busting open basement windows

The other day I left the house in a frenzy as a friend was picking me up and I woke up late. Fast forward a couple hours and the lightbulb above my head went off, "I forgot my keys on the table at home!?" I checked my purse and sure enough, no keys. I called Aaron in a panic and was told to get dropped off and check all the windows and doors in case they were left open (I never leave windows and doors open as I am paranoid about robbers).

I got dropped off (did I mention it was pouring rain?) and proceeded to start checking all the main level openings into our home. Nothing was open and I was getting soggy and grumpy. Aaron had informed me when I called him that I NEEDED to get inside as I had stuff to do! See, we had company coming for the weekend in two days and well, you know what we do for company. So I had a couple more coats of paint to put on a wall, another room to prime, drywall dust to sweep up, papers to organize, a house to clean and tidy, laundry to do..... Yah.

So I checked the upstairs window (that Aaron put a chair through a couple of months ago so it was already busted). I thought it was latched good and hard and it was scary up there waaay above the ground. I seriously thought my ladder was going to come crashing down and that I would meet my untimely end. So down the ladder I went to inspect the basement windows.

SCORE!!!! A lose pane of plexiglass (our house is ghetto)! I gleefully rip off the metal screen into tiny little pieces (there are holes in it anyway) and re-inspect the pane. Yup, very, very lose. "BAM", my foot enters the house. "BAM", again and again until our poor little window is a hole. My heart swells with pride, only there is a cloud on the horizon, how on earth am I going to fit in the hole?! This basement window has a slat down the middle of it making it about half the size of a normal one and most definitely smaller than my hips. I know that Aaron will not be please if I bust the frame too so I figure I have nothing to lose by trying. I drop down to the muddy ground and shove my legs into the house wiggling myself till my hips are pried between the edges of the frame. I carefully place my sweatshirt covered forearms on the glass shard covered sill (from the last break window pane) and tilt my loser body at a 45 degree angle. My hips are now inside the house, I furiously kick my legs attempting to determine what is below me in the dark, unknown depths. I grip the sill with my finger tips as I lower myself downwards. My adrenaline is pumping and my heart is beating. This is the most thrilling thing I have done since riding the roller coaster at tinker town when I was 12. My tippy toes scrape concrete and I let go of the sill....

Amazingly enough there were no boards with nails poking out right below me, there was no unknown hole, there were no tools to cause me to lurch and fall flat on my back knocking me out, I was alive!!! I ran exuberantly up the stairs and unlocked my front door.

I am woman, hear me roar.

Then Aaron came home. He did not congratulate me on my amazing entrance into our locked house! Instead I was lectured on not:
1. trying all the basement windows for one with that would open with no breakage
2. going through the open, broken upstairs window (oops)
3. moving the ladder where I left it leaning up against the house under the aforementioned window
4. covering the window I broke (bugs/rodents/animals)
5. phoning him for advice before I broke the window
6. calling my father-in-law who can get into a house in 5 minutes with a credit card.

My Aaron, I promise I will never break into my house again (unless it is absolutely necessary).