30 Signs You've Busted 30 Wide Open

I hit the big 3-0 on October 11th, and I must admit I'm having a hard time with it. I know I won't get much sympathy from you 40+ people (since you're only a few candles away from dentures and Depends), but this getting older stuff is for the birds! I still want to spend a day at the beach without worrying about fine lines and wrinkles! I still want to browse in American Eagle on occasion without people assuming I'm shopping for my daughter. HA! I still feel young, right? Although I am somewhat in denial about entering another decade, I can't ignore the undeniable evidence that it's time to let go of my twenties and embrace this new chapter of life. 

Maybe you can also relate to these "30 Signs You've Busted 30 Wide Open":

(1) Your eyesight is getting worse. I visited the eye doctor a few months ago for my yearly exam (only I haven't been since 2008), and I was seriously straining to see the letters on the chart. There's nothing more horrifying than not being able to read past the "E" on the top of the chart. The doctor's last words to me before I left were, "Please don't drive without your new glasses." 

(2) Minivans are starting to look like the answer to all of life's problems. I spent my twenties as a staunch opponent of The Minivan. Although I have many friends who ROCK their Odysseys and Siennas and Quests, I personally couldn't bring myself to trade my SUV for a Mommy Mobile. Car companies have made noble efforts to jazz up the minivan and increase its cool factor, but for me, buying a van has always been the precursor to mom jeans and outdated sunglasses. But lately, I've found myself sneaking a second look at minivans as they whiz past me. What's not to love about automatic doors and comfortable seating for your kid's entire Little League team? The simple fact that I'm starting to see minivans in a new light can only mean one thing: I am getting older (and tired of having to manually open the doors to my SUV). 

(3) Young people start looking even younger. Fernando took me to Outback for my birthday dinner, and as we sat and waited for a table, I couldn't believe the young couples who kept arriving for date night. I kept looking around for signs of a mom dropping them off at the front door, because most of the young men didn't look old enough to hold a driver's license, much less to be dating. I mean, were they paying for their date's dinner with their allowance? And the girls? They looked like they could still (legally) order from the kids' menu. I almost threw a bread knife at a love-struck couple who were ignoring their cheese fries and holding hands across the table. Maybe they were truly in love or maybe they were just trying to avoid getting food in their braces. Either way, I was reminded that I definitely ain't a spring chicken anymore.

(4) Eyebrows are starting to get tricky. Wax? Pluck? Trim? Wear my hair like the girl from The Ring so that no one can see my eyebrows? I'm at a total loss as to what to do with these puppies that seem to get thinner and lighter with each passing year. In fact, I've started using an eyebrow pencil for the first time. I think I need a hug. 

(5) You catch yourself talking like your mother. Remember those phrases that your mom used all.the.time. that made you roll your eyes as a kid? Chances are you'll start hearing those same phrases come out of your own mouth once you hit 30. 

(6) Tanning beds are icky. If tanning salons rewarded their customers with frequent flier miles, I would never have to worry about paying for airfare again. A frequent fake-baker while in my twenties, I enjoyed spending a few minutes cocooned in warmth and emerging with a glowing, golden tan. (Who was I kidding? I looked like a TANgerine.) Now that I've had kids and hit thirty, the smell of burnt flesh has lost its appeal. I'm not saying I won't ever step into a tanning salon again; however, I am saying at this point in my life, as far as indoor tanning goes, AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT!

(7) You'd rather stay in on Friday night. Flannel pj's and Netflix > anything Goldsboro has to offer. 

(8) You lose interest during a movie. I hardly ever watch movies anymore. Two reasons: (A) I can't stay awake and (B) There are always dishes that need to be washed, clothes that need to be folded, toilets that need to be scrubbed... Kinda hard to focus on a story line when there's a To Do list to take care of. MEN DO NOT UNDERSTAND THIS! 

(9) Your idea of "clubbing" involves visiting Sam's and buying 1100 rolls of toilet paper and five pound blocks of cheese. Also, SAMPLES!!! 

(10) You become more career-oriented. Starting a new decade in life makes you reflect on what you've accomplished in your career, and it's a good time to set goals for the next ten years. Or better yet, lose yourself in a half-gallon of Haagen Dazs and lament all the wasted opportunities from your 20s.

