, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Previous Post     The Beginning Post

Well, today was another demonstration of how wonderfully chaotic life can be and a dramatization of how repetitive life is when you have children.

Today’s Issues: Lice, Lies, and Liars

Somewhere around 3am Lumpy Longefellow busted another seam while I was precariously mounting him while laying the baby, Patrick-Henry, back in his place on our bed (see manic sidenote below for any judgmental people who want to roll their eyes at me having the baby sleep in my bed). I laughed heartily at the ever increasing presence in my bed. And because the busting seam sounded remarkably like a fart – hilarious since I am the Queen of Farts. Even funnier to me because I mentally pictured Patrick-Henry flying up in the air, all nice and swaddled, as the mattress exploded leaving me to scramble to catch the baby before the baby got hurt. But that’s my sick sense of humor at play there….

Back to Old Man Lumpy. It really is kind of like another man. And my husband doesn’t even mind, taking to renaming him Gargantuan Gary once Lumpy decided to bust a seam. Patrick now sleeps on the floor while I balance myself on the lump while keeping the baby safe on the lower level of our mattress. Yeah, you read that correctly…my mattress has different stories. There’s the first story that lays pretty flat and is basically what’s left of the original mattress. That’s Patrick-Henry’s area – regardless how inflated or deflated the mattress is, this portion barely moves and can easily be raised (by strategically pressing parts of the lump) for a less offensive bend and snap upright. The second story is my bed and bedmate Lumpy Longefellow. On the other side of Lumpy is the third story. It kind of hangs really limply and is really more of an illusion to make you think you are safe on the mattress until you are unceremoniously dumped on your head. Providence (my two year old) can attest to that.

So to help you keep that straight. The lump started out being referred to as Lumpy. I think once I started to find comfort in the lump, he came to be known as Long Man Lumpy and around the same time Lumpy Longefellow (due to my always bad understanding of the words coming out of people’s mouths). Lumpy Longefellow quickly got too big for his britches and morphed into Gargantuan Gary – a lump who my older daughters adore and affectionately requested to refer to as Grandpa Old Gary or Old Gary Grandpa.

Yeah, I admit I am crazy. And seeing as how the rest of my family is naming a broken mattress and a popped seam of air, I feel my crazy might be seeping into them as well. Sucks to be them! I know how hard it is being me and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone else. Hopefully I can get a real mattress/bed and stop this nonsense before they start naming the sores on my husband’s skin, the scar from my incision, or other ridiculous details that all stem from living “life on the lump”…”hard knocks life”… or what I affectionately refer to as living as “poor mother/fucker family with kids”. I’m both mother and fucker in the equation. More mother than fucker. My husband is the real fucker in our relationship with important parts of mother to balance out my craziness. He also brings my missing sanity that makes us a family and enables us to raise children.

Late night manic breakdown: I was going to write more about my day but a huge spider decided to crawl onto my computer screen as I am sitting here and has completely freaked me the fuck out. I am now imagining the big fuzzy monster surprising me by jumping onto my hands while I type maniacally at the keyboard. I could get up and turn on the light to remove the surprise factor but I have a sleeping newborn to contend with…and the paranoia that I will put my foot on the ground to find said hairy beast waiting to pounce on me.

I love spiders. Love their mysterious nature and their awesome web-spinning abilities. I just really do not love how creepy they look or how freaked out they make me feel. I won’t kill them but neither will I try to mess with them in any way.

So since I can’t finish the post I wanted to type, I will still give the basics of what went down today. If you’d like to know the specifics of anything, leave me a comment or shoot me an email at exploringalura@gmail.com.


Took the girls to school, had Prudence ask about if they nurse would be checking for lice. Got a call from the school at 12:00pm stating the girls were checked for lice and nits were found. Found out (around dinner prep time) Prudence wasn’t itching at all but just wanted to be checked for bugs… because she hoped to be sent home from school. Makes sense since earlier in the year we found out Prudence was taking herself to the nurse’s office multiple times a week saying she wasn’t feeling well, only to get there, get attention, and be sent back to class happy as a lamb. I have a little girl who likes to cry wolf and is toying around with using health issues as a ploy for special attention. Need to nip that in the butt early. As a bipolar grownup I believe I used to do the same thing (debatable if I was consciously making the decision to be unwell,”pretending”, or whether my mind was truly making my body sick, “manifesting”)

Seriously wondering if this whole lice drama isn’t just some fictitious bullshit because no bugs have been found on anybody in weeks, nobody has been itching for an indeterminate amount of time, and yet somehow the nurse keeps finding nits on the kids….. but that’s for another time.

I was able to put up my GoFundMe. It isn’t everything I want it to be but I’m going to keep modifying it so it will better reflect what I’m trying to do with the money people donate to me.

Check it out and let me know what you think: https://www.gofundme.com/LifeOnTheLump

Please don’t judge me for throwing up a high number. That number is $1,000 for every year my husband has spent working without ever being able to put any money back for himself when he has a time of need. Twenty three years working means twenty three thousand dollars. I don’t think that’s asking for a lot considering I’m hoping to change the world with it. I also think there is a lot that I could accomplish with $23,000 that would set a good example for what people can do with their own funds and things to help support others around them without costing them anything that matters in life.

Manic sidenote: Go fuck yourself. I sleep on a teeter/totter bed that keeps me from finding restful sleep. Beside me on the bed is a newborn baby that I am scared to death of accidentally killing by my own mistakes. In the room that shares a wall with my own, there are three little girls who cause me to wake up when I hear them moan in their sleep. In the room across the hall is a disgusting, dirty, deplorable excuse for a human being that smokes cigarettes and metaphysically smells like a giant human piece of shit. I juggle endless amounts of bullshit in order to pretend to sleep like normal people do. If you think you understand the level of alertness I’m capable of, then you are showing your true ignorance of who I am because you wouldn’t have rolled your eyes in the first place. Now kindly take offense to me telling you to fuck yourself, actually go fuck yourself or get the fuck over yourself and realize other people make choices you may or may not agree with but absolutely have no right to form any type of judgement regarding. If you don’t like that, too bad. That’s life – deal with it. And if you can’t deal with it, please don’t funnel your lack of dealing in my direction. I have enough bullshit to contend with, I don’t need any of yours.