Blind Sided

Like any other twenty-something lady, I love a good Sandra Bullock movie, but this isn't what the post is about. I feel like my family was parked at a red light and I was turned around looking for a lost sippy cup and had no way of knowing a big-rig was barreling down the intersection and into our car. Seriously, I hurt all over like we were literally hit by that semi-truck running a red light.

It was the first fantastic spring day we've had in forever. Literally, when forever has been the past seven months of minus zero degrees, minus 30 windchills, and needing to literally shovel out so the postman could get an idea of the general direction to toss the bills into the growing snow drift that was our mailbox. It was brutal. But, as life's seasons always drastically come upon us, birds were chirping, crocus' were popping, and I actually thought about sunscreen that morning.

Dressing Zoe was a ball. The biggest social event of the season was happening at Play School. The Easter Bunny and his entourage would be hiding hundreds of dozens of eggs on the school grounds and then posing for pictures with his/her ankle biter-sized admirers. Zo and I had drug out the bins of clothes of seasons past, and some of the ones that keep Gymboree in business, and had settled on her navy dress with bright butterflies and pink grograin ribbon detailing. She had her navy sandals, hair pulled back in a signature bow, and life was groovy.

The car ride to school was festive -- moon roof open and two kids cheering when I'd do a "Walk Like an Egyptian"-type dance with my hands into the blue sky as we drove up to Bella's heaven on Earth. The kids were giggling and moms were fussing over the little girls all dressed up and ready to get muddy coming through the sanctuary doors. You could smell sunscreen, sweat, and Easter candy. SPRING has SPRUNG! went through my mind as I kissed my favorite bunny good bye.

Xander and I contemplated running to the grocery to pick up a few dozen eggs to start boiling and decided it was waaaaaaaay too nice of a day to spend it near the stove, so we hurried home to get some Vitamin D treatment the old-fashion way.

I was feeling rather daring and parked in the middle of the garage - not my usual spot - woot woot! And left the garage door up to get rid of the stank of months of dirty diapers stored in the enormous trash cans just inside the garage. Pulling out some toys for Xander to climb/push/explore and whittle away a few minutes before morning nap, I started canvassing the empty lot next to us for the trash that had piled up all winter. Someone's drain spout, a few Capri Sun pouches, and a variety of debris that just piles up in the weeds of one open lot after careless trash personnel dump it as they careen down the street before the trash cans are even back on the ground safely.

Xander was talking up a storm and between hearing birds chirping and his own noises it ran through my mind that it was the prettiest sound I'd ever heard. The Dog kept sprinting around me, eager to fetch anything I would throw her way, and as I realized it was time to throw the little guy down for a nap I reminded myself to bring out a lawn and garden bag to collect the rest of this mess.

X was safely screaming in his crib - why do they scream? Do you know what I'd pay for someone to take me into my wonderful bed, lay me down while smothering mommy kisses all over, and beg for me to refresh myself for the next hour. Trust me, babe, you'll want this back one day! As you will wish for someone to pinch your chubby thighs and say, "Oh, I just love these!" That won't happen in twenty years. I can guarantee it.

Trotting down the stairs and trying to think where lawn and garden bags would be - dining room now makeshift consignment shop staging grounds? Laundry room cabinets? Pile of Goodwill items and donations sorted for various local children's charities? As I stood in my great room, almost to the ceramic that starts the kitchen, the back door opened. At first I just thought it was the wind, or a neighborhood kid missed a bus and wanted a free granola bar and Wonder Pet's viewing before they would get picked up again, and I looked up.

He was almost as tall as my husband (who rocks the charts about 6'5") and the Demon creepy-looking, as he was dressed in a long black trench coat, dark clothes, black boots, and worst of all - black leather gloves. On a 80 degree day.

I dropped whatever was in my hands - it may have been the lap top as I picked it up, saw an email, and was wondering when the Des Moines Spring Clean Up was - or it may have been an empty bottle from X's room from the night before. Whatever it was, it fell out of my hands as I backed up.

