I think I need professional help.

I'm sick of people stealing my stuff. My kids' bikes. My identity. My purse. My iPod, most recently. (really torked about that one).

Caroline's bike got stolen from school last week. Right out of the bike lot. I blame myself. I picked her up early from school with a scathing case of double pink eye and took her to the McDonald's drive-thru with nary a thought of her bike at school for the entire weekend.

Fast forward to yesterday, 6:00pm. Caroline and I on our way to the mall to scout out modest dresses for 8th grade graduation for my niece Deven. (good luck).

Caroline: "Mom, that bike looks a lot like my bike!"

Details become a little blurry here. I pulled over towards the sidewalk, and sure enough, some teenage vato loco was riding my seven-year old's turquoise bike with pink decals. He looked like a idiot. Wouldn't you steal a boy's bike if you were a teenage boy? This chap has the common sense of a speed bump.

Me: "Get off my daughter's bike."

Nothin. I repeated the request in a more commanding "I'm-a-mother-of-four-I-just-did-a-triathlon-don't-mess-around-with-me, Beto!" tone. So he looks me in the eye, and takes off on the bike the other way, down a sidewalk.

{Embarrassing vigilante stint follows}:

Did he really think that my 2005 Ford Expedition couldn't jump that ridiculous curb and apprehend him through the greenbelt? Was it wrong of me to have chased him down with my car until he looked back in abject fear, saw me barrelling towards him in a very large SUV, freaked out, ditched the bike, and started running?

Well, carpe diem, Chato. I suppose I can't blame him for not knowing of my lust for all things off-road. He couldn't possibly have known that I've (so far) wrecked a snowmobile, three-wheeler (remember those?), quad, jetski, and even sank my dad's boat. Now THAT'S a good story. It's a crying shame that we all drive around in these great sport utility vehicles with four wheel drive and never really USE them for what they're intended. It makes me sad, really.

Here's where a little remorse sets in. Perhaps it was over the top to slam on the brakes, throw said SUV in park, leap out of the car, kick my flip flops off and haul after him like a woman possessed. By this time, several families had wondered why an SUV was tearing through the greenbelt in back of their homes as they dined outside on their patios. Before I knew it, and thanks to my incessant shouting "GET THAT GUY!" I had several dads on foot and even on bike chasing the perp, as well as a couple of ladies with cell phones telling me that they had the police on the line. Would I like to talk to them? Not now, please. With newfound physical confidence that only completing my first triathlon could have infused into me, I kept running, until his mangy friend gave him his bike and he rode off.

After several "You go, lady!" whoops from the neighbors, who are also sick of getting their crap ripped off, I went back to the car, consoled Caroline, and let my heart-rate stabilize.

I thought I might need the paddles.

I know I snapped. Anybody know a good therapist who specializes in "post-traumatic stress disorder/general bad judgement"? I'm so tired of being victimized, that this poor acne-ridden nitwit with multiple ear piercings got the brunt of my psychosis. What would I have done had I actually caught him? Lecture him? Hug him and forgive him? Citizens arrest? Dunno.

I slunk home knowing that I would catch heck from McRuleKeeper. He just laughed and shook his head. He knows not to mess with Texas.

Caroline: (a little freaked out) "Mom, I've never seen you go crazy like that before."
She was OK after some rootbeer floats at home.

Good news: I got my daughter's bike back. Caroline loves that bike. Plus it wasn't cheap.
More good news: The cops did NOT cite me for driving like a maniac through the grassy greenbelt, rather they smiled and said: "Ma'am, sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do".

Bad news: He got away.

More bad news: Chasing him through the park was delightful.

Told you I need therapy.