(11) You are more excited about your kids Halloween costumes than they are about getting candy.

(12) Wearing high heels just ain't happening. The only time I wear high heels (and by "high heels," I mean my pair of black pumps with sensible heels that I bought at Sears for $14.99) is on Sunday morning for church. And I can hardly wait to kick them off when we get home. If I'm feeling real adventurous, I'll wear them again to Sunday night service. When you're out and about with two little boys, you must be prepared to break into a run at any moment. And if you've ever had to chase your child across a crowded parking lot while wearing high heels, you'll agree with me that flats are a much more practical (and safe!) option. 

(13) Your four-year-old is beating you at Memory. True story, bro.

(14) You are more worried about your health. Hitting 30 makes you start wondering and worrying about what's going on inside your body. That piece of Bubblicious gum that you swallowed as a pre-teen... is it causing issues for your small intestine? And moles and sun spots on your skin will start to look very, very suspicious (another reason I've decided to steer clear of the tanning bed). 

(15) You're starting to get bold in the kitchen. By age 30, you've had a little time to experiment and evolve as a cook. You've cooked enough meals to realize that a can of Cream of Mushroom soup covers a multitude of meat sins, and that it is possible to botch up Kraft Mac. But you've probably also started channeling your inner Barefoot Contessa, and trying new things... like substituting applesauce for oil and making fondant (AKA- Icing from H-E-Double Hockey Sticks). 

(16) You've abandoned Victoria's Secret for whatever's on sale that doesn't pinch, itch, or require special washing instructions.

(17) You've tried hot tea.

(18) You no longer make Christmas wish lists.

(19) You haven't been into American Eagle or Aeropostale since...............

(20) TV shows from your childhood are now being played on Nick at Nite. Back in the 80s and 90s when I was a kid, I remember Nick at Nite running old shows like "The Dick Van Dyke Show" and "I Love Lucy." Fast forward a couple decades, and those old black and white shows have been replaced with "Fresh Prince of Bel Air" and "The Nanny."

(21) You can't even remember what you did on your 21st birthday.

(22) You've stopped buying graphic tees. Maybe it's just me, but now that I'm in my thirties, I'm finding it a tad difficult to wear anything (in public) with corny sayings like "Beautiful Disaster" or "Set Me Free" emblazoned across the chest. In fact, I just donated two huge bags full of Old Navy graphic tees to Goodwill. This is more than a tad bit depressing, especially when I remember how much I begged my mother to let me wear graphic tees when I was a young lass. But graphic tees like this one? I just can't.



(23) You're learning to be a little smarter with your money. When you're in your twenties, retirement seems like an eternity away. But there's something about hitting 30 that makes you wake up and smell the 401K. Unless you want to spend your golden years slurping Ramen through your dentures, now is probably a good time to start saving for the future. 

(24) You've been around long enough to see trends come, go, and come again. I totally remember my mom rocking flats like these in the 90s. Although hers were not embellished with gold studs and most certainly did not come from Old Navy.... And let's talk about how burgundy is all the rage this year. BURGUNDY!!!

(25) "Fun" is now defined as anything that doesn't interfere with sleep or require extra clean-up. You probably have to be in your 30s in order to enjoy the total elation that comes with alphabetizing your CD collection on a Friday night.

(26) THE BACKSTREET BOYS ARE NOW FATHERS!!! And their chart-topping hits which appalled our mothers back in the day now sound like lullabies compared to today's musical garbage. Also, Zack from "Saved By the Bell" will turn 40 next year. Let that sink in for a minute.

(27) Words like "selfie" & "bestie" make you cringe. Maybe this is just me, but I wouldn't be caught dead using these abbreviated hashtags on Twitter or Instagram. #embarrassing

