Last night, my house was broken into and anything we had of value was stolen: TV, Xbox360 (my husband's birthday gift), most of our DVDs, our old gaming systems (the Nintendos of our childhood) and my husband's great-grandma's acoustic guitar.
The door & frame were busted (replaced already, by our fabulous landlady). Our medicine cabinet was trashed (several glass bottles broken, but since we have no prescriptions, nothing was taken). We don't have renter's insurance, so unless we find the stuff at a pawn shop, it's really all gone.
We're safe. Our pets are safe (amazingly, since the door was busted and standing open when we got home). I was wearing the only valuable jewelry I have (my wedding ring!) & the laptop was in the car. The yarn, fiber and wheel is safe.
For this, I am so grateful, I can scarcely breathe.
Despite the new door and a night snuggled at mom's, we don't feel quite right.
The house feels much less home-y.
It's not the stuff they took; it's the comfort, the security, the feeling of snuggling on my couch with a cup of tea alone at night that we miss.
I considered not writing this, but then I remembered the responses I got when I quit my dayjob. The cheers, the emails, the loveliness of sharing that big decision.
But since then, since July, there have a been a lot of little not-so fun things that I haven't shared. Jay lost his job, our car exploded, and now our house was broken into.
I want to share this for the same reason I shared the story of quitting my dayjob: it's honest and it's real.
These trials, just like the triumphs, are the stuff that Blonde Chicken Boutique is made from.
Blonde Chicken Boutique (and my life) is fun and colorful and sometimes a grand adventure. And sometimes it's hard and icky and entirely unpleasant.
And you, all of you who are part of BCB as a customer, commenter or silent friend, my relationship with you allows me to be honest, to share the good and the bad, the hard and the soft, the colorful and the dark.