PART 1: Things that go bump in the night...

When I went to sleep this past February 12, I can honestly say that all was right with the world. Well, my world anyways. I had no way of knowing that in a few short hours that would all change.

Stephen had gone by AAA that afternoon to book us the cruise, (you may have seen the posts a few weeks ago on Facebook - trip of a lifetime!); and it felt like it would be forever until we dropped off the kiddos with my parents and had an adventure with just the two of us. But we were excited. It was Valentine's weekend, and our life was full of good things.

It was a fairly normal evening. We put the kiddos down, watched some Netflix, and the hubby stayed up to work for a couple of hours after I got tired and decided to go to bed. I would be co-hosting a baby shower for a good friend the next day, and fell asleep excited about the plans that would come together in the morning. I woke only for a moment when I heard Stephen tiptoe and climb into bed.

Having been at the tail-end of a cold, I decided to forgo my nightly dose of Nyquil. In my mind, I was weary of becoming dependent of the awesome liquid to fall asleep. Looking back, I'd say God knew I'd need to not be groggy...

Around 12:30am, I woke up. My brain had registered a sound that was unfamiliar to that time of night, and I was immediately alert. If you've ever been laying in bed in the middle of the night and hear that kind of sound, then you know what I'm talking about. I was still for several moments as I went through the typical mental checklist:
         
            Stephen is in bed.
            The boys are asleep in their rooms.
            House settling?  No, not the right creaking noise.
            Cats? Could be. I hope so.... No, it sounds like it's outside the house.
       Wait, outside the house? Along the wall? There is nothing along the wall of our house...
        Is it windy? Maybe the wind has knocked something?!

I got out of bed and creeped over to the blinds to sneak a peak outside. The trees were tell-tale still. NOT wind.

By this time, as my usual checklist was not confirming the origin of the scraping (I'd determined that it sounded like scraping, downstairs, and along the wall of the house), I did the next thing that I would do to investigate. I slowly walked across the room, opened the door, and went a few steps towards the stairs where the hall light switches were located. In my middle-of-the-night logic, I had decided that if there was someone trying to get in the house, if I turned up the lights all the way that would alert them that someone was home, and awake, and scare them away.

Of course, I didn't really think there was someone. I mean, for almost 7 years I'd been freaking myself out on occasion when the cats had knocked something over and I'd investigated with my heart pounding in my chest. I am the one who always screams at the stupid girls in horror films who just HAVE to go investigate those noises. Right? They get what they deserve...

And, yet, here I was knowing in my soul that there was no way I was going to get back to sleep until I had confirmed for the umpteenth time that the noise had been some silly benign reason behind it.

But I couldn't confirm it. So I had the decision to make - wake the hubby, or not? If I wake him and it is nothing (which of course it is, right?), then I feel stupid and he might get grumpy. I stood in the open doorway of our room and considered my options for a moment; then decided to go ahead and wake him up. So I walked over to his side of the bed, leaned over, and gently placed my hand on his shoulder...

Stephen jumped a freakin' country mile.

Apparently, he'd been having an ill-timed nightmare.

This was not a happy hubby, poor guy. I figured I'd better give purpose to the shock to his system, and quickly whispered, "There are noises!" 

He groaned and put his head back down. I started to get frustrated, thinking he wasn't taking me seriously. Apparently, as he told me later, he was trying to be still and listen. Of course, at this point, there were no noises. Of course. Silly wife, over-reacting again and scaring the crap out of him in the middle of the night. But I was persistent. I had heard noises, and I was sure of it!

He stumbled out of bed, and by this time we were both irritable with each other. We started arguing as we walked to the stairs and he headed down to investigate. I know now that that arguing was our saving grace - mostly because it could be heard downstairs.

What happened next will forever be clearly etched in my memory.

Our petty arguing was abruptly interrupted by the sound of the garage door.

The garage door.

You know, the one that is closed. Well, supposed to be closed. The only two people who had an opener were standing on the stairs and in the loft. (The only other way it could be opened was by the button by the door to the house, which is the only door to the garage. No outside access. My brain did not register this very important fact.)

