I wake up in the morning, get the children breakfast with a smile, and then clean up the community kitchen and dining rooms.

Then, off I go to change little ones’ clothes and provide two of them with fresh diapers.

I put a load of laundry in the wash, and then make my way to our rooms to begin making beds and tidying up.

By this time, little ones are attempting to escape my sight, slipping into the playroom across the hall from our rooms.

“Alright, now,” I tell them, “Time to pick up these toys that aren’t being played with so no one trips on them.”

Here in this place where things are not “normal”, all of us that are residents attempt to create a “normal environment”.

We laugh and play with the children, move about the day performing necessary tasks and redirect naughty little ones as needed.

We’ve all lost the structures that represented our families and are standing amidst the remaining rubble.

But here in this place that is not-quite-home, we’re a family all our own.

A “family” I’ve learned to know and care for.

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