100 things to come....

Yes, I have been away from this space for far too long. I am, as always, rushing around like a chicken after a beetle and can't seem to keep up. But life is relatively good. The kids are happy and curious. I don't have time to stew and we plug along.

I manage to find joy in silly little things and was inspired tonight when I googled "things for kids to do on a road trip" brought me from a list of car games....One click to a link on the page brought me out of curiousity to "how to survive in prison" and then on to "how to survive a high fall". Next was "The life of Viking Women" and then "100 things to be happy about".

I vaguely glanced at the list until I got to #74. "Glueing Things". Five minutes later and I am still giggling. Was this person running out of items for their list or did they truly enjoy the act of using a sticky substance to adhere to items together? Or were they running out of things for the list? I will never know but it reminded me of lists I have made in the past of things I like/dislike.

I suppose these lists were a form of identification for me as a teen. I was motivated to make these lists for the same reasons that I was motivated to do those quizzes in teen magazines. To find out who I was and to mark that identity in some way.

Now, in my mid-thirties, I feel that I have a real grasp of "who" I am most of the time, but I still like to remind myself and have moments with myself where I say, "Wow! That's true! I really dislike that texture....I suppose that is why I am not so fond of potatoes..." Agreeing with myself somehow gives me pleasure.

So for the next few days, as long as I don't forget or get swept up in the tide of all the things that must be done/fed/walked/worked, I am going to create my own list of "100 things to be happy about". I'll let you know if I discover if the writer of the first list was truly a lover of stickiness or merely a glue sniffer....

#1. Making lists.

strength

I have read a variety of quotes with a similar message. I think anyone who has dealt with trauma, loss or tragedy has come face-to-face with this choice. I also think that, at times, we have all chosen each one of the three options. I just hope that as we all get further from the moment that provoked this epiphany, we manage to choose to let this event strengthen us. To grow instead of be wilted. To swim, not sink. There is no need for one life to be wasted for the sole reason that one life was lost.

community

The life I touch for good or ill will touch another life, and that in turn another, until who knows where the trembling stops or in what far place my touch will be felt.
- Frederick Buechner

I have a dear friend who is in such dire straights at the moment that I feel humbled by my moaning over firewood and the like. Out of respect for her privacy, I won't go into the details of her issues at this time.

If you feel you are able to help her, please read her blog and see if there is anything you can do.

I can assure you that she is a wonderful and kind-heartened human-being who has shared and helped me and my children in the past.

guilt

As the three year anniversary of Jeff's death begins to weigh heavily upon my shoulders, I have been feeling down. All the "small" issues in my life (cracked windshield, accessible childcare, household maintenance, etc.) have become like slivers in my socks. It is impossible to move without their omnipresent reminders and the need to deal with them. At times, I feel as if I could be buried by a thousand little things.
But when I trip, I have you, my community, that reaches back to me and offers to cushion my fall. It feels so very wonderful to know that you are there. Thinking of us. Offering to help.
But it also makes me worry and feel extreme guilt for my pathetic and sad thoughts. It makes me wonder if I am just a sissy. It makes me think, "Come on, Jackie. Pull up your socks! It can't be that bad and, really, you have it better than many others out there in your shoes. Yes, you are having trouble affording the deductible to replace your windshield - but you HAVE a car!"
It's times like these that I am humbled by my life. Humbled by the kindness of stranger/friends. And I am torn. Do I accept help? Or do I take my own advice and "pull up my socks"?
All I know is that I am tired. I am sick of worrying. I am overwhelmed by always feeling overwhelmed. And now, I want to know, is it just me? Or is it an overwhelming situation? Am I not alone in feeling distraught, lonely and exhausted? Is the appropriate reaction to soldier on with my eyes to the ground? Or is it okay to hold my head up and cry out?....Even three years after being widowed?....and is it normal to feel guilt for the thought of considering to accept help?

blackness

Photo from here....

I'm struggling. Mentally, emotionally, financially. So I sit and don't write...Actually, I sit and play tetris hoping to forget all the other obligations that continue to flow into our home and spill onto my already overflowing "to-do" whiteboard.

