Dumping all these photos here of those times we went for a walk in the neighborhood — saying hello to the flock of sheep grazing down the road; counting the wild mushrooms we see growing on the nature strip and making up stories of the magical fairies that live in them; culminating our little outdoor escapade with me on the swing and Raven on the slide at this little playground on our street.

Sometimes we go on our scooters, too. With one hand on the handlebar, she’d instruct me to put my other hand on my waist and to stick out my hip for the photos Jeff would eventually end up taking. “Raven, where did you get this pose?” I’d ask, but take her lead anyway.

Once in a while we ride around on an electric cart to go to “the milky bar,” as Raven calls it, to grab some of those sour sugar-laden lollies that Jeff likes so much. Raven drives me. She’s got spunk, this kid. I’m there sitting behind her all ready to have a nervous breakdown while she maneuvers us into the grass or onto people’s fences, at which point Jeff steps in and steers us back on the footpath where we ought to be traveling in the first place.

One time at the playground, Raven looked up to the beautiful spring sky with outstretched arms, a figure of an angel in a pink dress, and declared, “It’s a beautiful day, Papa!”

Indeed, every day is beautiful with this kid.

*Raven at 4 years old