B & E in Old GC

It's been quite warm lately in our neck of the woods. 

How warm, you might ask? Warm enough that I'm baring my blindingly white legs in red shorts today.  Warm enough that I'm able to say "Ugh...it's going to get so hot in the house if I cook..." and Chris agrees that we should just eat cold sandwiches for supper. Warm enough that my peonies and my freckles have both started blooming. Warm enough that my radio is playing a steady stream of country music and southern rock at all times. And last but not least, warm enough to sleep with the windows open.

Look, I'm just as paranoid as any other mother when it comes to sleeping with the windows open, but to be blunt - it's hot as shit in our house and being the tyrant that I am, I refuse to turn on the air conditioning until June. Most nights, the windows are shut and closed at bedtime, and then re-opened first thing in the morning. Occasionally though, it's just too hot to leave them closed.

To make a long story short - someone tried to break into our house last week.

I closed the windows to our bedroom on Wednesday night, forgot to open them on Thursday, noticed a breeze coming through on Friday evening, and woke up on Saturday morning to find that someone (no one who lives in our house) had removed the screen to one of our bedroom windows.We have large 3 panel bay windows on that side of the house, and the one in our room is directly above Miles's bed. 

Ironically, this pic was taken Wednesday evening. The window behind Miles is the one referred to in this post.

We believe that it happened on Thursday evening because it's the only time that no one was at home. Thankfully, nothing was stolen and we were able to put the screen back into the window frame once we found it (cleverly hidden behind the kids' outdoor play kitchen).

The fact that some uninvited person may or may not have been in our house scares me, makes me feel violated, and flat out pisses me off. For the sake of my sanity because I refuse to be a victim, I'm going to assume that this turd burglar reads my blog and I'd like to pass along a few things for that person to keep in mind, should they decide to return:

1.) Seriously, of all of the well kept houses in this neighborhood, you picked ours? Is this your first B & E or what? Was it the brush pile in the ditch or the sweet collection of plastic sand toys next to the freshly built mud hole that lured you into our yard? The dead rose bush caught your eye maybe? Or was it the child-height smears of lip gloss on the front window that screamed to you "Hey! I'll bet these schmucks have a ton of valuable things!" Guess what? The resale value on 99% of our belongings is equal to the price of a jar of peanut butter. You must be a new reader - check out this post and rethink things.

2.) We called the cops and an officer came out to assess the situation. Actually, we called them 3 times 16 hours before someone showed up at our house, but the point is, someone (I'd say his name, but the officer never actually told me his name) with a freaking badge promised that GCPD would increase patrols in our neighborhood. You've got to love living in a town where 'calling the non-emergency number' translates into leaving a message (or two in our case) on the answering machine at the police station. For the record, residents of Garden City, any time you want an officer to come to your house - even if it's for something small and not an emergency - you should call the Cass County Sheriff right off the bat, rather than waiting for the GCPD to respond. Otherwise, you run the risk of the officers accidentally deleting your messages before paying you a visit apparently. If you call the County, the officer miraculously shows up within about 3 minutes. Do I sound bitter? Probably. Your disturbance really put me in a frustrating situation, and to be honest, if we had a gun, I probably wouldn't have called the police so that I could avoid dealing with the sequel to Super Troopers. I would've just sat up all night and waited for you to return because that's what sane people do.

3.) I'd also like to warn you, Creeper, that when I informed Officer No Name that we don't own a gun and I had every intention of beating you to a bloody pulp with a baseball bat if you returned, the officer told me (jokingly) that I could do whatever I needed to do to keep my family safe before they put your sorry ass in the patrol car and hauled you to County. Let's get this clear, I smile a lot, but that doesn't mean I'm nice - especially if I'm trying to keep my children safe. I could never throw a ball very well, but I was a decent batter. I liked to swing at the low ones, so you're likely to need surgery on your lower extremities and lose the ability to reproduce if you come back. Plus, we watch The Walking Dead here, so trust me, I'd definitely remember to smack you right upside the head with said baseball bat despite my preference for grounders. You might come in walking upright, but you'll be rolled out on a stretcher. That's a promise!

In short, if you're a local, let this be a warning that strange things are a foot in GC. 

And if you're the idiot criminal who completely sucks at your career? High five, loser, you have succeeded at being a failure at life in general.

Tuesday Was a Good Day

Here's a little fun fact: Tuesday is my favorite day of the week.

I read somewhere once that it's the most productive day of the week, and I've tried to make myself live up to the finding ever since. Am I always at my absolute most productive on Tuesdays? No. Do I wake up on Tuesdays brimming with ambition and optimism? For the most part, yes.

This Tuesday, while very productive, was just one of those days where things agitated me. You know the phrase 'boiling mad'? That's how I feel sometimes - I don't want to be the person with the bad attitude, so I let the irritation simmer off and on all day until I reach my boiling point and whistle to signal that I'm done with the bullshit.

Little things, all day long and for what? Absolutely nothing that will matter when I wake up on Wednesday. 

A few of the high points of my Tuesday:

• My lawn and most of the land in town has turned from boring beige to gorgeous green in a little over a week. I've said it once, I'll say it a million times - nothing makes me love my hometown more than seeing all of that green in the spring!
• Jimmy bought me a slice of deliciously greasy breakfast pizza this morning. I ate half of it, made him finish the rest, and then chased it with a handful of gummy worms. Breakfast of champions!
• Getting the chance to work closely with someone that I don't know very well. It's nice to hear great things about someone and then have them live up to their reputation of fabulosity!
• Granny came to town for lunch today and blasted Kenny Chesney in the mini-van to irritate a man blaring rap music from his Grand Am. Oh Granny, you feisty little rebel!
• Heard this on the radio for the first time. I want to hate John Mayer, but I can't help myself. Is that a mom thing, or an almost 30 thing? Either way, I'm digging this!
• Daddy took the kids outside to play when I got home and I joined them about 10 minutes later. Is there anything better than sitting in your kitchen, listening to the love of your life race your babies around the house? I doubt it. Hello 80 degree day in March, we've been waiting patiently!
• After living in this house for 8 years with my one pitiful peony bush and a sad little single daffodil, I broke down and planted 20 irises and 6 peonies today. That big bare spot in the front yard'll still hold us back from the 'Best Lawn On the Block' title, but the flowers will hopefully give my kids a glimpse of what Granny & PaPa's yard looked like when I was a little girl. It was beautiful and smelled like heaven. All I'm missing is the lilac bush, and by God, I'ma have me a damn lilac bush!
• I ate a peanut butter & marshmallow fluff sandwich while supper was cooking. It can most accurately be described as eating a peanut butter and marshmallow rainbow. Try it - unless you're allergic to peanuts. Then um...avoid that shit...
• Having a conversation with the hubs where I was completely justified in using the phrase "Sure, maybe she's right but at least I don't have wrinkly 60 year old cleavage and a turkey gobbler to match. Karma's a bitch, and that bitch deserves it." So, satisfying; you have no idea!

What does all of this mean to you? Probably nothing. I sound like a crazy lady, but you're all most likely used to that at this point.

What does it mean to me? Today was still a good day, and tomorrow will be better. 

Sometimes I have to remind myself of these things.