's where we left it.


My phone rang an hour later.


"Mom," said my eldest, "I have a tick on my head."


A what? (Good grief. Where did they go to eat?)


"A tick. On my head. And it hurts. Can you come pick me up?"


So I drove to my friend's house and they weren't there. I called the Red Headed Step Child's phone and asked him where the devil they were.


"On the front steps. Just like you said to be."


I was looking right at the front steps, and I know my eyesight isn't what it used to be, but I swear they weren't there.


"On the front steps?" I asked skeptically. "Really? WHICH front steps?"


"The ones at the library," the RHSC said. "Duh."


When I got there there were three of them needing to be taken home, including
Evan, the one whose home I had just been at. (The same damn kid, by the way, who neglected to mention that his mother was in the hospital while this was all going on). I did my maternal boomerang trick and then headed for the RHSC's house, listening all the way to the two of them spouting reasons for me why Sasquatch shouldn't have to go to school the next day in his tick infested state.


"Listen," I said. "He's going to school tomorrow. I don't care if his head explodes - he's going to school. Besides, I haven't even seen this tick. I'm taking your word for it that you and Evan saw a tick on his head. It could just be a zit. It's not like the two of you have a clue."


The RHSC was affronted.


"Are you questioning our medical expertise?" he asked loftily. "Don't you know you're not allowed to talk back to doctors?"


That was rich, coming from Doogie Howser, and showed clearly that he's never seen me in action at work. (And he really does talk like that. He's been in Pre-Law since he was four). I simply repeated myself.


"He's going to school tomorrow. Drop it."


After we had dropped off the RHSC I said to Sasquatch,


"I have to hand it to you for originality. So you realized you didn't want to walk home from downtown. Most kids would just say they'd hurt their ankle or something. But not you. Nooo... you've gotta have a tick on your head. "


And then for some reason we both started laughing so hysterically that we ended up sitting in the driveway for a couple of minutes with tears rolling down both of our faces.


"It's not funny," he'd say every so often, and then we'd both crack up again.


"Oh, my god, what kind of mother am I?" I would ask every so often and then we'd both howl out loud.


Ahh. Good times.


The actual tick removal wasn't such a good time, but it all worked out. It took three matches to get the little bugger to let go, but it finally did. Sasquatch held the flashlight for me while I burned its little tick butt and then poured hydrogen peroxide on it. I didn't even need the stand-by canola oil. The younger boys were disappointed that I accidentally dropped it down the drain before they could see how big it was. It was big. A big, nasty tick. So much for my theory that any tick attached to Sasquatch's head would go hungry.


Lets see. Lice, mice, ants, wasps and ticks. Have I mentioned the animal that is living in the wall in our upstairs family area? Sounds roughly squirrel sized from all the thunks against the plaster, but who knows? I'm running a vermin drop-in shelter, and all beds are full. Take a number and come back in the morning. Bring your own blanket.


Sasquatch went to school the next day, dramatically rubbing the back of his head.


And I'm still waiting for the bill from his medical team.