(28) You're not afraid to ask for help. Just a couple weeks ago, I visited a local office supplies store to buy paper. In case you've never had to purchase ten reams of paper before, let me explain that there is NO ladylike way to get that box off the shelf and into your cart. I highly recommend wearing a back brace and elastic waist pants if you are shopping for paper alone. Make sure you have a heating pad and a bottle of Aleve on standby. Those cases of paper weigh more than yo' momma! Anyway, I was in the store, and once I'd located the cheapest box of paper, I stretched my neck, flexed my wrists, and cracked my knuckles. Let's do this, I thought to myself. Taking a deep breath, I bent down and reached for the box in front of me. (I may or may not have repeated, "Light as a feather, stiff as a board" three times as I slid my fingers under the box.) I'm pretty sure I let out a groan as I finally got the box off the shelf and realized I would need to lift it higher to get it into the cart. About this time, a little elf of an employee decided to make his rounds down my aisle. "Can I help you with anything, ma'am?" he asked casually. "Um, sure, could you tell me where I could find the best deal on paper clips?" I wanted to spit out sarcastically, but I didn't answer right away, mainly because my cart was getting away from me and I WAS HOLDING A FOUR-TON CASE OF PAPER! "Yes, if you could help me get this paper in my cart, that'd be great," I finally managed. "Oh, of course," he said as he scurried over to help me. After what seemed like an eternity in the land of Awkward Moments, we finally dumped the box into the cart. I felt like I'd just done an hour of Zumba. I'm pretty sure the twenty-something me would've refused his "help" and lugged that paper across the store like a boss. I'm also pretty sure the thirty-year-old me fears the word hernia enough to ask for help when needed.

(29) You're more interested in politics and the future of our society. Do not get me started on Obamacare.

(30) You're starting to realize, with each passing moment, what is truly important. Like control top pantyhose and Oil of Olay. HA!

Those of you who've joined the Thriving Thirties Club with me, what would you add to this list? Any advice for getting older?



 

I'm Ready For My Magic Wand Now... Right Now!

I'm ready for my magic wand now. You know.... the magic wand that you wave over your kids and that keeps them little forever. Where can I get one? What I wouldn't give to make these days last just a little longer.

I watched my boys fall asleep last night, and I couldn't stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks. I guess every mom has a meltdown or two or forty like this, but it hit me like a ton of Legos that my babies are growing up. My boys are now four and three -just a few short years away from braces and Little League and summer camp and incredibly awkward school pictures- but we are having so much fun together in this stage of early childhood.

Trips to the grocery store and other public outings aren't nearly as traumatic as they were a couple years ago (back when I thought it was absolutely necessary to load up two diaper bags, a Pack N Play, lullaby CDs, and enough Goldfish to end world hunger, just for a quick trip to Food Lion). My little angels are also learning that the food pyramid doesn't consist solely of Easy Mac and fruit snacks (chicken fries count as a protein, right?). And best of all, they shower me with kisses and hugs and "I love yous" until I feel like my heart will burst. I'd be perfectly content to freeze the clock and chase Indian summer with these two little mischief makers and their Daddy for the rest of my days.

If only I could....

No matter how much we as parents wish time wouldn't taunt us and float away like a leaf in the wind, we can't stop it. We can't even slow it. We can only squeeze the most out of the minutes we have right now....

Right Now- a precious, priceless gift from God that I often choose to squander on meaningless activities instead of investing it in my children.

Right Now- a split second to say "yes" to good and "no" to evil.

Right Now- a fleeting chance to distinguish between the temporary and the eternal.

Right Now- the tick tock tick tock that all too soon turns into yesterday and might-have-been.

Oh, how the Lord is convicting me about my misuse and abuse of Right Now! I spend time like it's unlimited and refundable; I waste precious minutes on Candy Crush and Facebook and Pinterest and Netflix like I have forever at my fingertips; I foolishly continue my pursuit of more when I have all I need hopping up and down in front of me, tugging at my shirt and asking me to read them a book.

There are a million and one ways to wave goodbye to time, but I'm learning, little by little, that any moment shared with my sons is time well-spent.

Dollar General Jam Session

Is it just me, or are Dollar General stores popping up EVERYWHERE? Honestly, it's like they build them during the night while the rest of the town is asleep. I can't count how many times I've passed by a Dollar General in recent months and thought, "When did THAT get there?" It seems like we have a DG on every street corner in Wayne County now.

Don't get me wrong- I love a good dollar store just as much as Dora the Explorer loves to explore and ask questions. Especially when said dollar store offers semi-non-cheesy greeting cards (without typos!) for 2/$1. Especially when said dollar store has a clearance section. Especially when said dollar store offers basic groceries that (A) don't bear expiration dates from before I graduated from high school (here's looking at you, Big Lots) and (B) don't look like they were hauled around in the bed of a '77 Chevy down a 100-mile stretch of dirt roads (cough cough, Ollie's). Especially when said dollar store is a Dollar General!

