Frank and the gang

Here is the promised picture of Frank, our scary-looking but much valued furnace. He's going to be our best friend in a few months...


We have gone back and forth about what to use as a profile pic here. These ducks, which sit on our bathroom counter, were a major consideration. We have each chosen one as our own, of course. But then one of the girls brought over a drawing that trumps all other options. Like my ponytail?

love gives strange gifts

After a week of travel, I came home last night to a surprising sound. As I opened the door, I heard a loud (and I mean loud) chirping sound bouncing off the hollow trailer walls. Moving across the dark room, going to close my roommate’s bedroom door so that I could turn the light on, I found her awake.

“What is that sound?”

“Oh, that’s our cricket friend. We’ll learn to get along.”

"Oh. Ok."

Knowing the usual quirks of our trailer, I figured that a cricket had gotten into some unreachable corner of the kitchen, and that they hadn’t been able to retrieve it yet. I, on the other hand, cannot stand loud noises when I go to bed, so I planned on finding the critter and exterminating it. Yes, I would conquer. With Kim’s door closed, I walked back to the kitchen and turned on the light. Then I saw it.

Sitting on the counter was a blue bug house crawling with a bunch of grasshoppers and, yes, one cricket, singing his merry song at an obnoxious volume. Too confused and frustrated to be polite, I went back and knocked on Kim’s door.

“I thought you were kidding about learning to get along. Why the hell is there a cricket in our kitchen?”

“They (that means the kids) brought us like 19 grasshoppers and a cricket. We can get rid of him tomorrow.”

“Oh no. He’s going now.”

I said goodnight, finished unpacking my things from the car, and turned my attention to the chirping intruder. Thankfully, the fellow actually jumped out of the box and onto my arm in an attempt to escape (this was much easier than trying to fish him out of a bunch of grasshoppers). I threw him outside with great satisfaction and locked the door for the night.

Back in the kitchen, I spotted a piece of paper on the floor with a child’s handwriting on it. Now, our fridge and floor are constantly cluttered with kid-drawn pictures, but this was new. I picked it up and read it:

to Kim and Leah at Kate
we have cot a lot of grass hoppers
trie 19 grass hoppers and 1 crickit and thay are all for you gus
take good care of thim
and this is from Sarah Lizzy and Livi (Levi)
have fun with thim and love thim
never get reed of thim

Turning it over, I saw it was addressed, “From Sarah Lizzy and Livi to you funney and goffy friends”

Now, I don’t regret tossing that cricket out the door. There’s no way I would have slept with it inside. But reading that scribbled note, the chirping suddenly had a new meaning for me. It was a sound of love, the gift of our relationship with a bunch of kids who spent their afternoon catching bugs for us. I wished I'd been there on they day there were delivered.

And now, I just sit back and wait for the day Levi decides to stick one of those hoppers in one of our beds….

what's in a name?

Old, quirky things deserve to be named, as is the common tradition with old cars (all of my cars have been old...I only recently entered the 90's). I come from a long line of nicknamers. My family actually named a trash can once, after my mom drew a face on it with a permanent marker.

In many ways, our trailer is the embodiment of old and quirky. It has lasted longer than I think trailers are actually meant to last, and it is full of holes and smells and things that don't quite work. Hence, the naming has begun. When the heat was blazing, I began to refer to our little sauna as Herbie Hot Box. Now, as the chill comes on, Kim has dubbed it Fran the Freezer. Fran's issues, we have decided, will be remedied by Frank the Furnace. Frank is a scary looking fellow, for sure. (I'll have to post a picture of that ghetto furnace sometime soon.)

Herbie, Fran, and Frank are nice, but we know that the trailer needs a name that will remain throughout the seasons. After a month of playing with a circus of kids, dealing with a million little mishaps, and learning to make fun of each other's foibles, that name has become clear.

We live in the Loony Bin.

smiles and broken hearts

Sometimes we don't even reach the door.

All we have to do is pull up to the trailer, and kids are coming down the street to play a game or tell us how school was today. It's a circus in there sometimes... cookies baking, movies on, board games going, crayons drawing, or a football being thrown outside. The little 4 year-old girl that often comes over can't quite adjust to the idea of playing "catch" with the football. Instead, she comes to me as I am about to go run an errand and whispers, "When you get back, can we play fetch?" It's painful on the days when we have to turn them away, when we have to say, "I'm sorry, but we can't play right now." The disappointment is palpable.

The circus is a joy for us. We love having a rag tag group of kids laughing and playing in our home. We love to see them alive and feeling safe. But it is heart-breaking, too. Two of the girls are hungry and under-showered most of the time. Their mom just can't be a mom to them. One little boy came over rather scared (though he tried to hide it under playfulness at first) after the police had arrested one of the men living in his trailer. Rumors were flying of his mom's drug use. His bike was stolen by someone he thought was a friend. What is a 7 year-old to do with that?

The struggle is that I am realizing the hardest thing will be the most effective in the end. It is easy to love the kids, even when they are pushing boundaries or needing more than we feel we can give. They are treasures. It is far more difficult to love the parent whom you know is neglecting those precious kids. Still, those mothers (and the rare father) are the ones who will be with them for the rest of their lives, while we will be here for maybe a year or two. To invest in the parents as well as the children, to hopefully make a small difference in how they guide and provide for their kids, will ultimately have the biggest effects on the lives of the little ones we have grown to love.

Pray for us in that. Pray that we'll have the courage to go beyond playing games of fetch, to inviting broken and hurting parents to join us and their kiddos for dinner.