I designed a database, tweaked a workflow, helped someone put together a training session, and judged an event at our Office Olympics.
And at some point during the day, while I was doing one of these things, someone broke our kitchen window, crawled through it into our house, and helped themselves to some of our belongings.
I didn't really think anything of it when I turned the corner onto our street and saw the police car parked in front of our house. But when I pulled into the driveway and saw the open front door, my first thought was that something had happened to one of the children. So it was something of a relief when Rob told me that it was a break-in.
Drawers were open and rifled through; closets had been opened and contents thrown about. Our bed was covered with jewelry boxes and drawers that had been pulled out of their dressers. Every door to every cupboard was ajar.
But they didn't really take much. Our DVD player, our digital camera, Middle Daughter's Gameboy Advance and about 20 gameboy games. Nothing of any real value. Nothing that mattered.
Except that Middle Daughter was so disturbed by the thought of someone breaking into our home that she cried for two hours and ended up spending the night at my parents' house.
I wasn't really angry about the stuff; it's nothing that can't be replaced and really wasn't all that valuable to begin with. But I'm angry that my daughter's security has been taken. I'm angry that the place she should feel safest instead makes her afraid. I'm angry that every time she walks in her room she imagines a stranger there, going through her things.
That, I'm going to have a hard time forgiving.