I'm pretty positive I inherited my love for Dollar General from my mother. She is the DG Queen!! She says she doesn't have access to "The Back" of Dollar General (you know, the warehouse area of stores where employees like to hoard all the good stuff), but seriously, she finds the best stuff in there that no one else can find. She recently showed up at my house with a cool pair of Navy flats that, I kid you not, looked JUST LIKE TOMS. My mother? Wearing Toms? Oh no, this can't be happening! I don't even own a pair of Toms yet.

"Mom, I didn't know you had a pair of Toms!" I said, pointing at her shoes.

"Eight bucks, Dollar General!" she exclaimed with a snazzy snap of her fingers. "And who's Tom?"

Another time she brought me an adorable set of owl garden ornaments. Cutest things I've ever laid eyes on. Three guesses where she got them? Dollar General, baby! For less than a #7 combo at McDonald's, of course.

So anyway, I guess it was my mother's godly influence that sent me to Dollar General earlier this week when I needed aluminum foil. It was my youngest son's 3rd birthday, and we had made big plans to grill out. I wasn't really in a hurry, so I grabbed a cart on my way in. (Can I just interrupt myself here and admit that getting a cart instead of one of those handheld baskets is a pretty big financial commitment? It just screams, "I'm here for more than just milk and bread. I'm here to find THE DEALS!")

I started browsing and adding a few things to my cart: SpongeBob hand soap for $1? Don't mind if I do. My favorite TRESemme hairspray for $3? I think I'll take two, please. Batman pj's for my boys that will probably fit a Ken doll after one washing? Why not?

I had quite a cart load of bargains by the time I finally noticed it, and boy, did it snap me out of my retail therapy reverie. The music they were playing in the store.... why was it so loud? And it sounded like two guys having a competition to see who could be more obnoxious- the one banging on drums or the other one screaming incoherent phrases into a microphone. I was annoyed, but I decided to give the DG disc jockey the benefit of the doubt. Surely this was just a bad song choice on Bob 93.3, and we would be right back to Kenny G and Adele after the heavy metal shouting match was over.

Folks, that didn't happen.

In fact, the next song started up even louder and more annoying than the first. The only way I can think to describe it is: if electric guitars and drums could give birth, that song would be the sounds they made while in labor WITH QUADRUPLETS.

My heart started racing in time with the awful beat, beads of sweat speckled my forehead. Oh no, Dollar General, this is not what I wish to be serenaded by while I shop! Don't you understand that shopping without kids is the Mommy equivalent of a Sandals vacation? Are you trying to run me out of the store without buying anything? I have a cart, for Pete's sake. I'M NOT JUST HERE FOR BREAD AND MILK!

I started searching for an employee- anyone with a yellow shirt and black pants that could turn the music off and put those guitars out of their misery. The only person I could find was a sweet-looking senior citizen working at the register, and since she had a line full of customers (mostly basket shoppers) I decided not to bother her. I resolved to get my aluminum foil and get the heck outta dodge, before a migraine set in.

As my luck would have it, I couldn't find aluminum foil ANYWHERE! But then again, being blasted with Annoying Anthems of a Head Banger didn't exactly have me in the best frame of mind. I finally located the aluminum foil (located right below a loud speaker, of course), and pushed my cart to the check-out line.

Bless her heart, sweet Granny At The Register was doing the best she could. But a customer trying to pay part debit/part cash was a just a little too much for her cashier skillz. She consulted a black binder for about forty-five hours and punched quite a few numbers into the computer until somehow -miraculously- the transaction went through. When the next customer in line presented Granny with a pastel housedress without the price tag, I was about done with DG. I was ready to abandon my cart of bargains (don't judge- you know you've done it before) and just pay $7 for foil at the BP down the road.

But something stopped me and kept me in that line of weary shoppers. I knew I wasn't leaving that store until someone heard what I had to say about their choice of music. (Plus, who was I kidding? I really really needed that hairspray.)

