Just returned from the market after an incredible afternoon in Mexiquito. I bought two tuberoses down the street and their scent is beginning to fill the living room. We ate too many pastries. We have soccer or "fûtbol" on the television. At noon we journeyed to the two and a half hour soccer game with the children at the orphanage. We are beginning to earn their trust. They played their longest game today and seemed to really enjoy it. A couple of the kids attached themselves to me, became additional limbs to mine. They wanted to be held and carried. When I was sitting on the ledge, cheering for the teams, yelling out "gooooooooaaaaalllllllo!!" I either had one of the kids wrapped around my neck or multiple heads resting in my lap. One of the young ones discovered the tattoos on my shoulders. He immediatley called out to some of his companions to come and look. I'm assuming, given the shocked smiles, that it's uncommon for them to see tattoos on a woman. When I said that the drawing on my left shoulder was a memorial for my father whom had died ten years ago, I heard a soft whisper, "Mi padre tambien esta muerto." I looked into the eyes of one of my new friends, and for a moment there seemed to be an understanding that passed between us. We have begun a relationship that is being built with kindness, shared vulnerabilities, dust, sun, oranges, piggy back rides, conversations about favorite animals, sweat and laughter. I carry our conversations and hugs, a welcome burden. I hope that they will continue to share their lives with me.