I hate writing about it. I loathe talking about it. But it bubbles forth from my mouth amid tears of frustration and sadness when someone offers the seemingly innocuous platitude, "How are you?". So I try to stay away from others in an effort to not infect them with my black mood. I wear my "happy mask" at work. I attempt to tire myself to the point of unconciousness at night or else I lay and marinate myself in the pathetic thoughts that fill my head.

When I do sleep, I repeatedly dream of Jeff dying in a variety of ways. Always, though, he dies. And always, I fail to save him though I try frantically.

It's been almost three years. I thought I'd be well-immersed into a new life by now. A new page. A fresh start...But I think I am possibly worse off than I was a year into this bloody journey.

I remember receiving an email from a widow who was farther down the path than I was. I was at about ten months post-Jeff. She was at three years. She told me that she was doing worse at three years than she had been that first year. I had sworn that this would not happen to me. I was horrified at the thought. The idea that my grief would not subside in a linear and concrete fashion was absurd.

But now...Now I find myself stuck in this place. Alone. Broke. Overwhelmed.

I was at ten months as well. But somehow, the fresh tragedy and trauma of it had my naive little mind searching for all the hope it could muster. I sussed out any amount of beauty through photography, silence and my children.

Now, life is so busy I can barely focus. "Real life" has fallen into the void that was made and filled it with gusto. I have more to do, accomplish and defeat than I have ever before. I am doing three people's amount of work - raising children, keeping a home filled with a dog, cat and chickens, work to pay for all the necessities....and not managing to make those ends meet. In fact, the ends are often so far apart that I begin to wonder if they are from the same cord.

To supply wood for our woodstove, I have worked out a deal with guy who sells wood - I will go after work on the weekends and chop wood for him. The kids will have to come as I can't afford childcare. All areas of my life seem to be inundated with all these extra obligations in order to creatively patch together some form of relatively rudimentary existence.

I miss Jeff and all he represents so fucking terribly that I am sure I am exhausting my "talk-about-it-whenever-you-need-to card" with my friends. I know that I should be at the point where I am no longer comparing my life "before" to my life "after". But when I am down....It is so hard to forget the fact that life was once so different.

I need to work on smiling. Remembering to see the silver linings. I attempt to drill it into my head and even write crap about how it's not so bad....But it's just hot air. It is bad. It sucks. And I am fucking sick of it. I want to lay down and give up.

**I just want to clear something up as I worry that I didn't explain how thankful I am/was that the firewood guy had accepted my offer of chopping wood in exchange for "free" firewood. He has a family to provide for as well and I don't want it ever to seem that I feel that because I am a widow with two little ones I am exempt from having to pay my way though life. It was so very kind that he accepted my offer. As it turns out, my father paid for a cord of firewood for me saving me the time and effort of having to spend the weekend chopping. I felt truly supported by my small community when I asked if "firewood guy" would let me work for wood.

safety freak

Photo from here

My minivan has a back-up beeper installed and I never fail to safety goggles when required.
I realize that teenagers at the bus stop snicker as I stride by sporting my safety vest covered in all its' reflective glory and a red light flashing out a constant reminder of the whereabouts of my hindend.
And in the past, I would have worried that this safety gear would identify me as a complete dork. A safety freak. Now I see it as protecting my kids.
By wearing this protective paraphernalia, I am hopefully preventing the possibility of creating two little orphans.
I am terrified of leaving them alone in the world. Without Daddy....and then without Mommy.
I have stopped short of wearing bubble wrap beneath my clothing. But I do get my flu shot and wear a helmet when riding my bike. For my kids. I'll do it because they do still need me.

