Thank you all for the kind words and support after the break-in. We've been slowly getting back to routine and trying to feel normal. A few things have changed though.
First, we got a puppy! She's a 6 month old border collie/lab mix and Julian named her Molly, after Molly Weasley. I shot down "Hermione" because 4 syllables is just way too much to say when calling a dog. Except that I have been calling her "Mollygopolis" for no reason at all. Is she Greek? And seriously, 5 syllables. I don't understand it, or why I started doing it, but it's quickly become part of her normal name. Julian sometimes just calls her "Gopolis" or "Gops" and avoids the whole "Molly" thing all together. We always do this with our pets. Their names end up deviating so much from their given names and end up sounding nothing like the intended name. Our cat, Stevie Wonder, for instance. Somehow, he is now simply known as "Neemer". Molly is the coolest dog ever, especially since she has broken her streak of only pooping inside the house. The first few weeks with her made me realize that I don't think I could handle having three children. So two human children will remain, and one dog child. Good deal.
Second, there have been birthdays. Julian turned 7 on January 27th, Audrey turned 1 on February 27th, and Wade and I both celebrated our birthday on February 28th. Did you know that, that we have the same birthday? Isn't that just crazy? And that both of our children are 27s? So weird. Anyway, I am now 30. Thirty. Dirty thirty. Or whatever. I still feel the same. Which means that I still feel like I'm mentally a 12 year old boy. And I got all my hair cut off. It wasn't a "Woohoo, I'm going to kick 30's ass!" kind of move, but rather a, "I will not turn 30 with a terrible haircut" kind of thing. I had an awful haircut. It was the second attempt at fixing a previously bad haircut that was supposed to just be long and flowy layers. No. First, a shaggy mullet. Next, a bad housewifey 'do. So finally, a switch of stylists, and I have a kickass pixie cut. Except that I can't show you pictures of any of this awesomeness (puppy, children, 30 year old me with sweet-ass new haircut) because the assholes who burgled us took the cable that connects my camera to the computer. And I still don't have my own computer yet because the insurance company is taking mother effing decades to pay us, so I wait. And so must you.
It's like Little House on the Prairie around here, with no electric gadgets to entertain me. I'm using Wade's work laptop for now to check emails but honestly, I am kind of enjoying this freedom from being so connected all the time. It was such a total time waster. That isn't to say that I won't be totally enjoying having a television and computer again though.
And oh!! Good news that I almost completely forgot to share: If you ever have important things to hide in your house, keep them in your kitchen. Because asshole burglars don't take kitchen appliances. This also means that they completely missed taking my iPod. At first, I was just really happy to have that, as it contains my entire music library and the rest of my music is now in the hands of asshole burglars*. So my one connection to modern technology and music for weeks has been my iPod. But one day I accidentally clicked on the wrong button, and discovered that there were pictures on there. ALL my pictures. I had been inadvertently uploading them to my iPod every time I synced it. I cried when I realized that it meant I still had photos of my children and their milestones. I got so excited that I called Wade on his cell phone right away. Except that in my excitement, I got all worked up and dialed his Los Angeles cell phone number, which doesn't belong to us anymore. What?! Eventually, I calmed myself down and called his existing cell number and we both got a little weepy for a minute. Now I just have to figure out how to take photos and music OFF an iPod and put them on my new computer, once I get one.
So, things are good. We are healing, and aren't as jumpy anymore. I mean, I'm still kind of jumpy. And I'm still angry if I let myself think about it. It's one thing to take all my stuff. That's just assholey, but I can get over it, as it's only stuff and can be replaced. But to come back to my house while my family is sleeping inside, just to try and take more stuff? I have to assume that had they gotten in, they would have been willing to kill us over a few stupid guitars, and that makes me so angry that I want to personally hunt them down and murder them. You mess with my family and the safety of my family, and you deserve nothing but what Dexter Morgan hands out.
Overall though, things are looking up. All of you family and friends and friends who are so awesome that you are considered family, I love you guys.
*For clarification, the asshole burglars did not burgle assholes, but are in fact burglars who are themselves assholes.
