It was glorious.

My weekend consisted of a bunch of random things I never thought I would say out loud 10 years ago, and I'm completely all right with that.

I saw a few little girls on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. I had some vacation time to take off of work, so I had a long weekend and three little girls to hang out with.

I got nothing done around my house. It was glorious. 

On Friday afternoon, I picked the twins up from school. Friday nights with them are usually short, because they're so mentally exhausted from school they'll crash early at night.

The curly haired twin, little K, was completely over life and in meltdown mode after dinner at a certain restaurant with golden arches and indoor playground. In her defense, I would have a meltdown, too, if I was expected to leave a playground when I didn't want to. 

After I dragged her out of the playground, she told me she did not want to sleep at my house, but she did want to come over for a little while to play. 

Sure, kid.

We drove down a street in my hometown called Wyatt Earp, and there's a statue at the corner of one intersection.

Little K asked about the statue. I told her that it was Wyatt Earp, a famous cowboy from a long time ago.

Little K: "Wyatt Earp died?"

Yes, little K. He lived and died a long time ago. 

Little K: "He's dead like George Washington?"

Yes, little K. Both men died and are in Heaven. When we got to my house, the emotional meltdowns continued.  (Please note that I genuinely like when this happens. I get a kick out of watching kids melt down at not getting what they want. It's adorable, mainly because the kids go back to their parents afterward.)

Little K was very upset once we got to my house. I bent down to ask her what was wrong. With big, dramatic tears in her eyes, this little girl started to wipe her eyes as she wept. Then she told me what was wrong. 

"George Washington is dead!"

There I stood, in my house that was built in 1900, listening to a little girl cry about George Washington. 

I soothed that meltdown over by telling her that Mr. Washington was very old and lived a long, happy life. 

She bought it for a while.

The second meltdown came a little while later. Little K stood in a corner in my kitchen, not playing with her twin sister. I went and asked her what was wrong. 

Again, there were tears in her eyes. 

"Monica, I don't know who I'm going to marry when I'm all growed up."

Cue more tears. Meltdown mode!

This one was a lot easier for me to explain. I bent down to her level, looked at this adorable child in the eyes, and said: "Little K, I don't know who I'm going to marry when I'm all growed up, either."

That comment was enough to get Little K out of meltdown mode. She laughed and went on with her curly-haired life. 

---

Later that night, I traded Little K for her little sister, C, while my favorite little redhead stayed with me. (It was basically musical chairs, only with adorably cute little girls.)

At bedtime, C was concerned about monsters. 

"Monta, what if a monster comes through the door and eats me?" Which, I might add, is a valid concern when you're in preschool. 

I sat on the bed. Little C, I said. I will not let a monster near you. I promise.  

And if a monster manages to get through my brand new lock on my front door, and figures out how to open my stupid, old doorknob on this 100+ year old house, I will take that monster out so fast, you won't even know it happened.

Little C looked at me confused.

My favorite little redhead, one of the twins, explained it in terms her little sister would understand: "Aunt Monica will kick that monster's butt!"

Yes, I would, kids. They both giggled. I told them that if a monster would to appear, I would kick him in the leg, punch him in the nose, and then give that monster a good, old fashioned throat punch. 

The kids giggled. 

"Monta, are there monsters in the closets?" Little C asked me, referring to my bathroom closets. 

I told her no, but the truth is that I have no idea what's in those closets. I can't reach them and have never opened them. But for this conversation, Little C, let's just say that there are no monsters in this house or in those closets. 

Also, I left out the part about how monsters aren't underneath the bed. The girls will figure that out eventually, I thought, when they date someone who has no intention of ever loving them. (I hope it never happens to them, but it seems like it happens to everyone.)

When I knew the kids were sound asleep, I called Grandma to tell her the shocking news about George Washington's death. 

Then I played a song for myself and passed out for the night. 

There were no monsters in sight, either.

--

--

Monsters

Eric Church

I killed my first monster when I was seven years old

He melted like butter in my bathroom's sixty-watt bulb

Kept a three-cell MagLite from Daddy's workshop drawer

Under my pillow and I'd pull it like a sword

Anymore when a restless feelin' keeps me up at night

Fallin' on my knees is my new turnin' on the light

I keep my faith intact, make sure my prayers are said

'Cause I've learned that the monsters ain't the ones beneath the bed

The wolf hunts a hungry man and the devil a lonely heart

A minefield of bad decisions lay hidin' in the dark

Greed stalks, sickness steals, and pride lays a wicked trap

You can't avoid 'em all, no, you gotta trust me on that

Anymore when a restless feelin' keeps me up at night

Fallin' on my knees is my new turnin' on the light

I keep my faith intact, make sure my prayers are said

'Cause I've learned that the monsters ain't the ones beneath the bed

Daddy, check my closet, leave on the bathroom light

I smile and say "All clear" when I tuck him in for the night

But Daddy, I'm still scared, can I sleep with you instead?

I kneel down beside my little man and I bow my head

Anymore when a restless feelin' keeps me up at night

Fallin' on my knees is my new turnin' on the light

I keep my faith intact, make sure my prayers are said

'Cause I've learned that the monsters ain't the ones beneath the bed

I've learned that the monsters ain't underneath the bed

-

I woke up the next morning to a four-year-old in my face. 

"Monta, it's morning. Can I go home now?"

Yes, child.  But first you must clean my house at 9 a.m. on a Saturday in pink sparkly boots, I told her. 

I'm just kidding. I did not tell her to do that. She did it by herself.

Are you me?!?

"I like emotional torture and fixing dark people."

Jessica Simpson, are you me?!?

This book is excellent and I've loved every page of it.

