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.
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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.
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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.
