Embrace the Glitterbomb.

 

Happy Monday Morning! Congratulations, you made it through another week. I am pretty sure Team Csordas is trying to drain every glittery brain cell I have left and I would love to share with you some evidence.

The “Glitterbomb,” as I have decided to so lovingly call it, is the term used to describe my brain exploding due to the words that were forced to come out of my mouth or the explanations given to me by my precious offspring.

Let me explain.

Exhibit A.

Tink, (short for Tinkerbell) our black cat jumped up into my lap while I was having my coffee. She is a pretty shiny species but in the light she looked a little more dazzling. I notice she is literally covered in glitter.

Me: “Why is the cat covered in glitter?

Child #3 explains with the most matter of fact logic.

“Oh, well we were playing fairies and we wanted Tink to be a flying cat and so she needed Pixie dust, (obviously) to get off the ground. So, I found glitter and we used that.”

Me: “ So let me guess, you were also pretending to be a fairy?”

Child #3: As she gasps in total shock and surprise. “ Yes, how did you know that?”

Me: “I just guessed, cause it I were playing that game I would totally want to dump glitter on my head too, why should Tink have all the fun?”

Child #3 exits, smiling, hair a shimmering rainbow in the light.

 

Please note that this is a Glitterbomb and for the purpose of my sanity, I hope it is the only literal example this week. Most scenarios you will need to imagine the exploding glitter brain all on your own, sorry.

 

This past weeks highlight real includes:

Child #4 licking the bottom of his shoe, in the car seat while I am driving and can’t reach him to take the shoes and stop the madness. Yeah, we will be at the doctor’s office in a few days I’m sure.

Finding a pair of underwear in the freezer, in the bag with the ½ gallon of ice cream, left there by Child #2, who explained she didn’t know where to put them after she changed into her leotard in the car and so she threw them in the bag. Her argument continued with her the question, how was she to know that we would put the bag in the freezer? I mean it is only frozen milk after all.

While at my mecca, Child #3 insists on bringing her bitty baby into the store. I oblige when she agrees upon this simple request, “As long as you hold on to her and don’t put her down, then you may bring her in.” Upon checkout there is a shrill scream as she realizes she did in fact, put the baby down, and no she does not remember where. After sending out the search party, turns out the doll was in the seasonal section where she set her down to try on garden gloves. Of course.

Child #4 has a black eye. Why, you might ask? He walked into the kitchen counter top because he said he was too tired to open his eyes. Someone please grab the ice pack.

Haven’t heard much from Child #1, that’s because she has been in her room crafting things out of trash. While I love the creativity, a little cleanliness would be fantastic. I mean the yogurt container does make for a wonderful table base for the doll house, but the yogurt residue still inside also makes for a cozy home for ants. Just sayin’.

 

I bow my head and pray for all the glitterbombs that are coming your way this week and that you, my friends, would let the shiny side show and dance in those sparkles, or at least smile while you grab the umbrella, getting glitter out of your hair is no easy feat.

Shine on!

 

2 Comments Add yours

  1. Mary Hassenplug says:

    At least you had the frozen underwear for Child #4’s black eye!

    Like

    1. jcsordas says:

      YES! Things could always be worse!

      Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s