Our backyard is like a desert wasteland (minus the warmth and sunshine).

I look out the kitchen window and expect to see a tumbleweed blowing by.

 It’s a big yard but we have no trees, no patio.

We have a florida room made of aluminum that does not make me feel like I’m in Florida.

A chainlink fence warped up at the bottom that will not keep your dog from running away.

A blue, plastic baby pool, some broken adirondack chairs, and toys litter the dead grass lawn.

A teddy bear that got left out in the rain, Savannah’s plastic shopping cart turned on it’s side, a big pink ball,

and a stroller with a naked Dora doll stuffed awkwardly in it.

If we lived in a trailer park we would fit in just fine.

Honestly I don’t even mind being that neighbor, but I do feel some mom guilt when I tell the kids to go outside and play.

 Like they are so deprived because they don’t have their own personal cedar stained playground

or a huge trampoline to bounce on or some other great invention that costs us parents loads of money.

Like our wasteland backyard is a symbol of my neglect.

My poor children who are forced to “go play” where they have nothing fun to play with.

Or maybe not.

Maybe there’s a lot to discover.

Here’s what I found in my backyard (in the tacky baby pool):

It’s almost April and it’s snowing. I’m ready for spring.

I’m ready for sunshine and thunderstorms, cut-offs and bare feet.

I’m ready to go play!

But today I’ve been given an ice heart in a baby pool.

And I’m sending it on to you Ohio, with love.