Finally, it was my turn. I began unloading my items onto the counter, and summoned every ounce of Southern dignity and grace in my body. I decided to be polite even though I was none too happy about being run outta there before I had a chance to check out the greeting cards. "Excuse me, ma'am," I began politely. "How do you work here with that loud music? It makes me wanna pull my hair out!"

Granny stopped scanning my items and peered at me over her bifocals. "Everybody keeps complaining about it. I guess it's a little too loud." She shrugged, then went back to scanning and bagging my purchases. Everyone behind me in line stood quietly. If it hadn't of been for the Sons of Lucifer screeching in the background, you could've heard a pin drop.

That went well.

I collected my bags and ran out of that Dollar General, determined to never return again.

Panama Trip- Part 1

In May, one of our family dreams became a reality.... we went to Panama! For those of you who might not know, Panama is a tiny, beautiful country located at the southernmost tip of Central America....

 

 

 

(I know Geography's not the most exciting subject in the world, but I was appalled by how many people had NO CLUE where Panama is located. Before we left, I mentioned to several people (read: everyone I came into contact with) that I was getting ready for a big Panama vacation with my family. One man replied, "Panama....that's over by the Philippines, right?" Another said, "Have a great time in Florida!" And yet another commented, "I know! That's where the Suez Canal is located!"

Not cool, people, not cool. Let's think outside the box a little, shall we?)

My handsome husband is from Panama, and ever since I met him, I've wanted to visit his country and see where he was raised. Due to work and finances and the Baby Boom of '09-'10, we've never been able to go. But this year, we were determined NOTHING would stop us. (I almost ordered us t-shirts that said "Panama or Bust." True story.) Since Fernando's dad's birthday is on May 13th, and Fernando's birthday is on May 15th, we decided May 12th through the 27th would be a brilliant time to go. Fernando's nieces were also planning to visit us through May 12th, so we would be returning to Panama with them.

We had everything planned out, but as the day approached for our departure, I started feeling just a teeny, tad bit PANICKED about getting to Panama. Google and I became good buddies as I searched for tips and tricks for travelling in an airplane with toddlers. (Apparently checking children in with the luggage is frowned upon by most airlines.... ha!) We heard from friends that Nabis (tablets for kids) were wonderful tools that would keep even the most hyper of children entertained for hours, so of course we had to have two of those. (eBay!) Terrified that the kids' ears would pop, I bought enough Bubblicious gum to keep every passenger on our flight smacking all the way to Panama. By the time our departure date arrived, I had collected candy, coloring books, stickers, crayons, small toys, and -though it pains me to admit this to the world- PACIFIERS! That's right, folks, I stocked up on two packs of my boys' favorite pacis. Enzo had pretty much stopped asking for his paci, but I wanted to be prepared for anything. If my kids were gonna be screaming banshees on the plane, I needed to have a plan of action. If a paci wouldn't calm 'em down, nothing would.

Fernando's nieces, Karla and Stephy, arrived on May 8th. Fernando was working, so the boys and I went to the airport to pick them up. I figured it would be a stellar opportunity to point out the airplanes and prepare the boys for our journey. When we pulled up in front of the pick-up area, Enzo started freaking out. "Where are we going, Mom? What is this place? I don't want to get on the plane. I don't want to get on the plane. I. DON'T. WANT. TO. GET. ON. THE. PLANE!" I patiently answered each question and assured him that the airport is a super cool place! And we were going to have so much fun on the plane! And Papa was waiting for him in Panama! He wasn't too convinced and was still white-knuckling his car seat by the time Stephy and Karla got in the car. Luckily, seeing the girls made him forget his fears, and he turned on his full-blown Enzo charm. I, however, knew that I had less than five days to get Enzo on board with the Panama trip. Emotionally AND physically.

We really enjoyed our time together with Stephy and Karla. Enzo and Gabriel HAD to introduce their cousins to one of their favorite places- Marbles Kids Museum. I'm not sure if the girls were quite as impressed....

 

The boys fell in love with their cousins....

 

And I LOVED taking them to all the hot spots in Goldsboro (i.e.: Walmart & Chick-Fil-A & my favorite pedicure place).

Their time with us flew by, and before we knew it, D-Day (Departure Day) had arrived.

