Stolen

Monday, we were robbed. And today, we were almost robbed again.

Someone broke into our home in the whole two hours we were gone and took my laptop, my son's PSP and my husband's ipod. There was no sign of forced entry and we were baffled, angry, unsettled.

This week has been a barrage of phone calls, security planning and refusing to leave the house if not completely and unequivocally necessary.

I took my daughter to a play date this afternoon then came home to spend time alone with my son and to have lunch. Nolan is getting sick again, but we now have an action plan to keep up with his rebellious lungs, thanks to the recent visit with Dr. P-our pediatric pulmonologist. But our time was not carefree and conducive to momma/boy bonding: instead, it was fraught with worries of asthma and pneumonia and allergies and the like; the breach of our security momentarily forgotten.

I decided to let Nolan go to a friend's house for the afternoon and catch a little time for myself at home. We piled into the car not remiss about the fact that we were being stared down from across the street by two ominous, lurking, sloppy, tattooed, twenty-somethings in a pickup truck. Skipped heartbeat. Intuition firing off at breakneck speed. Get. him. to. his. friend's. house. Then. go. home. QUICK!

Upon reaching my street and turning into the neighborhood, I immediately see my home with two wide-open garage doors and a black pickup truck parked now at the end of my drive way- I had caught them! They had no idea I'd be gone for a mere 5 minutes.

A call to The Man. A call to 911.

Stay on the line. Don't put yourself in danger. Stay in your car. You don't have to follow them...

...should I stay on the line? I'm so scared! When are they going to be here? I'm following them; they're driving around the neighborhood. I'm NOT letting them leave!

...what street are they on now? Heading east? Yes, they are on their way...

...one of them is getting out of the truck and coming toward me. Should I talk to him? Tattoos...his forearms are covered in tattoos. He's about 21? Thin, white, with short hair. I'm only going to roll the window down a little...

...It's okay; stay calm-help is coming.

...black truck, GMC Sonoma. Two while males. I'm following them. They think they can get out of the neighborhood, but I've got them blocked...

The first police car arrived and I've never felt more saved. I thanked the 911 dispatcher many times as I sobbed, all the adrenaline flowing out of my body through the tears. I didn't know what would happen as that person approached my car. All I could think was how glad I was for the kids having play dates today. Thank God, Mohammad, Buddha, Allah, Mother Earth and the universe for small, small favors.

The next po-po car came, sirens blaring, lights flashing, then another and another. I never felt so rescued. Ever.

My sheriff's deputy had an army bracelet on his left wrist. I hardly heard a word he said, but I answered his questions at the end of my driveway and stared at his wrist along with his unbelievably young face. And yes, he was tall. And handsome. I DO remember that. I felt an overwhelming urge to touch the bracelet but thought better of it when it seemed a little too close to his gun. Wouldn't want him to think I was going for it. Might pop a cap in my ass for that one.

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Everything's gonna be okay. The Man is here to protect me now. My garage doors now will not open without an act of God. Doors, windows-all but barred. Kids? Fine. My boy called me immediately after the cars dissipated from the neighborhood.
Hello?
Mommy? Are you okay?
Yeah, Honey. I'm fine. Are you okay?
Yeah. I was worried about you. I asked T.'s mom if I could call.
I'm fine, Baby. Just fine. Everything's okay.
I love you.
I love you too, Bubby. Bye-bye.

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I'm still the luckiest chick/mommy in the world.