Look, I am just RIGHT OVER the invasion of personal space, OK?

Today the Hatchling and I got home from a picnic thingy at my new place of employment to find that our house had been broken into while we were gone. It's weird how long it can take your brain to wrap around the reality of a burglary. It's like your mind wants to keep rewriting the narrative of your existence so everything is still nice and safe, even when all the evidence points elsewhere. My first clue was that the back door, which I had locked before we left the house, was unlocked. Now, I specifically remembered locking that door, but my brain was all, "must've just thought I locked it!"

Then I saw that the recliner in the living room was knocked over on its back. "Hmm ..." said my cheery little brain, "maybe the cats knocked it over!"

But the cats aren't really big enough ... "IT COULD HAPPEN."

I notice that the Playstation 3 and Wii are missing; my brain tries to convince me that Mr. Squab might have come home and taken them somewhere. I ACTUALLY HAD THAT THOUGHT. It wasn't until I went upstairs (having noticed that the baby gate, always closed, was hanging open) and saw the mirror on our dresser all askew and the top of the dresser looking clearly rifled through that it really started to sink in: Oh my god, we've been robbed.

It's not a good feeling, lemme tell ya. I started crying when I called Mr. Squab to tell him about it, but I pulled it together after that so I could call the police. They came out right away and couldn't have been nicer, took some partial prints and some photos and we gave them the serial numbers of the stuff that was stolen.

It could have been so much worse. The game systems and our iPods were really all that was taken - they didn't touch my computer - THANK GOD - and we still have our cameras, our massive TV, our artwork, jewellery, etc. We'll have to replace the back door, and there were muddy footprints all over the floor and several chairs where they climbed up to look at the electronics on the mantel. But these are just things, things that can be cleaned or replaced, albeit at the cost of higher insurance payments in the future, I imagine. And, you know, we weren't here when it happened, and it looks like it was just some kids looking for the fastest, easiest stuff they could find. But it still feels totally icky that people came into our house with malicious intent, trashed the place (or at least parts of it) and took our stuff. Anyone have any ideas for how to reclaim our lost juju?