|Her expression represents the moment accurately|
As is always the case, affixing a bottle to a head was tricky. Twist-ties and fishing twine were involved and yet the pop bottle was still a bit wobbly. This made Neve frustrated and irritable. By the time we got to her school, I was ready to kick her out of the van. After dropping Spencer off, I drove by her school again and she was standing at the corner on patrols, beaming. All’s well that ends well. Although I have no idea how she’s going to change into her gym shirt.
The other excitement today was thwarting a break-in. Ever since we were broken into many years ago, I am very attune to suspicious behaviour. I have been known to report suspicious vehicles and take photos of strangers lurking around the back lane. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a tiny bit disappointed sometimes when it turns out to be nothing.
Most of my time is spent working on my computer in the study at the back of the house. I often hear neighbours’ doors slamming and people talking and vehicles driving down the back lane. Sometimes when I need a distraction, I get up and look out the garden door windows. This morning, I heard a vehicle stop in the back lane and a door slam. It sounded like it was right by our garage, so I looked out the window and saw a guy in my neighbour’s backyard. There are occasionally guys in my neighbour’s backyard – he does construction and sometimes his workers or his brother come to pick something up, etc. – but there was something suspicious about the way this guy was looking around. So I opened my garden door and stepped out onto the deck. He froze, then turned to me and asked, “Does Jessica live here?” When I said no, he said, “Oh. It must be one street over.” He zipped back to his vehicle, which was parked behind my neighbour’s garage so I couldn’t see it from the deck. I ran to the fence in my socks and saw him get into a silver Nissan Pathfinder, with a woman in the front seat. There was no license plate on the front of the vehicle, so I stood there and waited. They stared at me as they sat in their vehicle for a bit. Finally they inched forward a bit and rolled down the window. The guy gestures toward his passenger and says, “She thought Jessica lived here but it must be a street over.”
I said, “What’s Jessica’s last name? Maybe I know her.”
He came up with a random last name, and I mulled it over and said, “Nope. I don’t know of anyone by that name who lives around here.”
There was more useless conversation consisting of them unconvincingly repeating “I was sure she lived on this street!” several times. I regret not asking them why they were going to Jessica’s back door if they weren’t even sure it was her house. It was very clear to me that they were up to no good, but it was all a very polite, civilized conversation. When they eventually drove away, I waved to them as I memorized their license plate.
I ran in to call the police non-emergency line before I forgot the license plate number. A police officer called to follow up a little while later. He expressed doubt in my judgment in approaching the guy. What he doesn’t know is that I’ve been waiting all my life for an opportunity to practice my Jillian Michaels kick-boxing and my non-existent martial arts training. It didn’t even enter my mind NOT to approach him. I did pause to think that maybe I should wait to catch him in the act of kicking in the door to prove his criminal intent, but then my neighbour would have to fix his door and that sucks. He owes me one.
The problem is that I think I’m way tougher than I actually am. That will likely be my downfall one day. Just put “Vigilante Neighbour” on my headstone and my pride will eclipse my lack of judgment.
Now I'm jumping up to look out the window at every sound. I'm getting no work done. I hope nothing bad happens out front. I can't be everywhere.