Stephen froze mid-step. We both stopped talking. I will never forget the surprised look of terror in his wide eyes - which was surely mirrored in my own. Time seemed to stop, except for the continued sound of the garage door rolling the rest of the way up. We heard the sound of squealing tires, and Stephen sprinted back upstairs to the loft and over to look out the window.

"Someone just stole our van."

It was a statement. He was almost calm as he said it, but I couldn't miss the edge of fear in his voice. When we talked about it later, we'd both had the thought "Oh well, the van is gone." At that time the full magnitude of what was happening was not processing for us. I couldn't tell you what I was thinking as I ran downstairs.

That's right, downstairs. All I could focus on at that point was that the garage was open and I had to make sure it got closed or something. I slowly edged through the kitchen and looked around the wall to see that the door to the garage was cracked. I was petrified at the thought of someone being on the other side of that door; so I reached my arm around, pushed it shut, and quickly locked it - thinking that I was locking out whoever might still be out there and keeping us safe.

In retrospect, this was all very stupid of me.

It was moments after this that Stephen told me that they had come through the office. As in the office right behind me when I was locking the door. (As in, for all I knew I could have just locked a bad guy IN the house! Ugh.) I know now that my brain, in obvious panic mode, hadn't even considered the possibility that someone was actually IN the house. The noises that had woken me up were, in fact, the sound of the office window (below our room) being forced open. Stephen, indeed, hadn't heard any noise because at that point they were already in the house.

He told me that his phone and car keys, which had been on his desk, were both gone. Since I keep my phone on the table next to my bed, I figured I should go up and get it. So I went back to our room, grabbed it, and then stood there.

     Call 911? Well, do I need to? I mean, our van is gone sure, but is this really an emergency? I don't      think anyone is in the house anymore...

Believe it or not, I seriously stood there in complete indecision about calling 911. Stephen made his way back upstairs, so I asked him if I should. Of course he told me too. I don't think I was in any mental condition to comprehend what was happening... yet.

Surreal. That's what it's like to actually dial 911. I typed the numbers on my phone, put it to my ear, and listened to the rings. An operator answered.

I lost it.

It was as if the silky cloud of denial that had kept me functioning thus far was blasted away, and the full weight of the situation came crashing down on my consciousness. Suddenly, I could barely breathe. Couldn't speak....

"Someone... was in... our... house!"

I got out the information that I knew she needed to know immediately. As trained, she stepped in to action - asking me questions to quickly assess the situation and mobilize help. The more I talked, the easier it became; and I started to pull myself together. I went to the closet to get my bat.

Okay, so I can practically hear some of you now - - - a bat? There was a freakin' bat in your bedroom this whole time?!
      Yes, it's the bat that I kept in my classroom in case there was ever an intruder on campus.
       I'd moved it to our room in case there was ever an intruder in our home.
      This is the kind of thinking that goes through my head on a regular basis.
      I'm pretty much prepared for all kinds of unthinkable scenarios.
      You know, except when they actually happen.
Stephen could have had a bat in his hands the whole time he was walking downstairs. I could have bravely brandished it when I assessed the garage door situation. We could have actually had a way to defend ourselves if we'd come face to face with some jack-arse who had invaded our home.

I think it just goes to show you that even though I may be "convinced" that some random late-night noise is a burglar, or worse, in my house, I don't actually think there really is one. But I can tell you now - we won't make that mistake again!

Anyhow, so I get Stephen the bat, and grab myself a thick dowel. (Yes, I also have another club-like item just in case. I know, I know...) I'm on the phone with the 911 operator, standing at our bedroom door, with a pounding heart. Part of me wants to run into the bedroom, slam the door, and lock it until help arrives. But I'm a mama.

My babies are sleeping soundly in there rooms along the hall.

And so I stand there, at the top of the stairs, phone in one hand and club in another.

