Not A Good Day

Thursday started out like any other day. I changed Dylan, fed him breakfast, and we had fun playing until his morning nap. When I was getting dressed, I decided not to wear my rings that I always wear (my engagement ring, my wedding band, and my thumb ring that Jim bought me that says "Pulse of my heart". The physical therapist from Early Intervention was coming for the first time that morning, and I didn't want to scratch Dylan with a ring while trying to do a stretch.

I am happy to report that Dylan really liked his new therapist, as did I, which I was worried about since he loves his therapist we've gone to at the Children's Institute since he was 4 months old. SCORE! One less thing to worry about. I mentioned to her the problem we have with Dylan's head flopping over when he sleeps in his carseat, and she came up with a possible solution, so the day was looking good!

At 2:15 (I know the exact time because I looked at the clock when Dylan woke up from his nap), we left the house to go for his helmet adjustment appointment, which was at 3pm. The lady was running behind so she didn't come into our room where Dylan was creating chaos until 3:35(I was looking at my watch impatiently every 5 minutes). After checking his head, she said that she feels he will have the helmet off before his first birthday! DOUBLE SCORE!! The day was going great!

We got home around 5pm. When I walked into the house I noticed a basket that we keep our keys, wallet, cellphones, and change in wasn't there. I figured Jim put it in the kitchen, so I put Dylan down to play, and started walking towards the kitchen. That's when I saw the glass. The glass in our back door had been shattered and was all over the kitchen. I grabbed Dylan and my cellphone and ran out the door. Then I did what any rational person would do when they just realized they were robbed - I called my husband! What I thought my protector could do from work, I don't know, but I wasn't exactly thinking straight at that moment. He told me to call 911 (Duh!), so I did, and a policeman came a few minutes later. He waited until backup came before they checked the house, while I stood in my driveway with a very oddly quiet Dylan. I think he could hear my heart beating out of my chest!

After they made sure no one was in the house, we went in to see what was stolen. I must say, the burglar, or burglars were very neat (only a mom would say "At least they didn't trash my house and make a big mess for me to clean up!") Except for the glass in the kitchen I wouldn't have known someone broke in. I barricaded off the kitchen with two chairs to keep Dylan out, which of course made him want in the kitchen more than ever. So, while he was screaming and desperately trying to get into the kitchen, I was trying to answer the cop and detective's questions and search the house to see what was stolen. At the time, I only noticed the two video cameras missing. One was ours and one was Jim's mom's. Precious video of Dylan - gone.

Later, we realized our digital camera, my engagement ring, and another ring Jim gave me was also missing. That means they were in our bedroom rooting through our stuff, which is really creepy. We also noticed that our firebox with personal papers was pryed open. So much for that security - it was locked!

I have asked several neighbors and no one saw anything. We have a fence on one side blocking their view, a shed on the other side blocking their view, and bushes and trees in the back. I guess privacy isn't always a good thing.

I think the worst part of being burglarized is the pyschological. Jim is just angry - really, really angry. I went through many emotions, shock, disbelief, fear, anger, but mostly depression. Friday when I woke up, I was just depressed. Your home is supposed to be your haven, your santuary, your place to feel safe. Now, I don't feel safe, and I don't even want to be at home. I feel vandalized, nervous, and just generally creeped out.

I was sitting there with the depression overtaking me, about to bawl, when Dylan looked at me and laughed. I thought, "F&*# this! It's just stuff. I'm not going to let some a&*#$%^ make me cry", so I turned on some music and Dylan and I danced. We danced and we spun in circles until we collapsed on the floor exhausted and laughing. I won't claim to be "ok" with this, and I must admit the depression, fear, anger, etc. does return from time to time, but I'm fighting it. Life goes on. And on, and on.