amazing mamas

Yesterday, my kiddos and I attended the Bethlehem Walk at our local Baptist church. While I am FAR from religious, it was so historically interesting and allowed me to have a conversation with my kids about the origins of the Christmas tradition.
The kids loved 'everything' about it, although I think Liv enjoyed the small, fresh loaves of bread the best judging by her pleas to go back for more. Briar really enjoyed collecting stamps on his Bethlehem map throughout the 'marketplace'....and then hoped to look at them while laying in bed (I didn't tell him that I had thrown his muddy coat in the wash upon walking through the door not realizing that the 'map' was in his pocket. I am SO hoping he forgets before I have to explain him that the hard piece of whitish lint at the bottom of his pocket was once his beloved map.)
As we walked through the ancient town, we had been instructed to keep an eye out for a baby named Jesus. Halfway through we came upon a young couple in wonderful costumes amid the hay bales depicting a barn-like scene. "Joseph" was very believable in his performance as he greeted us with "Shalom" and brief small talk about the tax man. His poor wife, however, was struggling.
"Mary" was a very young mama who was trying to breastfeed her hot, tired and altogether annoyed little one. As an audience stared on, she attempted to calm her baby with her breast without giving these onlookers something they hadn't anticipated - a flash. She seemed to be trying to look "Mary-like" - calm, serene and with a instinctive mothering knowledge that could subdue her baby with just a soothing word and mama's milk. As a mom, I could see through her thin facade to the panic and frustration she was feeling and as I led my children to the next vendor I thought of all the things I wish I had known before having my babies.....

• Wear slip on shoes - you will always find your hands full of baby paraphernalia, car seats and bags when you suddenly realize that you should be equipped footwear as well.
• Make sure to cross your legs when you cough, sneeze or laugh really hard - I don't know that any explanation is needed here. Oh! And say 'goodbye' to your days of jumping on a trampoline.
• Do you remember those catty girls in junior high who gossiped about everyone no matter how perfect and fabulous they were? Get ready for round two. Mom's can be harsh to and about each other. Find a group who is as self-deprecated as you are and don't take the others opinions too hard. You're doing a great job - the best you can. And really, they worry about their inadequacies as a mom as much as, if not more than, you do.
• You are amazing. You created a life within your body. Yes, the skin on your stomach resembles the face of a Shar-pei - but for very good reason. You made a tiny HUMAN BEING within it!
• You wouldn't know if your baby was ugly. It's better this way. Who would want to snuggle a trash can lid? You will stare into those shiny little eyes and know that this is the most amazingly awe-inspiring little one ever to have graced this Earth with its' tiny feet and mustard coloured poop.
• When people have issue with your breastfeeding in public, stare at them and speak loudly at the person with you, "I can't believe they are eating in public! How disgusting!!" I believe breastfeeding is normal, natural and healthy. It seems that the over-sexualization of the breast in our society has done terrible things for our children's eating habits. Would you eating your lunch in a dirty, public bathroom stall? Blech.
• Everyone may have an opinion on what you do and how you do it. YOU are the expert on your children. Trust your gut as you're the one who loves them the most and have their survival and mental well-being first and foremost....and you'll presumably be the one paying the therapy bills when they hit their teens.
• Also, though you may be feel judged while others look on as your sweet, wee one pitches a holy fit atop the wood chips on the playground thus embedding thousands of tiny slivers beneath their soft skin to ensure a long and drawn out reminder of this damned humiliating venture to the local park; they most likely are just reminiscing over the fact that the only way to soothe their child's impending tantrum at the grocery store recently was to allow their kiddo to plunge a damp, chubby finger into their parent's nostril as they strolled down the aisles in the shopping cart....while all the other parents stared and thought about their most recent brush with 'CIH' (Child Inflicted Humiliation) .
• Play with them whenever you can. Even singing "Super Planet Janet" for the fifty millionth time while you secure their lifejacket before swimming at your summer cabin will go a long way to defining you as a great and attentive parent.

what it is

Photo from golfest

Talking about being a widow is not something I always do....or want to do.
Sometimes I need to talk about it. Express why I am attending a social engagement alone. Assure others that I'm not a 'cast off' - that my husband left me because he was physically unable to stay....not because he found me in bed with my tennis instructor. Now and then, I have to purge the sadness by letting even grocery store clerks know that my husband died. At these times, I am quite skilled at wedging it into any conversation under any scenario.
Other times, the whole story of his loss seems a nuisance. I dance around the topic of the whole event until it is entirely necessary to mention the fact that he dropped dead for fear of having strange, unexplained holes in my stories and sounding like a lunatic.
I found myself in the latter situation tonight. I held off talking about it for as long as I could....and finally just stated, "My husband died in 2008".
I did not want to hear the "Oh! I'm SO sorry! I had no idea!" As I answered, "Yeah, well, it is what it is." And I realized just how over-used but very astute this saying is.
I felt slightly....resentful. Not for being a widow. I just didn't want to be different. I wanted to be one of the moms talking at the table about runny noses, bullies and fuel economy. I didn't want to feel marked by loss. I didn't want to be pitied. I didn't want to explain again what life is like alone. Because often, now, it just is.
I don't really know different anymore....because this is now my reality. And it is what it is.