Our flight was scheduled to leave at noon on Mother's Day, so at least we didn't have to wake up two toddlers before the crack of dawn. Fernando crammed everything into our SUV, then we squeezed ourselves in between the suitcases, and we were off! I am fully aware that we looked like the Clampetts all the way to RDU airport. The ride to Raleigh was uneventful, probably because we barely had room to breathe. Or maybe God in His infinite wisdom and mercy was just giving me a few moments of peace and quiet before the debacle that was to come.

The calm before the storm........

Bruschetta!! (Guelfi Style)

We love bruschetta at our house! It is super easy to make, and if you throw some grilled chicken or shrimp with it, you've got a delicious, healthy meal. My husband requested bruschetta for our Fourth of July festivities (he's part Italian- LOL), and since I found some BEAUTIFUL Roma tomatoes at the grocery store, it was the perfect time to make it!

Ingredients

-8-10 Roma tomatoes (washed)
-1/2 red onion
-fresh basil leaves
-minced garlic
-olive oil
-salt and pepper
-fresh loaf of bread (I like to use French bread from the bakery)

*****(Sorry I forgot to put the bread in the pic! Fail! I also didn't take step-by-step pics... Never claimed to be a food blogger! Just wanted to share a favorite family recipe.)*****

How to make it:

Start with the tomatoes. I usually remove the seeds/watery part of each tomato, and then dice the rest. (You don't want it to be too watery.) Toss diced tomatoes into a large bowl. Dice the onion into itty-bitty pieces. I normally only use about 1/3 to 1/2 of the onion when I make it, but you could add more if you want a stronger onion flavor. Add diced onion to the tomatoes in the bowl. Roll up the basil leaves and chop into tiny pieces (a little basil goes a LONG way. I normally use 5-6 leaves, but again, you could add more). Add basil to the tomatoes and onion. Next, add a spoonful of minced garlic, and stir everything together. (You could also use fresh garlic of course, but AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR DAT!) After the veggies are mixed well, add olive oil. I would estimate about 1/4 cup, but you may need more or less depending how you like it. Finally, add salt and pepper to taste. After the tomato mixture is done, I usually cover it with plastic wrap and keep it in the fridge while I toast the bread. Slice the bread into thin slices (about 1/4 inch) and toast on a cookie sheet for 2-3 minutes at 375. You can toast longer if you like a crunchier bread. Serve toasted bread on a platter with the bruschetta on the side.

 

 

And that, my friends, is how we spent Fourth of July at our Panamanian/Italian/American household!Not very traditional fare for Independence Day, but it was delizioso!

Teenage Burglars!

I always thought we lived in a safe neighborhood. I have never felt afraid to take a walk, even at night, or to let my boys play outside. Although we wave at our neighbors and are happy to lend a helping hand, most of us in Heron Creek keep to ourselves. The most excitement I've witnessed in the past six years we've lived here involved a couple of thrill-seekers on crotch rockets who blazed through the neighborhood during my kids' naptime (good thing I didn't know how to handle a handgun when that happened... totally kidding!). Or my neighbors who apparently spend two months' salary on fireworks whenever the 4th of July rolls around (thank God the Saulston fire department is only a stone's throw away). For the most part, things are quiet and calm here, and we like it that way.
 
A couple months ago, we learned the hard way that we had become too trusting. It was a typical Thursday morning- Fernando kissed me goodbye and walked out the door for work, only to return less than a minute later. "Someone got in our cars last night," he said. He was ticked (by ticked, I mean that his face was red as a chili pepper and The Vein in his temple was throbbing double-time), and I, for lack of a better term, FREAKED OUT. Of course my mind started playing out the absolute worst scenario of what had happened during the night while we were peacefully sleeping. Before my husband had even assessed what was missing from our cars, I was convinced that every East Coast member of the Bloods and the Crips had targeted us, and that they would be back later (with machetes and machine guns, of course) to get the rest of the goods in our house.

"We have to call the police" I said, with complete confidence that a quick call to 911 would dispatch a CSI crew who would dust the cars for fingerprints and have the burglars behind bars by sundown.

Fernando scoffed at my suggestion. "What are the police going to do? We left the cars unlocked."

