Breaking & Entering: Was There a Robbery In Progress at Her Home?

18 Oct, 2012

My attempts at being a domesticated house wife and mom have been thoroughly documented over the last 13 years in the category of:Dangerous, yet hilarious. Not kidding. I’ve had strangers friend me on Facebook simply because their friends can’t wait to see what is happening to me each day. (I’ve never quite learned how NOT to be transparent).

Case in point, during our Wednesday night study, our host Katy introduced me to a new couple with,

“You have to ‘friend’ Heather on Facebook purely for her comedic status updates if not anything else.”

(Thanks Katy)

And then I get comments like this from David, our tech guy:

LOL, oh my goodness Heather, you crack me up. Your Facebook posts are so entertaining. Clearly your “View From Home” is very unique. haha…I can’t stop laughing

(That’s great David, Thx ). Which leads me to my story this week, in fact that is where David’s comment came from.

Given my track record and knowing that my friends are waiting for the next crazy thing, I should have just stayed in bed when this notion came to mind…This wild haired idea thinking I could be a domesticated diva today. Why not? As I sailed through the house doing laundry, emptying the dish washer and listening to Taylor Swifts new hit (its catchy but so annoying, had I known what the day was going to be like, Michael Jackson’s song Annie Are You Okay should have been the theme song.). I lit some candles and continued on my marathon-hyped house cleaning spree…and then the smoke alarms went off. But because I was SO in tune with Taylor Swifts O’s and Ah’s, I failed to see a fellow firefighter neighbor standing on my doorstep.

Strike ONE and it was before 1:00pm (SIGH). But I was determined to make a go of it. Who knows, maybe Taylor’s song fried what little thought process I had left. Moving on to dinner. As I combined the ingredients on the stove for an old family recipe of Goulash, it started to smoke. I couldn’t figure out what was burning and had even lifted the pot off the stove to take a peek at the bottom. NOTHING. Suddenly the phone rang, pulling me out of my detective-while-making supper-mode, it was my dear husband, I had forgotten to pick the poor man up from work.Strike two…leaving my man stranded.

Strike THREE came as we walked back into our home, it smelled strangely like supper but with a metal factory twist. My husband eyed what was on the stove and braved a taste. He doubled over from what my supper had done to his taste buds. My Goulash tasted like burnt metal.

The entire pot went into the garbage. And we all but scarfed a nutritious supper of Little Ceaser’s pizza so I could drop my husband off at class and get back in time to change my clothes which were permeating the air with the smell of burnt metal and pasta. Lovely. After frantically getting the kids changed and out the door for Wednesday night church, I ran out behind them and hopped into my suburban…but my keys were nowhere to be found.

Strike Four came as I realized all three sets of keys were on the desk. The only thing to do was teach my kids the art of breaking and entering from my days as a…(you really don’t need to know everything). As I checked the locks on the doors and windows, I cheered when I found the kitchen window open.

After cutting the screen with my heel, I shimmied the storm window off with a screwdriver and began the fine art of instructing my kids how to climb through, slide off the counter top and unlock the front door. The only problem is that none of my kids wanted to go through the window. They were afraid of breaking into their own home.

My lovely woman child posed for this picture. When I asked my son to climb through the window again for photo purposes of HVFH, he flat out refused....

Seriously we were late enough as it was! Finally after ~~bribing~~ chatting with my son, I convinced him to let me pick him up and shove him through the window. Success! And the Facebook status for this evening:

After making supper that tasted like burnt metal, I got to teach my kids the art of breaking in through the kitchen window….all three sets of keys were on the desk….

Strike Five came when my six-year-old and three-year-old excitedly told two of our pastors, “Mommy taught us to break into our house tonight. It was SO cool!”

So if you ever feel like you need a laugh, go ahead and find me on Facebook and in the meantime I’m not to rob myself of who I am created to be. As for being a domesticated housewife, its for the birds!