When we got back from our holiday, we went to open the back door, and found that the bottom door jamb of one of our double glass doors had been cracked off. That particular door has never been able to open, and we had tried mightily in the past, so I figured it had finally cracked off. It’s been hot and humid and things swell in the heat.
Since we are renting our house, we trekked on down to the real estate company and asked them to fix it. The contractor came this morning- and we’re a little more anxious now.
He said that it looked like someone had tried to kick down the door and he even pointed out a muddy shoeprint on the outside of the door.
He suggested that we buy a fake alarm sticker to place on our doors and is heading back to the real estate company and the owner to tell them that someone tried to break in and broke our door.
Elizabeth is pragmatic. “Do we have insurance, Mommy?”… “They were pretty stupid burglars, huh, Mommy?”… “Maybe we could get a new TV if they took the old one!”… “We’ll have to remember to always lock up, now, huh, Mommy?”
And Ray is… anxious. He is not verbalizing anything, other than laughing when Elizabeth and I laugh, but he’s collected all of his various boxes and is building.
I keep reassuring him that we’re safe- that Bailey Dog, who barked her head off the whole time the contractor was here, would let us know if someone were breaking into our house. That someone tried to break in while we were gone- NOT while we were here. That we are safe. We are safe. I’m not sure who is needing the reassurance more- him or me, but Ray is doing something about it.
So, note to burglars- if you break into our house, you will be bitten by Bailey Dog, you will have to go through me to get to my children, and you will have to fight off a Michael Jackson-playing, light saber-wielding, shield-protected robot.
I feel safer now.