Mom, the iPod Theif

I'm confessing that it was me who took Gabby's iPod.  (But she already knows that.)

I drove into the driveway a few days ago to find Gabby's iPod sitting on top of Nate's car (not really Nate's car, but the car Nate drives).  Gabby was inside the house.  No one was looking...

In a moment of brazen thievery, I slipped her iPod into my purse.

And forgot it was there.

Until about five minutes later when Gabby came inside asking for her iPod.  "Where did you last leave it?"  I asked in complete mock innocence.  The thief in me was now a liar.  (Really, I wanted her to figure out that driveways on top of a car aren't great places to leave iPods but I hadn't really thought my plan through out or figured out what I was going to do next, or how I'd give it back to her, so I was stalling...  And now I'm justifying.)

I left for work a few minutes later.  As I left, I heard her asking the other kids if they had seen anyone walking past our house.  I felt a little knot in my stomach, knowing Gabby would probably be questioning all the neighbors who had walked past our house that afternoon.

But she didn't.  Instead she turned to the "find my iPod" option on her iTunes account.

It worked.

Sort of.

Several hours later when I arrived at home, Gabby met me in the driveway to tell me she still hadn't found her iPod.  I smiled.  She suspected...

But being the lying thief I am, I tried to maintain my innocence for a few seconds longer.  About then, her iPod found it's wireless network and started beeping (that high pitched, echo-y beep that only a lost iPod can give).

Busted.

But Nate still hasn't figured out that I stole a CD from his car, even though he knows I stole one he ordered in the mail.  Actually, Jeran stole the one from Nate's car, but I asked him to do it.  You can call it thievery if you want.  I call it screening content.

And while I'm at it, I'll also confess to stealing clothes from the laundry room when I change the laundry, especially if the clothing items in question are old, worn out, too small, or ugly.  Trust me kids, it's for your own good.  And don't worry.  The clothes are now in a special clothes heaven called the donation bin where they will live happily ever after on the back of another child.  This story will one day be known as:  Our mom, the kleptomaniac.  It also may one day be known as:  Why all the Jarman kids need therapy.