Did you know we don’t have mosquitos in Colorado? We don’t. I know you’re jealous. Feel free to covet. You wouldn’t be the first. Feel free to move here for the absence of both humidity and mosquitos. You wouldn’t be the first.
My children, Colorado natives, have never encountered mosquito bites. (Sadly, they’ve also never encountered lightning bugs, and this is nearly tragic to me.) As we spent this week at the beach, they became covered – covered, I tell you – in bug bites.
Poor little boys. Zero coping mechanisms for such torture.
I grew up knowing little secrets for mind over matter, distracting myself from scratching, and imprinting an X into the welt with my fingernails. Something, anything, to make the endless itching end.
Their itching happens late into the night, or early into the morning, depending on the optimism or pessimism with which you view sleeping hours. The boys were overcome with kicking, scratching, and writhing. Torturous mosquitos.
Tyler says mosquitos make him hate the whole world. He has a strong point.
I don’t know if this was a stroke of genius or perhaps a home remedy I just hadn’t learned about. And I don’t know if it really worked or if I simply gave them a distraction for mind over matter.
But I gave them my bottle of nonaerosol hairspray. “When it itches, spray this on it.”
And so they did. And in this, we all found sleep. The sheets are sticky, there are clogged pores on their calves, but it’s all a small price to pay when I really just need to go back to sleep. Tyler calls it “the bugspray for Mommy’s hair.”
(On another note, I kicked my son’s inner tube into the deep end of the pool when I wanted him to leave me to adult conversation. There has been some seriously impressive parenting happening here this week.)