Today was a sleepy day. I wrote in my head. Abigail and I ran to the store this morning before the heat became too intense to score a good deal on back-to-school colored pencils. That's right, colored pencils. The last few times I need some and didn't have any, I had to use crayons and markers instead. It just wasn't the same. A few craft ideas I'd been brainstorming would look best with colored pencils.
The water was so calming, the pink sky a good start to my tired day.
We got home from the store before Abigail's 10am nap. She went down fairly easy. I dove into Day 1 of my read-the-whole-Bible-in-three-years plan that I decided to start. I picked off another article in my most recent National Geographic magazine. Abigail was still napping, so I decided to join the club. I grabbed a pillow and curled up on the couch and was just starting to drift off. Warm sleep enveloped me and I slept until I heard Abigail's soft "Dub dub" announcing that she had rejoined the world.
But before any of that happened, I heard a knock on my door.
Strange, I thought to myself. We have a buzzer system in order to get into the building. No one had buzzed me. I peeped through the peep-hole.
I opened to door to the-man-I'll-call-Vladimir, the maintenance man. He made clear to me in his choppy English that the storage unit in the basement, the one I wanted really badly and finally got, had been broken into last night. Everyone's units were broken into. I needed to file a police report. The unit is part of my building, but only accessible outside, so I ran out the backdoor, and down the fire escape to the room where the storage lockers are located. The door to the basement had been busted up. Someone had wretched away a few pieces of wood and reached inside to open the locked door. I pushed open the destroyed door. All the lights were on. Everyone's storage locker doors were wide open. Clothes and boxes were strewn across the middle of the floor. My eyes immediately went to our locker: empty. Perfectly empty. Just as clean as the day we first stashed our bikes, bike trailer, bike computers. The lock on our unit was perfectly intact. The thieves had just ripped the metal pieces right off the door.
I ran back up to my apartment and called Matt. He sat in stunned silence, so I hung up with him and called my mom. I needed someone to express to me that they understood my loss by freaking out. When I got off the phone with her, I posted a status on Facebook. My friends rallied around me with freak-outs. It was as if everyone else panicking gave me the ability to think clearly. I called the police to file a report and called my auto insurance company to add some renter's insurance to the mix. (Matt and I have carried such insurance from the day we got married and moved into an apartment together, but after surviving three years in hurricane-prone Florida without ever needing it, we opted to save the money and didn't renew when it expired last December.) I dug through old receipts and finances and created an excel spreadsheet to determine the extent of the damage: just under $850. I called Matt again to report how much the robbery had cost us. He freaked out.
When the adrenaline of the afternoon started wearing away, I tried to put Abigail down for a nap when my phone rang. I was hoping it would be quick call, but yesterday wasn't the type of day where I got "quick phone calls." It was an agency we've been dealing with in trying to switch care for Abigail from Florida to Michigan to Illinois. Apparently the person I was dealing with in Florida had no idea what they were doing. The phone call lasted 40 minutes. 40 long, painfully minutes most of which I sat quietly through while the lady who had just received our paperwork read various bits of it aloud to me in an attempt to process it herself. "So, hmmm. Okay, she did have private health insurance during surgery. Hmmm. Okay. No, shit. Shit. What is this? Why didn't she put that in the right spot?!" (Seriously, she was swearing on the phone. How professional.) Meanwhile, Abigail screamed bloody murder in her crib. I finally rescued her from the evils of playing quietly with her toys and sat in the play yard with her while she desperately tried to scale me to grab my phone out of my hands. When the 40 torturous minutes were up, the lady on the phone decided this would be easier if I could just come in to discuss things in person.
Now imagine that while all this is taking place, it's 95 degrees outside and we have no air conditioning. We had slain kitties all over the apartment, sprawled out in areas where there was somewhat of a breeze.
My short-tempered child gets very clingy and irritable when it gets really hot.
And after she made a giant mess of her toys, which took her all of 5 minutes, she just wanted to climb over me and pull my hair. She also wanted to do this instead of letting me make dinner.
And just to make sure I give you all way too much personal information, let's throw in some that-time-of-the-month-girl-issues. And then Matt texted me to let me know he'd be home late. This is a really good summation of how I felt:
The pink rug being my sanity and the hair being a pretty accurate depiction of my hair.
After I'd handled all the responsibilities and let my freak-out buddies return to their regularly scheduled lives, I started realizing the gravity of the robbery. Last night someone scaled the locked fence, busted down the locked door, tore off the locking mechanism to my storage unit and stole $850 worth of my stuff, I thought to myself. I was angry at the thieves as I pictured them wheeling my bike down the alley to a get-away truck. I pictured Abigail's 5-month-old bike trailer sitting in some beat-up garage to some run down house, waiting to get pawned for drug money. I felt the injustice and the unfairness of the entire event. They were the bikes we bought with leftover honeymoon money. It was the bike trailer I spent months saving for - with my Christmas and birthday money. No more biking to Adoration. No more biking to the store when we just need a quick item. The 40 mile bike trail we were training for will go un-biked and the two biking trail maps I downloaded over the weekend will just sit in a file. On top of stealing our bikes, they also stole the storage locker from us. There is no way I'll ever put anything in it again. I just stood there and stared at the empty space where just a day earlier, our bikes had been.
Sorry the pictures are blurry. The cased joint:
Our unit and lock:
After Matt got home, Abigail went down for the night, and I curled up with a crochet hook, a ball of yarn, and a Hulu.com, I wondered what kind of injustice people must feel if they've had their house robbed, or their car stolen. Or even when someone close to them dies, taken from them in a sense. We are charged with teaching our kids that life isn't always fair, but as adults, we have a hard time dealing with feelings of injustice ourselves.
I'm thankful that they didn't get into any apartments. I'm thankful that of the three places where storage lockers are kept, only one was robbed. I'm thankful my stroller wasn't in the locker and that none of the things they stole were necessities.
Today, Abigail and I are hitting the "re-do" button. God agreed to re-create the oppressively awful heat, Abigail agreed to cling desperately to my while I blog, the kitties have already taken up their sprawling positions, Matt has assured me that his boss will give him some feedback on a project today that needs to be done before he leaves so he'll probably be late again, it is still that time of the month, and I'm still having a bad hair day. So we'll cue another tired day. I'll draw some things with my colored pencils. I'll brew another homemade iced mocha. Abigail will burst into tears when I try to take a shower. But today will be better than yesterday for three reasons:
1. We won't get robbed.
2. I won't answer the phone.
3. Tomorrow is a 3-day weekend.