About five hours ago a group of no-good teenaged fucktards broke into my house.
They stole my laptop, Barry’s iPod, David’s $5.00, our Wii, some prescription medication, and went through our fire safe. Sorry fellas, only papers in there, no jewels or stashes of cash.
It will be a pain in the arse to file a claim with the insurance company, scrape together cash to pay the deductible on one income since my freelance gigs hardly pay the bills, rebuild lost data and files on my laptop (an important lesson learned…back up more than once every few months), and recover music, and call the pharmacy, and keep watch on bank accounts and credit cards to make sure nothing fishy is going on. Obnoxious as that will be, it can be done, and material things can be replaced, but our sense of security and safety won’t be so easily won back.
Right now I have four kids who are scared to go downstairs alone. They’re afraid to sleep alone in their beds. They don’t want us to go outside and leave them alone in the house. Thanks a lot, you stupid kids trying to score a quick couple hundred dollars off of crap you can pawn on Craig’s List. You don’t know how bad I want to fuck you up.
We live in the most boring neighborhood in America. Usually about the biggest things that go down here are an occasional swiping of a cell phone in an unlocked vehicle. But lately there have been a string of break-ins.
Tonight I left at 4:45 to take the kids to David’s baseball game. It was raining and miserable, so when Barry showed up at 6:15 with Penny, I was not happy. The last thing I needed to deal with, along with broken umbrellas, kids whining about wanting cookies, was a soggy dog.
Barry didn’t have an umbrella, so I said fine, take mine, I’m outta here. The rain showed no signs of stopping, so Alex, Penny and I left. We got home at about 6:30, and the second we stepped in the house, Penny went completely apeshit. Barking and running around upstairs, then wanting to go downstairs, but stopping. I thought she was nuts. The door leading downstairs was closed. Kind of weird. I took her down there so she could investigate and chill the fuck out. But she made a beeline for David’s room and her nose was sniffing everything.
Never question a hound dog. They know their shit. If I’d have gone downstairs with her right away I might have caught the bastards leaving through the back sliding class door, and could have turned her loose on them. I’d have my laptop back. It’s killing me not to have my laptop. All my photo editing software, pictures, files…oh. my. god.
But I digress. I knew something was wrong when I went into the master bedroom to put away my purse, and there was a bottle of Nestlé green tea on the floor. I don’t drink sweetened tea. Barry doesn’t drink tea, period. The kids had been with me the whole time. Then I realized the tea was next to my laptop cord, which was not attached to the laptop. Because the laptop was gone.
Later when Barry came home, and the sheriff’s officers were asking questions, he said that he’d left at 5:50, and before he pulled out of the driveway, some suspicious guys were walking down the sidewalk. He knew they didn’t fit in here, but kept going anyway.
So the kids all reacted differently. David went into town crier mode, texting everyone he knew, including Barry’s aunt, who called Barry’s sister, who called freaking out, and luckily Barry was able to head off before telling his overreacting mother. Cameron was all CSI, trying to check for fingerprints on the door, despite me telling him a thousand times not to TOUCH anything. Justin was very quiet and introspective. And Alex asked a million questions. The first thing Justin and Alex checked was to make sure their bear and blanket were not taken. Thankfully they were still there. They haven’t let go of them since.
The officers were very nice, and tried to reassure the kids that these were just punks looking to steal things that can easily be sold for cash, not to hurt anyone. And that they won’t come back because everyone in the neighborhood is extra vigilant and the cops are looking for them. But I don’t think that made them feel any better.
The crime scene technician let Alex, Justin and Cameron put their prints on a card, and showed them how she dusted for them with magnetic powder, so that was cool.
But it’s hard not to feel violated. I just love having photographs of my boy-infested messy house with unmade beds immortalized in a robbery case file. And trying to explain that, yes, those drawers were open when I left.
Anyway, this sucks. But thank you to my amazing friend, Julie, who always knows when to show up with a bottle of wine. And to my wonderfully thoughtful neighbor, Terri, who was quick to lend me her laptop, knowing that my way of communicating with the outside world is through writing. That’s what is so great about where I live, and it’s that kind of generosity and support that I want to focus on going forward. The rest will work itself out. I just hope my four brave little guys can get this out of their system quickly.
© Jennifer Alys Windholz, 2012