I was shocked. How was it possible that we'd both left our cars unlocked? Fernando is always so careful to lock everything up before we go to bed. I was thankful that our cars hadn't been damaged, but still felt shaken and angry that strangers had intruded on our property and taken our stuff.

We finally figured out that Fernando's big speaker was missing from his car, and our GPS and $10 cash were missing from my car. It wasn't a huge loss- certainly not enough to merit an insurance claim, but I still decided to call the police, just in case other cars in the neighborhood had also been burglarized.

Fernando went on to work, hoping that the thieves would show up with our stuff at the pawn shop where he works. (Now wouldn't THAT have been a story?) I put in a call to the police department's non-emergency line and reported what had happened. A lady took all of the information and told me that an officer would contact me later.

Days went by, and we never heard anything back. I was certain our stuff was long gone, and that the Bloods and the Crips were using our GPS to pinpoint the location of their next innocent victims. Luckily, my sister who follows the Wayne County Sheriff's Department on Facebook, commented that she'd seen a post on their page about Saulston break-ins. There was a number for people to call if their cars had been burglarized. I quickly called my husband, who had also heard about the post from a co-worker. (Thank goodness for Facebook!)

To make a long story short, Fernando called the number and relayed the same information that I had reported weeks before. He learned that the police had found the thieves (teenagers!!) and had already tracked down some of the stolen items. Although the GPS and cash were not recovered, Fernando did get his speaker back. We also received a letter in the mail requesting our info so that we could further press charges against the little teenage wannabe thugs. The letter also listed the name of one of the perpetrators. (He actually has a weird name, but I'll call him "Jim Bob.") Hmmmm. It took me all of a millisecond to whip out my laptop and search for Jim Bob on Facebook. I wanted to see who had trespassed onto our property; I wanted to see who had stolen not only our personal items, but also our sense of security and trust in our neighborhood.

Because of the weird name, it didn't take long to find Jim Bob. (Again, THANK GOODNESS FOR FACEBOOK!)  In fact, I had several mutual friends with Jim Bob! I had to laugh as I scrolled through pic after pic of a scrawny teenager who looked like he was still stuck in the awful throes of adolescence. (Here's a little helpful hint for any would-be burglars reading this: If you decide to live the life of a true outlaw, it might be a good idea to delete your Facebook account or at least set your Facebook profile to PRIVATE!!) I was even surprised to read several posts by Jim Bob about how he had (in my Christian translation) "messed" up his life by one bad decision. Fernando wanted me to send him a private message and tell him he had 24 hours to return his GPS, or else.... :)

As much anger as I had felt towards the burglars over the previous weeks, I now felt sorry for this young man. He is only fifteen years old, still a kid in many aspects, and yet he has already charted a rough course for the rest of his life. I thought about his mother. I won't lie- it was hard not to judge her and question why she would allow her fifteen-year-old son to be out gallivanting with such a rough crowd in the middle of the night. She should have known exactly where little Jim Bob was and what he was doing, right?

But how would I feel if one of my sons had been caught breaking the law? What would I do? My boys are still toddlers, yet I still feel like an utter parenting failure when they act up in the church nursery. Although it was tempting to pile most of the blame on Jim Bob's mom, who was I to assume she hadn't done the best she could as a parent?

We can put every drop of our blood, sweat, and tears into raising our kids up "right," but eventually they will be free to make their own decisions. Eventually we won't be able to dictate their every move. We can follow every suggestion in the best parenting books, we can punish them when they do wrong, and we can pray for them without ceasing. But there's still no absolute assurance that our kids will turn out to be "good" adults. For me, this is the hardest part about being a parent. When the nurse placed my tiny newborn in my arms for the first time, I had no idea that I was taking on the greatest responsibility in all the world. I wasn't given any clear-cut instructions or promised any guaranteed results that my little innocent baby wouldn't turn out to be a teenage burglar who makes bad decisions...just like scrawny, awkward, struggling-to-fit-in Jim Bob.   

Although I'm still shocked that cars in our neighborhood were burglarized and I wish it wouldn't have happened, I did take away some pretty valuable life lessons. First of all, NEVER LEAVE YOUR CAR UNLOCKED. But more importantly, NEVER LEAVE YOUR CHILD UNATTENDED. I hope that I will spend the remainder of my boys' formative years with a renewed fervor to put them first.