I'm okay. Really.

We've been a little busy this week.  There were Easter egg hunts, Easter bonnets to make, and luncheons to attend.  Throw in an early morning home invasion, and we'll call it complete. 

Um...back up.  What was that?  Home invasion? Care to elaborate?

That's the usual response, especially given my standard laidback delivery of those words.  So here's what happened early last Tuesday morning:

2:00 AM--I turn out the lights, turn on the alarm, and go to bed.  Two in the morning is pretty normal for me, in case you're wondering why I was up so late.

2:45ish AM--I start hearing noises in the house.  Nothing earth-shattering, just a few floor creaks here and there.  I tell myself it's just the boys getting up, and I prepare myself for their arrival.  The floor continues to creak (my floors are original hardwood...they are not quiet).  A shuffling and rummaging noise adds to the mix.  I keep waiting for the pitter-patter of toddler feet down my hall and into my room, but it never comes.  So I lie in bed and listen, wondering what on earth the boys are up to? 

Then it hits me...this is not the boys.  These are not the sounds of little boys looking for their mommy in the middle of the night.  These are the sounds of someone trying not to make a sound.  These are the sounds of feet shuffling across my floor, creaking the wood, and standing still to make sure no one noticed.  Then they shuffle again. 

That's when my door begins to open.  I should tell you that my door makes an obnoxious squeaking noise that's been on my list for some time.  I am facing away from my door, paralyzed in fear, but I can hear every little thing happening around me.  My door squeaks--and stops.  Squeaks a little more--and stops.  Squeaks a little more--and stops.  You get the picture.

I peek over my sheets and stay perfectly still.  Shuffle, creak, shuffle, creak.  Then I see him (I assume it's a him).  A figure at the foot of my bed moves toward my chest of drawers.  He's wearing some kind of hat or hoodie.  That's all I see before closing my eyes and pretend to be asleep.

I'm living on adrenaline and prayer at this point.  I pray that this person cannot hear my heart as it beats louder than I thought possible.  I pray that he takes whatever he wants but leaves us all alone.  I pray that, if he does want to hurt someone, he chooses me and that my kids sleep through everything.  I pray that my boys will not wake up and run down the hall to my room right now.  I pray and I pray and I pray.

My best guess is that two or three minutes pass.  I start to think that maybe I'm being too still, too quiet.  Maybe he'll know I'm not really asleep.  (Yes, even during crises, my mind continues to over-analyze.)  I move my feet and shoulders a bit, and he stops.  I hear a drawer close, and he leaves the room.  He kicks part of my boys' toy airport across the floor.  There is no creaking or shuffling now...just footsteps. 

I open my eyes and wait until I hear nothing.  I listen to the silence for close to ten minutes before I get out of bed and call 911.  I flip on lights, and the kids start to come out of their rooms.  My middle son asks me why the refrigerator door is open (I later learn burglars use it for light).  My daughter asks why I'm turning on the lights.  My youngest son asks for chocolate milk.  I hold them all tightly and push back tears.  We are all okay.  We are all safe.