The Pets.

Ok, so Miss Eight has been at school here in Germany since August.  It can’t have been easy to switch languages at the beginning of the 3rd grade, but she did, and she made it look simple.

I would like to take full credit for her spectacular use of the German language, but as it has now become a LuLu Household National Sporting Event to correct my German grammar, pronunciation and how I sneeze… well, you get the idea.

So when Miss ‘IT’ came home with a spectacular Mid-Year School report, I wasn’t too surprised.  That was until she informed me that all the other kids get money for grades.

“What do you mean money?” I am squinting up my eyes, guarding my loins and pushing my wallet to the top shelf in the kitchen, as I speak.

“Well, they get 5 Euros for a 1, 2 Euros for a 2 etc…” she has noticed me tucking the twenty I keep for emergencies deep inside my left sock.

“Hmmm.. yeah, well… I don’t think it is good to pay for grades. It sets the wrong tone.  How about a reward?”  At this stage I am thinking a glass of cold milk and a piece of the chocolate cake I baked last week – which remains suspiciously uneaten.

A huge grin breaks out on her face.  “Great!! Can I have a pet?  All the other kids have pets.  They have dogs & cats, hamsters and one boy in my class has a pet snake.  Can I? Ha! Can I?”

Yikes… the pet gig.  I don’t want pets.  I have enough trouble looking after myself and the rest of the crew.

“I’ll think about it.”  She knows this means about as close to NO as it gets, gives me the ‘you-are-meanest-mother-in-the-world-death-stare”, turns on her heel and stomps up the stairs to jump in the bath I had just run for her.

Freshly scrubbed, hair washed, and smelling sweet.  We are combing through her long, blonde tresses when I happen to catch a little movement.  I peer closer, drop the hair brush, grab my Granny Specs.

“Well, my darling, it would appear that your wish has been granted!  You have finally got the pet you always wanted. Only it would seem that you have more than you were expecting, and they are already setting up home, complete with a maternity ward, a crèche, and I believe they are opening a Starbucks behind your right ear.”

Her scream of anguish could be heard throughout the quiet streets of this one horse town.  Worst nightmare come true.

Head Lice.

Can you say…scratch, itch..scratch…itch….

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