A Wii Bit of Perspective

I just found this "vent" piece that I wrote a year ago, shortly after our house was broken into. I fully intended it to be the beginning of my blogging experience but you all know how that turned out ;).

March [2010] may be winding down but David and I are definitely feeling the luck of the 1/8 Irish (on my side; we'll call David Irish by association). Our families are well, we are healthy and employed, our Lil' Raf bun is baking away nicely and the jackholes that burgled our house this past Tuesday didn't steal anything of value to us. Sure, Duncan experienced his own personal "Home Alone" Hell (which we hope his short pup memory has already erased). And sure, some physical damage was done to poor Ruth (our house), bless her hearth, but when all is said and done things could have been so much worse!

Tuesday started out to be a good day. I had a "baby sick" Sunday and okay Monday so by Tuesday, things were looking up. My friend Gina had birthed a healthy baby boy (shout out to baby Bode), the workday was productive and I had eaten lunch! Hallelujah! By the time David and I got home it was 7:30pm and we were trying to decide what to force feed me for dinner when I realized that the media console in our living room was pulled away from the wall and one of the doors was ajar. From what I could see, that cabinet had been completely emptied out.

Now I know my brain is working a bit slower these days but it took me a few minutes to really process what I was seeing before David came in the house and asked me what I was staring at. I was seriously pondering why he would have moved the console before we left for work? Was he obsessing over his intensely zip tied cords in the back? Or had an earthquake somehow managed to make the thing budge during the day (which is really not possible - it's THAT heavy). At that point we agreed that someone had somehow broken in and David advised that I not touch anything. We both did a once over of the main living space but there were no obvious signs of a break in. The latch on the front door was intact and it was locked; the french doors to the backyard were intact and locked. It wasn't until we ventured to the back of the house; to our future son or daughter's room (where the largest window in our home is located; conveniently facing the private confines of our newly fenced-in backyard), and were welcomed by broken glass EVERYWHERE, that our worst fears became a reality. Across the hall, in our room, David's valet had been ransacked. However, my jewelry box, lay seemingly untouched at the other end of the dresser from the valet. The first thing that popped into my mind at that second: "Someone went to all the trouble of breaking a window and blinds, and making a MESS of a room (we had been painting our office at that point so the former guest room was full of boxes and bags that the perp (I use cop talk when I can) traipsed right over on their quest for criminal activity) and they didn't even bother looking for some Tiffany to take?!?".

After our quick scan we grabbed the phones (land line and cell), David called the 5-0 (I love cop talk) and the waiting began. Now I understand that a home burglary is not exactly the biggest emergency in the world, but I am 5 months preg-o and on a strict eating schedule. After almost 30 minutes of waiting I called again and was informed that there was a domestic dispute and the officer headed our way would be there shortly. Oh, I'm sorry, City of Fill-in-the-blank. I didn't realize you had one cop available on Tuesday evenings or I would have scheduled this particular crime on another day *cue my famous supermegaultrahumongoid eyeroll*. The cop finally showed up and we ventured back through the house.

Starting in the living room, we realized that the entire left side of the console cabinet had been cleaned out with the exception of my "Sex and the City: The Complete Series" on DVD which comes in a fancy pants pink velveteen case that I assume was of no interest to HIM. Ha ha! (I can laugh about it now). Yes, I said HIM, because judging by the missing contents of that one cabinet I was able to draw up a character sketch in my head of the perp: some bored, punk ass male kid that lives in or around our neighborhood decided to ditch school early that day (much like all of the other truant days of his short life thus far) and violate people's lives for no reason. The other side of the cabinet is filled with DVDs, none of which were touched, and our TV and large electronics were all in place. I'd like to thank my husband and his maze of super secure zip ties that probably kept anything else from being stolen. That and the fact that it would have to go over a fence; so we had that going for us.

Reasons to be thankful . . . where do I begin? We had closed the office door that morning to keep the dog out because David was doing our taxes and we had personal paperwork spread out all over the place. Had the jackhole "gone there" we'd be in a world of identity theft hurt right now and for the next few years. Our camera, with my growing belly pics, was stashed safely away. Verizon generously processed the rebate for my new phone, even without the original packaging. The window and door and alarm people we have worked with "the morning after" were A-MAZING. So kind, so understanding, and so efficient. It's nice to know that perfect strangers and businesses in your community will do their damndest to have your back in a time of rebuilding. Because that's what we had to do. The damage to Ruth required a new window, new wood blinds, a new doorknob for the outside of our french doors (which the little fool had tried to break into but ended up breaking the knob off because of Andersen doors' fabulous locking mechanisms. If you need a new door, buy Andersen. No, I'm not getting a cent to say that.).