Yes, we could have easily gone and grabbed them from their beds, waking them up in the process, and all huddled together in our room; but as far as we knew the intruders had fled in the van. Without speaking we had some how both decided to keep them from feeling scared and shelter their little hearts and minds as much as possible. I could argue both possibilities and would never judge against either. (If we had considered danger imminent, we'd have grabbed them in a heart beat.)

I didn't know at the time that there had been a string of North County armed home invasions where the families had been tied up at gunpoint. However, the operator took the situation very seriously indeed and sent 4 squad cars, a dog, and a helicopter. Stephen met the first two deputies at the door, ("Sir, can you put down the bat?") and was ushered outside as they entered and began sweeping the house.

I remained at my "post" upstairs, and met them there. They asked me permission before quietly separating to each take one of the boys' rooms. The image of them going in, and the care they took in not disturbing my babies is forever emblazoned on my heart. Upon coming out of Zachy's room, one of them, (I can only guess that he has the heart of a Daddy) quietly told me in a reassuring voice, "He's sleeping soundly." That still brings tears to my eyes.

The rest of the night, morning?, is a bit of a blur. There were more deputies to arrive, standing in the kitchen going over details, a call coming on the radio that our van had been spotted, and all the deputies leaving to give chase. Stephen and I found ourselves alone, again, in the house. We picked up our "weapons" once more upon this realization and nervously paced downstairs. I called my parents, who were up in Big Bear and they insisted on driving down. A family friend came to sit with us so we weren't alone any more.

And then the best news - they had chased the van, and caught two of the guys! Our very souls were flooded with relief, knowing that this would be invaluable information to what was sure to be a challenging mental recovery. (The third guy was caught a couple of days later.) Note to all: it's good to have a distinguishing sticker on your car! It was a lot easier to know they had found the right white van with "Mama Life" on the back window. (Not the kind of car you'd expect three young men to be hanging out in, right?!)

Surreal - deputies outside the house.

Deputies returned, statements were made, the van was returned (yes!), lists of missing items were given (punks had cut out the car seats and ditched our strollers, which were subsequently stolen), my parents arrived, and then detectives came by. The babies woke up to find Grandma and Grandpa were over! They were blissfully unaware of the traumatic night; something I am truly grateful for. The locksmith we found was a saint of a man who let Nathan "help" change the locks.

I gathered my exhausted wits, and was able to make it to the baby shower.

While I was gone, my parents took Nathan with them back up to the cabin and Stephen worked to get the house back to "normal". After a lot of back-and-forth we decided to stay in our home that night. (My math brain told me that, statistically, since our house had just been broken in to we should be good to go for a few years or so. Plus, they had caught two of the guys and the third was on the run so very little chance he'd dare show up again.)

Nathan was a little confused, but happy to see Papa & Grandma!

One of the detectives assigned to the case - checking out point of entry

I'll not sugar coat it - we were scared. It didn't matter in a way that it was "just some young punks", and they'd targeted us for the van. The absolute TERROR of not knowing who was in our home when we realized what was happening had residual effects on our consciousness that would have repercussions for some time. But we were also determined that we would beat the mental games and move on. So we slept in the house that night.

Exhausted Mama

But I set up a pack in play in our bathroom and kept Zach in the locked room with us.

And the next night I forced myself to let him sleep back in his own room; but we dumped out all of the kid blocks in the hallway along with a few other toys. You know, to deter someone who might break in. (Have you ever stepped on one of those things?!)

Nathan came home a couple of days later. Eventually, we stopped littering the hallway with toys; though we kept the lights on nice and bright downstairs. Since we missed Valentine's day in all of the craziness of that weekend, I setup a nice V-day dinner and cake for all my boys later that week. Life tried to return to normal...

Except that it wasn't.

Knife that they must have used to cut out the car seats. Found it a couple of days later when I was cleaning up the van. (Along with a stash of marijuana...) Scared me to think it was on them when they were in our home!

And that was the beginning of the latest turning point in my life. I'd say that this night had altered my course, but I can see clearly now that Someone had allowed this to all happen for a reason.

