Random thoughts of weirdness

I've been thinking a lot lately about Elizabeth Smart. She's the Utah girl who was kidnapped from her home in 2002 and found, alive and largely unharmed, about eight months later.

So why am I thinking about her? Because the man who allegedly kidnapped her had been hired to do some work in the Smart family's home the previous year. And because our house has, for the past two days, been swarming with ... you guessed it ... workers. Random, unknown workers. And this is a strange, unsettling situation to be in for me.

I don't know that we've ever had workers at our house. OK, there was an AC repair guy once, but that's seriously it. Bobby and I are big do-it-yourselfers - we just find satisfaction (and economy) in doing things ourselves whenever possible. And since he's super handy, "whenever possible" ends up being "pretty much all the time." He can rewire outlets, build swingsets, install patios, screen porches, lay flooring, and fix just about anything. (Yes, ladies, I know how lucky I am!) But he can't install a new roof, new windows, or new siding. Actually, he probably could do the siding and the roof, but he just doesn't have time for such big jobs. So for the first time in our lives, we find ourselves in the strange position of paying someone to do things around our house.

We did all the "right" things - sought friends' recommendations, shopped around, and got multiple estimates - and feel good about the company we've chosen. They've been in existence for over 20 years, focusing primarily on new-home construction but recently starting a home-improvement division. They do great work, have been easy to deal with, show up on time (every time!), and seem priced fairly. But each "job" is carried out by a different work crew, and these are the men we know nothing about. We say a polite 'hi' as we come and go, but really ... who are these men traipsing all over my lawn and my roof? Could one of them be the next Brian David Mitchell?

Probably not, but I'm not taking any chances. I've been keeping the blinds in Maggie's bedroom closed so they won't know which room is hers. I try not to use her name in front of them, lest they try to fake familiarity with her in the future. I keep the doors locked while we're here alone and set the alarm every night.

I often think I must be the most paranoid mom in the world. (Once, when Maggie was just five months old, I took her to the pediatrician, worried she had a brain tumor. Poor Dr. Rodgers didn't even charge us for the visit since there's no "brain tumor" code on the diagnosis sheet and she had no idea how to file for that visit.) Paranoid? In the immortal words of my least favorite former governor, "You betcha." It's my job, and I'd rather be too careful than not diligent enough.

Tell me I'm not crazy ...

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On a totally different note, today I surpassed 10,000 hits to my blog! Happy Five Figures Day to me!