the wishlist

My children are aware that Christmas is in 23 days. Already they are making their preparations for the big day. Snow flakes already adore most of the windows in our house, our advent calendar is hanging above the fireplace and letters to Santa are ready to post. After ruminating long and hard over what she would write, my eight year old daughter, Liv, stood up from the kitchen table with a letter for Santa clutched in her skinny, little hands. Hope and excitement lit her face.
"Do you think Santa can bring whatever you ask for if you only ask for one thing?", she whispered.
"It depends what it is, I suppose", I answered nervously imagining pink polka-dotted unicorns and hot-air balloon rides to the moon being requested. I was surprised when she handed over her note.
Her words make me vacillate between laughter and tears....
I don't know what I'd do without these little people who make life so much harder and some much more bearable in one motion.

P.S. Briar asked for a remote control monster truck taller than his head. Not as emotionally charged, but certainly enough to strike fear in a mother's heart. How the HECK is Santa going to pull off Christmas????

advancing Advent

Photo from Queen's School of Medicine....Don't know what the calendar has to do with med school, though....

We are beginning to gear up for December 1 and the beginning of our Advent calendar.
Although I despise the upselling in stores, the piped in carols in early November and the general consumerism involved in the Christmas holidays, I love the excitement of the kids, the coziness and craftiness of the season.
I resent the feeling that the standard seasons - Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter, have been replaced by Spring, Summer, Fall and Christmas.
This year, however, I am going to attempt to embrace and cherish the memories and yuletime feelings. I don't imagine that my kids have any appreciation for my grumblings over business-side of Christmas. I am sure they prefer to snuggle in front of the fire with hot chocolate whilst making popsicle stick snowflakes for family.
So wish me luck in my hunt for Christmas Spirit. I am a tried and true Grinch in need of a different perspective. But if my kids will benefit from it, I am willing to try....Just don't stand me in front of a Christmas light display while playing Jingle Bells over the loud speaker for a few weeks, please.....

I keep returning here to write something. To let you all know that things are okay and that life goes on and we are happy. They are, it does and often we are.
But I am feeling the weight lately of a realization. One I should have had two years and eight months ago.
This is FOREVER.
Not solely being without Jeff.
But taking the garbage out by myself. Half-heartedly laughing at a movie alone. Waking up with two frightened children and their nightmares. Making turkey dinner for three.
All of it. Alone. All of it on me. All of it, my responsibility.
The monotony of continuing on is exhausting. The strength needed to smile and be optimistic waning.
I am at a point where I feel like my 'get out of jail free/talk about Jeff as much as I want' card is expiring and I should allow a conversation to pass without dropping his name. But I am not ready. He is still my lover/friend/husband.
I want to write about it all. I want to talk about it. I know that so many will tell me that it is MY timetable and to do what I need to do....But I also wonder about other's patience and my sanity for remaining in the world of 'what was'.
I am so painfully lonely....and writing about it seems so terribly lame and pathetic. I have never felt this lonely. Socially, I am quite satisfied. I have great friends. A ridiculously busy life. No 'free' time.
But 'intimately', I am starving. I want to whisper in the dark to someone who will whisper back. I need to know that there is someone, who happens to have a physical body, that has genuine interest in the intricacies of my mind and my little family. To feel that when I am drowning under an ocean of mundane yet necessary tasks, that someone will help....just because. I want to be touched. I want to not be alone. I want to have the luxury of allowing fear and vulnerability in.
I want to be loved again.
....And I feel so pathetic for writing about this loneliness yet again.

(Thanks, Jen....)

pretty

three four tens and a five

Yesterday was my birthday.
35.
Thirty. Five.

So young.....yet SO bloody old! Half way to seventy and I haven't gotten much figured out. Is this the secret of adulthood? Act like a grown-up and everyone else thinks that everyone else IS a grown-up? Except, of course, themselves?