And I did what every stupid girl who dies in a horror film does, as you chastise her and beg her not to... I went to the stairs. Backwards. My screaming baby indicated I was not alone in the house and this filthy creature with a mop top of brown hair and pale skin was NOT getting near my baby without killing me first. Finally the scream erupted from my throat - gutteral and primal, nothing like a warning or threat.

And the Demon just looked at me, turned around, and walked out the back door, slamming it behind him. Running up the steps, pulling my cell out of my pocket, and locking Xander's bedroom door all at once, I was out of breath and puking as "911" whispered into my ear.

It was a flurry of activity within minutes - officers surrounded the place, neighbors were questioned and asked for information, prompting them to come out of their safe houses and down to mine where the action was. This was not the safe house.

The Dog, my dog, had been chilling on the back porch after a long morning of being a high-energy dog, ready for her own mid-morning siesta, and was hackles up, ready to take on anyone since the back door slammed and I sounded like something from Cowboys and Indians battle-scenes. Doors opened, doors closed, and more uniforms, neighbors, and dogs came and went.

My report was all over the board. Description accurate. Then the walkie-talkies shrieked with information on a similar case just down the street with a similar perpetrator description. The officer with kind eyes and a big belly gave me a look like, " that your guy" as the dispatcher read off the other description.

Yep.

Canine dogs wildly trotted our property while my canine wanted in on the action, too.

Why didn't the dog bark? Why is the garage open? Anything missing? Questions flew at me, and an "X" etched into my forehead for negligent momma here, folks.

Do you always leave the garage door open? You didn't see anyone suspicious? Did you see a car drive away?

No. I saw a bastard in black in my house. I saw his face, I saw his gloved hands, and I saw my baby and I in danger. He knew we were home. We were just outside. He knew what we looked like, what my laugh sounded like, and that Xander had finally mastered pushing a stroller downhill with control and pride. He knew my car radio was pumping out some Goo Goo Dolls song that reminded me of high school and that the other neighbors were all at work, still sleeping, or doing other things. He knew no cars had gone by for a few minutes and that we shop at Target because I was initially using those bags for my clean-up project. He knew my baby's hair had already gotten a little bit bleached blond from the California sun and he blushes when his momma sings "Baby's Black Balloon in his ear".

He knew what he was doing, or thinking of doing, when he walked into MY HOUSE.

I can only imagine.

After what seemed like mere minutes, or maybe an hour, or possibly a day, the cops left one by one and the neighbors gave hugs, shivered, and promised to be vigilant in keeping an eye out. Many promised to stop back over again. They did later. We have good neighbors on this street.

Shaking, aching, and about to get sick again, I didn't know what to do. I just retold the story in a monotonous tone until no one needed to hear it again. And then the "What If's" parked somewhere in my anxiety-ridden mind.

What if Zoe had been home? What if I had been outside, picking up, as X slept in the house alone? I was planning on finishing the lot next door in the thirty minutes he usually cat naps. Like I leave him in there blissfully unaware to check the mailbox, weed, or take the garbage out.  What if I hadn't have come right back down, and hopped into the shower like I usually do after taking Zo to school? What if I had laid down because the night before we got little sleep? What if I had run to the grocery and started boiling eggs? What if X decided he wouldn't start rubbing his eyes and he would have been outside playing in the drive way with me listening to him and occassionally glancing up from my Save the Earth mission?

What if...

What if...

What the F is wrong with people?

Turns out, a lot. Des Moines police are seeing a startling trend of creeps looking for kids. Especially blond haired blue eyed little girls with a twinkle in her eye and a laugh that would light up the world.

We moved to Iowa thinking we'd be safe. Safe from populated cities and too much growth. Safe from the dangers of living near a big city -- really, the Des Moines airport doesn't need to be on Orange Alert with the rest of the country. No one is going out of there way to get here, much less use DSM as a target practice.

Except we aren't even safe to run outside to do yard work, lay a baby down, or answer a phone, because in mere minutes a Demon can enter your life and your whole world will shatter.

He took her panties. The panties in the Goodwill pile outside the garage that was to be loaded and hauled today. He took her Elmo's, Abbey Cadabby's, and a few Dora's and walked away.

What if?