Late Night Visitors

One week ago, about now, we were heading upstairs; Hubby was turning in for a night of sleep before preaching, and I went in the nursery to quiet a particularly cute, but miserable teething 9 month old. When I came out I heard the quiet clicking of the front door knob. Funny, I thought, Matt must have had to run out to his car and forgot the door is locked. So I went down to let him in. Something told me to check first. When I peeked out the window, much to my surprise, there was a young man I did not know trying to get into my house. I flipped on the porch light and saw, unfortunately, no change in his expression. Eyes partly closed, swaying side to side, and his hands still busily trying to get in the door. Either he's drunk or tripping or both. I don't see a weapon. I knocked on the window, no eye contact. "Wrong house!" I shouted. No change. I ran to the phone, dialed 911, and called for Matt, who was just on the verge of sleep. My knight in shining armor came running down the steps and immediately took the situation in hand, continuing to try to convince the man that this was not his house, and he needed to leave NOW. Well, poor man, he had now started knocking politely and occasionally ringing the doorbell, seemingly oblivious to us. It was at that point that he took out his credit card and began working on the dead-bolt. "What's your emergency?" "There's a man I don't know trying to get into my house." I'm imparting pertinent information and now see a new problem arising. Knight in Shining Armor is getting more and more pissed off and protective by the second, pupils dilated, he begins to sway a little too, his hand on the inside doorknob. Matt said he was trying to figure out how to run out and knock the guy off the porch while I shut the door behind him... Attack Daddy was starting to emerge! I was staying on the line with the dispatcher while Matt was growling in the background about the response time. I kept saying, "I have little kids. Three babies. Are you close?" "Yes ma'am." "Please hurry, I have little kids. They're sleeping." Keep the intruder out, keep the husband in. After what seemed like forever, four police cars, six officers and a K-9 unit converged on our front lawn. Matt is narrating, "Okay they're here. They're coming. Okay, they've got him... oh! Not the new bushes!" After much shouting and handcuffing (poor kid was so drunk he just sort of fell in a heap), it became clear that he was a neighbor kid who'd been at a party, got smashed, was sleeping if off in his buddy's car, and then decided to walk home. Ideally to his home, but unfortunately, he ended up, persistence and all, at ours. The officers were very nice and took him somewhere to sleep it off.

Matt and I had quite an adrenaline buzz and stayed up until midnight replaying the events. The main thought that kept coming up was how unusual, yet divinely prompted it had been that I threw the deadbolt closed after having returned home from running to the store an hour before hand. Normally I lock up the house on my last pass through before bed. Had the door been opened it might have been a very different story.

Vive la suburbia!

(Since then, Matt had a chance to greet the kid in his driveway. Once he knew we were the family in the white house with the green shutters, he was thoroughly embarrassed and contrite.)