Mom: 1. Stupid criminals: 0.

As you already (hopefully!) know, Mother’s Day is coming up this Sunday. The more you grow up, the more you realize that really, every single day is Mother’s Day. But to actually have an “official” day on the calendar is nice because it makes me think back to one of the times my mom saved the f**king day.

So here’s how it all went down: It was about 15 years ago and my band was on its way to a show in downtown St. Louis. I played percussion for a 3-piece outfit and we were splitting the show with some friends in another band. I loaded up the car with a bunch of drums, my hardware, my cymbal bag, my gig bag, and other stuff. We were somehow running early for the first time ever, so on our way to the show, we decided to stop to grab some dinner. We parked and hit up a solid Thai place near the venue. I know, I know. Leaving all the gear in the car was, is, and always will be, a bad idea. But it was going to be quick and yes, I know. Shut up.

We were done, and now that we were running late and going at a more familiar pace, we paid and left. It was the middle of February and super cold, so when we approached the car and our lead singer started making fun of me for leaving my window down, I didn’t know what he was talking about. But then, we got closer and saw that someone smashed my window in. I peeked in. It was all gone. All the gear. Everything. It was awful. I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t wish that feeling on my worst enemy. I started dry-heaving right then and there.

They left me alone for a few minutes so I could freak out.

Then, I called the cops. That’s when I learned that the police don’t come out to the scene for stuff like this. Did you know that? I didn’t either. Let me repeat…they don’t even come out to the scene when over $3000 worth of your stuff is stolen. I listed everything that was missing to them. Gave them an approximate value. Gave them my name and call back number. Then click. That was it.

I felt like I was never going to hear from them, or see my gear, again. I just knew it.

I was working at Guitar Center then, so the next day, my friends at work saddled up to help find it. These guys were amazing and there’s a reason I am still friends with many of them. They called around town to other stores and pawn shops to let them know of stolen gear and to keep an eye out, but we all knew my shit was gone.

Then, 2 days later…

The phone rang early and woke me up. It was the St. Louis Police Department.

Officer: Did you call a few days ago and submit a report that you had a bunch of music equipment stolen out of your car downtown?

Me: Yes.

Officer: Cool. Welp, we have your stuff and you can come down to the downtown station and pick it up anytime today.

Me: You have my report?

Officer: No. We have your missing stuff.

Me: …

Officer: …

Me: WAIT. YOU HAVE MY STUFF?

Officer: Yep. Come get it.

I knew this wasn’t a prank because my friends aren’t that mean and also, there’s just some things you don’t prank about, ya know?

I lived 20 minutes away. I was there in like 10.

I literally kicked that door open, marched in, and told them who I was and that I received a call earlier.

You guys, they had everything.

EVERYTHING. I couldn’t believe it. How did they have everything?

She told me that while on patrol, they found a bunch of stuff in the snow in some alley. Turns out that the perps dumped it with the plan to come back and get it later, but the cops found it first and brought it all in. When they were going through it, they found a small piece of paper, the size of a fortune cookie fortune, in one of my bags. No big deal, but this piece of paper was the best piece of paper in the history of paper because it had my name on it.

The police, being police, somehow found this little piece of paper in a large duffel bag and then cross-referenced the name and saw that someone by that unphonetic, unusual (but totally badass), name had called them a few nights earlier reporting these exact items stolen. They then called me and bam, there I was.

She showed me the piece of paper that I didn’t even know was in there, and yep, there it was. It had my name on it…

…in my mom’s handwriting.

That’s classic mom stuff right there.

Moms. We all know that they’re pretty much the best. They can’t always help how you need them to help, but they do what they can and every once in a while, miracles happen. Flat out miracles, you guys.

In the big scheme of things, maybe that’s all we really want. As I continue to build Magic Room Brand, I’ve noticed that we all want to be someone who can help, but also want to be someone who others want to help. Help comes and goes in many forms, but somedays it delivers in the biggest ways.

Have patience. Trust the journey. Enjoy the process.

So whether it’s your wife that’s a great mom, or your actual mom, or Mother Earth…whatever…this Mother’s Day, hook_that_lady_up.

I don’t know much for certain in this life, but I can say for sure that she’s going to save the day again soon.

#bewhatyoumake