Someone broke into our house yesterday.
Let me first ease your mind by telling you that Gary, Brutus and I are all perfectly okay. Brutus was the only one home when it happened, and the poor kid probably had no idea what was going on. I was at work, and Gary was (clap clap clap clap) deep in the heart of Texas.
So here's what went down: Sarah dropped me off after work. I went straight to the back door to let Brutus off his running line but froze when I got to the kitchen because the door was wide open, curtains blowing in the breeze. The first thing that came to mind was, "EFF! I left the door open ALL DAY!" 'cause I wouldn't put it past me. Then I remembered the family of raccoons who live in the abandoned house a couple yards over, so I decided to check the house for wild animals. That's when I noticed one of our laptops was missing. We keep Gary's old work laptop hooked up to a monitor to watch shows online - lovingly referred to as our "ghettotainment center". The power strip had been unplugged from the wall and the laptop was gone.
As I turned my head and saw that the mattress on our guest bed had been shoved halfway off its frame, I officially started freaking out. It was clear that someone had been in the house, but what wasn't clear was whether they were still there.
How did I respond? With perfect, rational clarity of thought, of course.
I'm alone in the house. Maybe. BUT WHAT IF I'M NOT?! I never learned karate! I don't remember how to load the guns! I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE THE GUNS ARE! I'd feel a hell of a lot better if I had a baseball bat...
I stood in one spot for about thirty seconds, then figured if I was gonna die, I might as well get on with it. I yelled hello about a hundred times and received no answer. I went into my bedroom and could see that the mattress had been moved aside just like in the guest room. I held my breath and checked under the bed to see if the guns were still there, and thankfully they were. So even if someone was in the house, I was pretty confident they weren't going to shoot me. (Well, at least not with one of my own shotguns...which I found strangely comforting.)
I scanned the kitchen but nothing seemed out of place. The only possible hiding place left was in the bathroom. If you've never been to my tiny house, you should know that we have a disproportionately GIGANTIC bathroom. Once you enter its cavernous belly, you have to turn a corner to be able to see the washer and dryer, which are hidden behind folding doors. I've always privately thought that if I were a murderer, I'd probably perch myself up on top of one of those machines with a machete, ready to pounce on whomever was the first to answer the call of nature. When I rounded the corner, to my great surprise, all I found perched on the dryer were some clothes I washed two weeks ago and still haven't put away. (A pile of two week old laundry is never a surprise...but the absence of a crazed murderer? Occasionally.)
I called Sarah and she came over immediately. I tried Gary a few times on his cell but he didn't answer, so I called my parents' house to see if he was there. My poor mom answered, and our conversation went a little something like this:
Mom (chipper, with no idea anything's amiss): "Helloooooo!"
Me: "Mom...is Gary there?"
Mom: "Nope. Why, what's up?"
Me (sobbing): "Someone...b-b-broke...into m-my - OH! Mom, Gary's calling me, I gotta go."
I talked to Gary and, shortly after, made my first ever 911 call at his request - something you would think would have occurred to me sooner, but like so many times before, you'd be wrong. Since he was 800 miles away, Gary did the only thing he could think to do, which was send over a couple of burly men to protect me. Within two minutes I had an army of saviors in my living room. Let me take a moment to thank Sarah, Leah, Levi, Thomas and Sam for showing up at a moment's notice - you guys are the best.
Gary was in the car when I called him. He was supposed to drive back up today, but when I told him what happened, he assured me that he would begin his drive home right then. I assumed this meant he'd quickly grab his stuff from my parents' house, maybe say goodbye to his family, and then head out as soon as was reasonably possible. I should have known that Gary Gray doesn't do anything reasonably. Apparently he hung up the phone, hopped on the George Bush Turnpike, and headed for Colorado, toothbrush be damned.
I'll give you a moment to bask in the awesomeness of my husband.
Thomas and Levi stayed until the police officer came. He was super cool, and we discovered that all they took were our two laptops. It stings a little to lose our beloved Macbook, but as for the HP...joke's on you, thieves, because that thing is a piece of trash.
Brutus and I stayed at Sarah's house last night just to be safe. Speaking of which, I feel another shout-out coming on...HAILEY! RACHEL! ERIN! Thanks for letting us stay over even though one or more of you is allergic to dog hair. You girls are life savers - and you can take that as literally as you please.
Gary got home at around four this morning, and has since officially set up Crime-Busting Central in our living room, just in case the robbers decide to return. We changed all our passwords, contacted our bank, etc. so hopefully we won't have to deal with any fraud.
As break-ins go, it could have been a lot worse. Luckily we're poor so there wasn't much to take, and I'd like to invite all of you to praise God along with me that Brutus wasn't hurt, stolen, or worse.
Parting thought: This is why we don't have nice things.