The kids were much more excited about my birthday than I was....I asked for one gift. "Please NO arguing today. Just today. ONE day. Puh-leeeeease?!" Next year I'll ask for something more attainable.....like a pony.

Thirty-five seems so old on me. On others, it seems to be just a number. Like watching a friend try on an outfit that looks 'good' on them but you would never be caught dead in. "You look great!", you claim....but if you imagine the pink star sequins adorning your less than abundant cleavage, you cringe and flush with horror.

I think I'll take a tip from Jeff, he used to joke that we should tell everyone that we were ten years older than our true age. None of this 'eternal 29' crap! I look pretty good for 45!!!!!

So fourty five it is! Happy 45th to me!

living again

I am loving our new life.

Although I am finding the cost of living here more than I expected, I am finding that this life in the town I grew up in to be so much more fulfilling and exciting.

Striking out and building a life that includes Jeff and the memories we have of him, but built around our needs now and our new future has been exhilarating.

I find myself wondering what is around the next corner....and not always with dread or fear. I have hope for joy returning to our lives and the little things that maintain our happiness now.

Having the forest and the ocean just steps from our doorstep is how I imagined my children growing up. Exploring, building, imagining, creating. It makes up in (small) part for the loss of my ability to stay home with them 24/7.

And on that front, I have to say, that (and I feel immense guilt saying this), that I am enjoying my time away. I come home with stories for the kids of what my day was life, what I did and how I perform a blood occult stool test (yes, this involves poop). I love having grown-up conversations, feeling in control of our income, feeling valuable and using my brain for something other than remembering the recipe for fabulous bubbles (10 parts water, 1 part Dawn or Joy dish soap and .25 part glycerin). I know that my job as a mommy is the most important thing I will do in my life.....but I also think that I need some time to just be "Jackie" and without having someone to spell me off when I need time to myself, I feel intense frustration at times. With this frustration comes guilt and feelings that I am not a good and selfless mother. I have to remind myself occasionally that Liv has had me home for seven years and Briar for four - This is entirely longer than the standard one year in Canada and the six weeks in the States.

Life is still a bit off-kilter as we settle into our new house. We are almost finished unpacking. Most of the pictures are up. The linen closet is organized. We are just fine-tuning now.

The fresh air is fabulous. I SO love the cool breezes and foggy mornings. Being in the village brings remembered faces and a sense of comfort in knowing where everything is and the names of all the streets. The kids are loving having friends close by and frolicking in the woods....Where they find strange and amazing things - abandoned cabins, huckleberries, cathedral-like beams of light streaming through the trees, gnome stumps, deer trails, little streams and "Barbie doll graveyards".

I have started working on the garden, built a compost and have started planning the garden for the start of the next growing season. I've built a larger chicken/duck yard and all our poultry buddies are pleased. The kids and I climbed through some of the bushes on the property trimming out the underbranches to enable us to put our toadstool stools under the leafy canopy for a pretend fairy home for the kids.

I am happy. The kids are happy. Life is good.

when Jeff died.....

As a widow, how many times have you said, "when/since/because _____ died"? Even after two years, three months and six days, I regularly use this phrase. Does widowhood define me this much or is it that the loss of my husband has been so life-altered, self-forming, world-shifting to me that I can attribute most of the occurrences in my present life to the event?
I prefer to believe that my life, goals, priorities, etc have all been modified, improved and streamlined. I hope that I can now see more clearly what is 'important' rather than that the definition of 'widow' has become so entwined with my vision of 'self'.
Or am I just lying to myself and hiding behind the loss of my other half?