There was glass EVERYWHERE and in every box and bag that was stashed in Lil' Raf's room so David and I tackled that and he re-repaired the window sill he had JUST finished working on and painting a couple of weeks prior. The alarm system we had always talked about getting but never did was installed the next day and we feel better already. Thank goodness that that jewelry box that houses a couple of my most prized pieces, including my grandmother's wedding band and an engraved band that David gave to me for my 18th birthday (which, naturally has its own story that begs to be told down the road), was safe and sound on the dresser. I am so glad that there wasn't room in that ratty (I'm assuming) backpack for one more thing. We're assuming that Dunkers hid when he heard the glass break and could not be more relived about that. He could have been hurt or dognapped (I am being serious, by the way) and that would have been devastating.

The worst part about this whole ordeal? Knowing that some misguided youth (I'm being kind for a moment) had the nerve to jump over OUR fence, break a window in OUR home and violate US so that he could get his hands on some pointless crap to hock for cash to use for God knows what. How does someone get to a point in their lives where any of that sounds reasonable? It's truly disgusting. We got lucky. He took things that didn't mean much to us (I do miss my old school iPod and all of the music other people had shared with me on it that I don't have). But just knowing that a stranger was traipsing through our house, scaring the bejesus out of our small dog and taking what isn't theirs to take is so . . . GRODY.

When I'm not cleaning obsessively, or daydreaming about being here when the punk tries to break in and drawing back the curtains on the french doors rapidly to reveal that someone IS in fact home and scare the bejesus out of HIM as I call the police, who happen to have a squad car (there I go again) in the neighborhood and give them a detailed description of said punk, including his eye color because I saw them so clearly when they bugged out of his head with shock upon seeing me throw back the curtains . . . (there's more but I'll spare you), I am so grateful. Grateful that if all of this was going to happen, it happened before a baby is sleeping in that room and living in this house. Grateful that my family is safe and sound and material things are just that and their being taken away from us has no consequence. Grateful for the somewhat traumatic but real reminder of what's important in this life. And, grateful that I'm pretty sure the last song I was listening to on my iPod was either by Britney Spears, Hall & Oates or some Country artist. Take THAT, punk ass!

Lyrics I Love

This seems fitting in light of the crazy rainy weather we are experiencing . . .

"And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured
I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm
'Come in,' she said, 'I'll give you shelter from the storm'."

-Bob Dylan/"Shelter from the Storm"

Denim Dilemma

My son was a breech baby (often sung in our house to the tune of "Beach Baby" by The First Class, circa 1974) and was therefore delivered by C-section (his birth story is a doozy so stay tuned for that). I adore him and believe that is how he was meant to join us in this wild and wacky world. However, there is something I'm not so sure about so maybe some of you with Cesarean or baby body experience in general can help me out. Will my beloved jeans ever fit me again?!? I love my denim collection and have worked hard at curating it over the years but I am 8 months in to this post-birth deal and only a couple of pairs (that were loose fitting before) zip up and can be worn comfortably. What about all the others? I have already donated some vintage gems to my sister and she is fostering them beautifully. They are getting out and seeing the world again and that makes me happy. But what about "the others"? What about all of my favorites? I know I could stand to lose around 10 pounds but I fear that even IF I do (just being real here) my body may have forever changed and I am going to have to start fresh in the jeans department. My beautiful baby boy is definitely worth it . . . but damn I miss my denim.

Happiness is . . .

Hearing my husband and son laughing and playing together in the next room. I believe it's my most favorite sound in the world these days and gets me to thinking what a special bond they already share and how that will grow into something even more amazing the older Cade gets.

Green Uggs and Ham

St. Patrick's Day is one of the few days of the year that I can wear one particular pair of shoes in public and not think twice about it. Back in 2005, during the second Uggs craze in my lifetime thus far (the first was when I was in middle school and my Pops convinced me that I didn't need the real deal so I settled for a more affordable pair; the aptly named Thuggs), I made an ill-advised purchase of pastel green Uggs. Why I didn't go for a color that could actually be worn with everything, and any day of the year, I can't tell you but I can tell you that they looked way less green online than they did in person. I also have no explanation for why, after they arrived in all of their neon glory, I didn't just ship them back. The website I ordered them from even offered free shipping and they could have been out of my life as quickly as they had arrived. Maybe it was shoe guilt, maybe I just wanted to give them a chance, but I kept them and now what I affectionately refer to as my "Grinch boots" come in handy during the Christmas/holiday season, on cold mornings (they have gotten much use these past few chilly months) and St. Patty's Day. So this past Thursday, I sported the booties all the live long day and let my 1/8 of Irish pride shine.