I'd love to share more, but that's enough typing for now. The hubby is wrangling the boys, and I need to finish getting ready for our anniversary date. Nine whole years today! What an adventure it has been... <3

The End of an Era...

Well, it's time for a chapter to close and a new one to begin. Stephen and I will be listing our home hopefully within the next couple of weeks. (Packing and cleaning and staging goes a bit slower somehow when there's a 2 1/2 year old wanting to "help" and an 11-month old crawling after you whining to be picked up all the time.)

It's still pretty surreal to see that sign out front. We only just made the decision less than a week ago, and a sudden one at that. Well, not so sudden though if you understand that we had considered doing this almost a year ago, and would probably have considered it again in the future.

Stephen's commute to McClellan-Palomar Airport in Carlsbad doesn't seem like it would be bad distance-wise; however the traffic on San Marcos Blvd can be miserable in the mornings and early evenings. (Fellow San Marcosians, can I get a witness?!) Besides that, he has always for some reason talked about living in Carlsbad someday. (I had always told him though that I didn't want to live closer to the coast because my hair would get frizzy!)

I have been pretty dead-set against moving. I mean, come on - if you have been to my house you'd understand. Almost 2600 square feet of the perfect kind of family and entertaining home I'd always imagined being in; and we got it for our very first home together almost 7 years ago.

Seven years... and so many memories. I have loved hosting family Christmases, engagement and bachelorette parties, baby showers, and various get-togethers. More recently, due to my new stay-at-home-mom status, I have been hosting playgroups! Ha - as in, children. Yes, loads of little ones and babies playing with my boys and all of the toys we've collected over the past couple of years. (No high schoolers in sight! Now that has been an adjustment.) ;0)

The darn HOA who brought some great stories by policies that towed away my friends cars. Twice.
(Okay, that maybe we won't miss so much.) I will always remember my friend waking us all up in the middle of the night yelling "Someone is stealing my car!", and the panic that ensued as we stumbled outside to figure out what was going on.

This is the home where we walked the difficult journey of infertility; and where we brought home both of our little miracles. I poured my creativity, time, and heart into decorating two bedrooms for the boys who have brought us so much joy. My heart hurt at the thought of repainting - but was blessed by our agent walking into Nathan's room and telling me not to worry, and that someone was going to walk in, see the two-toned walls with the super cute sports-playing animals accents and say "This is my little boy's room!".

While it may be considered a nuisance to some, I have LOVED living on the hill overlooking a middle school's athletic field. We've enjoyed years of soccer and rugby games. I don't know - maybe it's due to my chosen profession as a teacher or something; but it's been great hearing the sound of the students out at PE. The track unit is always my favorite - especially when I get to watch them attempt the hurdles for the first time! Oh, or the "pings" of batons hitting the asphalt when they were learning how to pass it for a relay. Hehehehehehe... When we bought this home I'd always imagined sending the boys down to shoot hoops while I was in the kitchen making dinner.

Oy - and the LOCATION! Right smack dab in the middle of the two best exits of San Marcos! All the Chick-fil-a, In-in-out, Hobby Lobby, Marshalls, Spouts, Nordies Rack, and more that you could want!

Did I mention that you can see Frys from our bed upstairs? (LOL - okay, seems random but it's the memory that sticks in my mind from our first night here. Even now when I turn my head I can clearly see the red glow and lit building and get all nostaglic-like.)

I am grateful that we will be able to have some family stay with us once more in this home; and we are still planning to have a family first birthday for Zachy. (I realized tonight that I'd been able to have the Hoadley Christmas party here this last December as well!) So we'll have a great send-off and closure.

We love this house. But I have come to a place of peace about leaving it. (Not that I don't have a panic moment every now and then.) It was NOT a decision that came easily. Instead, it took a lot of heart-searching, and circumstances beyond my control. Some of the questions and fears that I've had have been reasoned out, but there's still plenty that I'll just have to wait and see what God has in store. Wherever we end up, what's important is that we are all together. Besides, creating a great home, in whatever house we reside, is my full-time focus now. Now it's time to be stretched and take a step of faith!

Oh, and if you have any boxes....