Stolen from Twitter

Here’s one feminist life rule of mine: I never judge a man based on how he treats women when they are coddling or praising him. Look closely at how a man reacts when a woman displeases him, stands up to him, or draws a boundary with him, and you will find out who he really is.

The End

I still remember applying for the job.

The summer before my junior year of high school, I went to my best friend's house, picked her up, and we headed to pick up on application for a craft store that was opening up in town.

We were hired that summer, and we started at the store before it opened. For two weeks, we worked from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m., setting up the store.

It's kind of shocking to be 17 (or maybe it was 16? I forget), not really working, to working 12-hour days for two weeks straight. I still remember how swollen my feet were at night when I got home  from standing on hard tile floors all day.

While we were setting the store up, my department (Home Accents) was tasked with putting lamps together. All of the lamps you see at the store? They don't come pre-assembled. For three days straight, we put lamps together. For 12 hours each day.

To this day, I'm still pretty good with lamps.

Life happened, and I left for college, quit that job, came back and worked at the store again, and then finally graduated and found my 'real' job and career.

For a while, in between moving to many, many different cities in as many years, I got really homesick. Wherever I lived, whether it be Kansas or Oklahoma, all I had to do to feel 'at home' was to walk into any location of this chain craft store.

The aisles were familiar to me. I knew where everything was, and in the midst of living in a new town and the stresses that come with changing jobs, there was comfort in the craft isles and, particularly, in the fabric department.

I had spent so many hours, days and years working at the craft store that walking into one instantly felt like home. When I had an internship in a large city in another state, I would go into the craft store by my apartment just to feel like something in my life made sense.

I knew where everything in the store was located. It was home to me.

In high school, my Dad dressed up as a blind man for Halloween. He made a harness for our 110-pound family dog as a seeing-eye dog. My Dad came into the store, with his big sunglasses on and his seeing eye dog in hand, and asked for me by name. (I think the employees at the front of the store actually believed he was blind.)

I saw my Dad and dog from the back of the store, in the fabric department where I spent my time, and I immediately marched back to the stockroom to hide.

My manager loved it and brought up how red my face got for the rest of my working time there.

There's something to be said about one of your first jobs in life. Jobs like that teach you, especially tennagers, about being accountable, being on time, becoming friends with co-workers and going to Christmas parties.

The store where I learned those lessons? The four walls where I learned that I was afraid of ladders and heights? The store where I wished more than anything that I would one day get paid for what I loved to do, which was writing?

The store where I encountered countless customers asking me to go get something "from the back," the store where I questioned how customers think the back of the store is some black hole full of products instead of just a place to dump trash, compact boxes and unload trucks?

That store announced it was closing earlier this month.

To be honest, I expected it to happen. When the same company opened a store with a brand new building 50 miles away a few years ago, I knew the writing was on the wall for my hometown's store.

I'm not going to pretend I know Corporate America's reasoning behind this decision, because I don't. I'm not even going to try to understand it.

I'm not even going to walk into that store before it closes, either, because I'm not in the mood to go to a funeral of something I once loved.

I don't want to see depressed employees (one of whom worked there when I did and has been there since the beginning, 17 years ago) and I don't want to see empty shelves.

I want to remember it in all its glory, like the time I was so swamped on a Black Friday that bolts of fabric were stacked taller than me on my table. That holiday, I gave up trying to clean my department. I just remember my manager walking past me that night when we closed, with a mess everywhere, and me telling him that I didn't want to talk about it.

A random note about fabric: To this day, I still get irritated when people get fleece and flannel mixed up. It's one of my major pet peeves. Also, I hate gingham.

Eventually, I might get over it and shop at the store 50 miles away. Or I might just boycott them entirely and shop elsewhere.

But, man. The hurt runs deep with this one. We're mourning a death, and it will be a while before that hurt subsides.

Luckenbach, Texas

Song of the day

The only two things in life that make it worth livin'
Is guitars that tune good and firm feelin' women
I don't need my name in the marquee lights
I got my song and I got you with me tonight
Maybe it's time we got back to the basics of love

Let's go to Luckenbach, Texas
With Waylon and Willie and the boys
This successful life we're livin'
Got us feuding like the Hatfields and McCoys
Between Hank Williams' pain songs and
Newberry's train songs and Blue Eyes Cryin' in the Rain
Out in Luckenbach, Texas ain't nobody feelin' no pain

So baby, let's sell your diamond ring
Buy some boots and faded jeans and go away
This coat and tie is choking me
In your high society you cry all day
We've been so busy keepin' up with the Jones
Four car garage and we're still building on
Maybe it's time we got back to the basics of love

Let's go to Luckenbach, Texas
With Waylon and Willie and the boys
This successful life we're livin' got us feudin'
Like the Hatfield and McCoys
Between Hank Williams' pain songs and
Newberry's train songs and Blue Eyes Cryin' in the Rain
Out in Luckenbach, Texas ain't nobody feelin' no pain

Let's go to Luckenbach, Texas
Willie and Waylon and the boys
This successful life we're livin's got us feudin'
Like the Hatfield and McCoys
Between Hank Williams' pain songs
And Jerry Jeff's train songs and Blue Eyes Cryin' in the Rain
Out in Luckenbach, Texas there ain't nobody feelin' no pain

:)

:)

Shut the bathroom door!

Ain't nobody feeling no pain

AND

A What I'd say?!?

In the words of my nieces: Shut the bathroom door!

Not my words

"You're like an Uber driver who has taken the country way off the Google Maps route. And at first, we just hope you knew a short cut, but you opened your mouth and we realized you were insane. So now we're trapped in here with you, and we just hope we don't have to die on the way to a birthday party that we didn't want to go to. Also, you're taking us to the wrong Kansas City."

-Not my words, but I love them.