one more

In addition to the normal chaos of five humans in the house, a chipmunk lived here over the weekend.

We've been in the habit of pulling open the large sliding door at breakfast, letting in cool air and listening to the birds out back. Sometimes we leave it open and go on about our day, until the humidity creeps up or until a cicada sneaks in.

The boys know that when our family says we, we always mean one more. There's always plenty of food to fill another dinner plate, always room in the car to give a friend a ride. We've had a few good conversations about it while gazing out that back door, the idea that being a friend is a force for good. We try not to exclude anyone from our resources of time and company, acknowledging that however exhausting it may be to spend time with a miserable person, it’s a lot more difficult to be that person.

Seemingly unrelated but ultimately connected and kind of hard to argue with: We have Cheerios! We can take care of him! I will make him a bed!!
I can handle an occasional catch and release katydid, but I'm not keen on cleaning up chipmunk poop.
The back door came with a screen, and it suddenly feels important to unearth it from the basement.