Oh My Word

Early last week, Cade was having a fussy moment (translation: afternoon) and when the whining went from song-stuck-in-your-head annoying to fork-screeching-on-a-plate impossible I held him up and looked at him and the simple phrase, "Oh my word!" tumbled out. For those of you who aren't aware, I am a recovering Sailor Mouth (not to be confused with Parseltongue, my fellow HP Heads). Normally, my reaction would have been a muffled/under my breath, censored version of an expletive that makes me feel better for not having any way to soothe my son's teething pain. And, I wouldn't have been staring straight at him when I said it.

The strange thing is that OMW (I am a fan of acronyms) is not one of the go-to PG phrases that I keep in my back pocket (which include "Dear Lord!" and "Seriously?!?"). The only person in my life who I know used it was my dearest Nana, my Dad's mom who passed away very suddenly 11 years ago (more on that at some point). Nana was a calm, soothing soul and in the 19 years that I knew her, I never saw her REALLY lose her temper. Sure, she'd get annoyed with my Grandpa every once in a while but she kept her emotions in check (which you probably couldn't pay me to do; although money has never been offered to me so I can't say for sure). Whenever one of us kids would get huffy or sassy, that would be her simple response before talking some sense into us.

I love that, in a moment where I could have said anything, that's what I blurted out. There's something special about me channeling her in that instance. It makes me believe that our connection is still very much alive and reaffirms my feeling that she is always with me. Cade would have loved her and I am sure she is loving him . . . from afar.     

Being Sick Sucks

I have been MIA for the last week because I have been sick for the last week. Blah! The sore throat arrived last Monday and in its typical, dreaded "gateway" fashion had morphed into a full blown head and chest cold by Wednesday. I felt better in time for a visit with a dear friend on Friday and was deceived into believing I was on the upswing on Saturday. Alas, I relapsed on Sunday and David and Cade both joined me (poor guys) . . . even Dunkers slept most of the day away with us. Big D is home sick with us today and we are all making the most of this overcast Monday by keeping things mellow and restful. I cannot wait to feel better and hate that Cade is sick because of me. But, I guess we had to cross this hurdle sooner or later so I'm checking this one off of my "Mother's Guilt Checklist" early on. Go me!

Food for thought: How did I get sick in the first place? What with my sticking to a strict diet of bon bons and all of that reclining/resting that I do 24/7. Haha.

The Twitter Jitters

I was hesitant to "go there" (must I experience EVERY form of social media?!?) but my Twitter jitters have subsided and I have officially joined . . . for the sake of getting my blog out there (wherever "there" is). I can be reached @Marjarazzi and am thrilled to report I already have una follower and would follow her anywhere as well <3.  

Star Gazing and Grazing

No, sillies, I didn't just return from a quiet trip to the countryside, I am sharing with you how I spent my Oscar Sunday. My lil' family and I enjoyed the evening with friends at the home of Jusha (I will use our gracious hosts' celeb couple nickname to protect their anonymity *wink, wink*). There, we dined on a delicious spread of cleverly named finger foods (think 127 Beans dip and True Grit Sausage Cakes) and washed it all down with the very apropos bubbly and some vino too.

Overall, I enjoyed the show. Maybe it was the company I was keeping at the time but I didn't think this Academy Awards was any more boring than in years past. I thought that Anne Hathaway was a good hostess and James Franco was great in taped segments but as awkward as ever when he was live. I just don't get the Franco appeal outside of his looks. He has yet to demonstrate to this gal that he is a true actor but maybe "127 Hours" will prove me wrong? I won't hold my breath.

I think part of the reason critics have been so harsh on the broadcast is because there were no real surprises throughout the night, including in the awards department. However predictable the acting winners were, they were well deserved. I am especially pleased for the dashing Colin Firth, a longtime favorite chap of mine ("Pride and Prejudice" and "Shakespeare in Love") and Melissa Leo, who impressed me back in the day on "Homicide: Life on the Streets" (a TV show from Friday nights past) and despite her tacky attempt at self-promotion truly became Micky and Dicky's mutha in "The Fighter". Then there's the handsome and mysterious Christian Bale who morphs seamlessly into every character he plays, not to mention he hides his British accent better than most. And, I have been a fan of his (translation: crushed on him) since the days of "Newsies" and "Little Women". So, cheers to another year of glitz and glamour and the allure of awards season. I can't wait to rent the 5 "Best Picture" nominees that I haven't seen yet and I'm looking forward to the next round of movies to generate that good ol' "Oscar buzz" for next year!

Reunited . . .

And it feels so good . . . on the gums! Sophie Too aka Second Sophie has arrived en la casa and Cade is pleased as punch. The only diff between this giraffe and her predecessor is that she actually squeaks, and quite loudly. Who's not impressed? That would be our pup, Dunkers, who cannot for the life of him understand how something that sounds like that does not belong to him. Oh the torture!