A Tick and A Bitch

Trey and I have had quite the morning today.
By 9:07 AM, I was exhausted!

It all started when I went into his room
to snuggle him awake for school.
Kate and Chris had already been
snuggled, fed and sent on their way.

So I loved on him
and degrumbled him
and we were all set to head downstairs
for breakfast
when I ruffled his hair
and felt an odd bump on the back of his head
just above the nape of his neck.

"Uh-oh" I said
"Let me take a look at this bump."

I moved the hair aside and sure enough
there is a tick, wiggling and flailing
and embedded in my son's head.

"Trey," I said, "There is a tick
on your head. I have to get
tweezers and pull it out."

So far, so good.
No major freaking out going on.
Ticks are not uncommon around here
Especially on little boys who go trekking
in the woods, wading through creeks
where the deer drink etc.

(Trey's shoes are still drying from his
creek wade, fully clothed and shoed,
THREE days ago.)

Anyway, I go get tweezers, a tissue
and some alcohol.
I position a light and get to work.
I am hoping to go in close and pull it out cleanly.

No such luck.

This tick does not want to let go.
And in the process, I am accidentally tweezing out
hairs from my son's head
which is causing all kinds of mayhem
and hysteria.

The tick is flailing.
Trey is flailing.
It is like some kind of sick synchronized dance routine.

Relatively quickly we descend into the kind
of madness that children undergoing
medical procedures inhabit,
in which they begin screaming
before you even TOUCH them.
The anticipation and fear becomes greater
than the process itself.

What started out as a snuggle morning wake up
has become full stop war, with
literal bloodshed, random tick parts,
yanked hairs, scalp bits,
screaming, snot and tears.

It is only 8:45 AM.

Finally, I wave the white flag.
I got all but a bit of the tick.
I decide to go downstairs and call the nurse line
to find out if a tick bit even matters.

So I cuddle Trey back into a decent mood
and we begin to head downstairs.

I told him that his dad made maple links
for breakfast and that Chris also had
a bagel.

Would he like a peanut butter and jelly
half bagel, like a sandwich?

"You mean, a sandwich on a bagel?" he asked.
"Yep," I said. "Peanut butter and jelly!"
"So, a bitch!" he said.

"WHAT?"I nearly fell down the stairs.
Did my five year old son just say BITCH?

"Did you just say bitch??" I asked him
having recovered my footing.


"Yes, a bitch is bagel
plus sandwich mixed together."

So it is,
but not to the general public.

We make our way into the kitchen
by this point
and I calmly told him that bitch is a word
that we don't say
even when we mean a bagel sandwich.

I think he got it.
Now he thinks Bitch means the same thing as Dammit.
I think that is progress,
but I'm not sure.