Throwback Thursday-Losing my mind and my memories.

There is a certain amount of strength that comes from being alone. The decisions are that effect the well-being of your children, your family, are solely up to you. The future lies in the aftermath of your choices and you see them as cataract eyes see fireworks in car headlights at night. Everything is too bright. You blink and squint, but it’s all just so fuzzy.

Hello there, Cluster-fork…

Oh yeah. I am going there. And I am going there hard. It is one of those days when you need to laugh or you’ll be a sobbing mess on the floor, the I’m over it, #stickaforkinmecauseimdone days. It’s a throw your hands in the air and wave ’em like you just don’t care, kind of day. Because sometimes it is in the caring too much that we produce more and more clusters forks.

“If you know me well, you know that I love _______.”

Simple enough of a concept. We say three little words all the time. I love you. I love cupcakes. I love him/her/it/this/that. I love football. The problem isn’t finding things to love. In fact, when we grow tired of that thing we spoke so hastily about loving, we replace it. We proclaim it across social media, we take photos of it, we hashtag the love right out of it. We want so badly for it to be a part of us and in turn create our identity. Sometimes the proclamation of loving those people, things, places, objects allows an escape from ourselves. When we escape the loving of ourselves, we lose out on the act of loving others. It is not in words that we love, while they are lovely, it is our behavior that defines the loving. Our actions show who we believe we are.

Uprooting for a Second, 1st day.

Complacency. The word itself almost sounds inviting. Come, place and see… like a haunting whisper, drawing you in. What you don’t know about that sweet sound reeling you in like a child after the pied piper, is that it keeps you captive. Once its soft warm grip is upon you, it tightens. At first you…

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.

Barre3…Just worry about me.

If you are anything like me, and have a plethora of children around you all the time, you may be familiar with the phrase, “Just worry about you.” Let me be clear, I don’t condone this phrase in a worldly sense, just in a, stop trying to parent your siblings sense.

Burned out, tired, toasted.

Toast. While never really a favorite breakfast food of mine, the idea of toast has always been somewhat comforting. I remember it as a peace-offering to a revolting stomach, a crunchy delight paired with my grandma’s famous tuna salad, and warm and doughy when my mom handed it over on a cold morning slathered in butter and cinnamon sugar. A bit scratchy on the outside but softer as we sink our teeth in the meat.

Precious Metals.

My son is obsessed with cars. Anything with wheels is a highlight in his day and the captor of his attention. His reports from preschool reinforce this love of vehicles as they document his “plan” for his work time. 98.8 percent of the time “play with cars/trucks” is listed, while the other 0.2 percent consists of him telling his teacher he will build with blocks or read books; he builds garages for cars and seeks out pages full of fire trucks and police cruisers.

If you never go after what you want, how will you ever get it?

With the recent milestone of all my children becoming school aged, I decided it may be smart to look for a job outside of the home. A friend of mine informed me that the small private school her children attended was looking for an Art Teacher and thought it would be a great fit for me. While I do not have an art degree and have never formally taught art, I had that sparkly feeling every time I thought about the possibility. So, I spend many nights at the computer until well into the wee hours of the morning, working on a resume and cover letter. I decided to be real, to be brave and give it a shot. Because, if you never go after what you want, you certainly will never attain it, right? Below I present to you the actual cover letter that I hand delivered with my resume, in my best, pretend you are an Art Teacher outfit, to the school.

Mondays are for Meltdowns.

Oh yes, it is the that time, my friends. The weekend has ended. We must set alarms and rise, however, shinning for so many seems to be optional. We must face what the day and week have in store for us. I wish I could say that we do that here with honor and grace,…

“Does me not wanting to be friends with the mean girl, make me the mean girl, Mom?”

We relocated about a month ago and this week the kids started at their new school. The adjustment has been tougher than I anticipated, since I see my kiddos as resilient, resourceful, social creatures, who are able to adapt to new situations with success. In this case, I had a sobbing pre-teen who was insisting she will never have any friends again and clinging to me in the kitchen well after bedtime.