the impending father's day

It's actually 3:28 a.m. as I write this. Unpacking from our move and working at the clinic have kept me so busy that I haven't spent any amount of time ruminating about what thought of loss has most taken up my mind this week.
But as I've driven to work, opened boxes of photo albums and placed Jeff's dresser in the corner of the room, the thought of the impending "Father's Day" has popped into my head briefly and painfully.
I have come to fear this day for my kids. I worry that they'll begin to notice other 'normal' families out for Father's Day breakfast. That the flyers in the mail advertising copious amounts of tools for the other kid's dad will highlight their lack of an alive one. That the ties or other seemingly useless items that kids make to mark the day that they celebrate their dad will cast little shadows on my little one's hearts.
On Sunday, you'll find me at work. My kids will be babysat until I return to them. There will be no special brunch, fancy formal wear accessories or tool belts to give to Jeff to mark what a kind, funny or loving daddy he was.
So in the afternoon, the kids and I will practise our own father's day tradition. We'll head to the beach with helium balloons clutched in hand, tiny folded notes tied into the strings and send Jeff the father's day messages we wish we could hand over with a huge and mushy hug.
I hope he'll get them. I hope he will know that we remember what a fabulous daddy he was and will never forget his part in making our lives as special as they were...and are.
Thank you, my Jeffrey, for our little ones. Thank you for your giant love. We love you right back. Happy Father's Day, my love.

up to speed

I thought I'd attempt to quickly update what is going on in our little house.
I'm going to school to become an Organic Master Gardner. The program is WONDERFUL and I am enjoying it immensely!!! The hours are crazy and random but my sister and Marnie have been watching the kids for me so I can attend class. I have learned so much in the last couple of weeks that my head is exploding! Unfortunately, I don't feel that I am able to give it as much of my focus as I would truly like to as I have SO much else on the go.
I have been packing. I am determined to make this one of the most organized and tidy move of all time. This is because the only people who will be available to assist me in the move on the big day (May 31st) are other mamas.
Changing phone numbers, applying for education bursaries and attending job interviews have taken up any quiet moment.
I am so excited for the new place, however. I am trying to not focus on how much I'll miss 'our' home; but to experience the thrill of a new chapter. I am excited to have time return to a slightly less chaotic pace, however.
....And you know, I worried I would feel that I would be 'leaving' Jeff behind if I left this house, but I realize now that he'll come with us. Many of our memories of him are in this little house, but his heart will always remain in ours. If he's 'out there', there is no way he'd not accompany on us on this new adventure. And I think he'd be proud of us and all we are doing.

give me one reason

Photo by Algo

Also posted on Widow's Voice

You know the term "It happened for a reason"? I hate it. I have used it myself. But I hate it.
It seems to say that everything, good or bad, was supposed to happen to make way for some 'better' purpose. It's sappy and it sucks. It's almost up there with the "He's in a better place".
With this rationale, maybe because Jeff died, a cherubic little one was born into the loving arms of its' parents. Maybe he died to stop the excessive amount of fossil fuels being consumed by his gargantuan beast of a truck. Maybe he had learned all he was meant to in this lifetime and had to go to 'Heaven' to process it.
I say "BAA HUMBUG"! I hate to sound....evil, but those parents can have some other kid because I'd rather have my big hairy guy back. I would have let Jeff drive my little gas-meiser. And I can tell you, there were still a few things I had left to tell Jeff so he certainly didn't know it all yet.
I don't think there was any bloody reason. I think it just happened because it was 'meant' to. Good or bad, there was no 'reason'. It was just the way it was/is/will be.
And I think I just have to suck it up, pull up my socks and forget trying to find 'reasons', meanings or any other message hidden in his death. He's gone and it's the way our lives parted. Nothing I can do about it.
So I'll be a big girl (at least for a few moments) and carrying this backpack....and if there is any reason, I'll realize that it was to make me and our two little ones strong, empathetic and remind us to not take life and love for granted.

Amazing!!!!!!!!

before and after

Also posted on Widow's Voice

My three year old nephew, Gabe, told my sister, "Uncle Jeff died, but he still has his imagination."
I love this idea. The belief that 'his imagination' or mind is still intact brings me huge relief and comfort.
What I find interesting is that I am completely willing to believe this to be true. I know that some of my willingness comes fromt he need to believe that Jeff is still with me and the other comes from the somehow inexplicable belief that our society or maybe species has that children and the dying have some inherent knowledge that is lost to the rest of us while in adulthood and good health.
Why is this? We only humour our little ones when they tells us that elephants also come decorated in green polkadots aside from the standard issue 'pachyderm grey'. We smile patronizingly when patient in hospice swears that they will go on a vacation to Disneyland before they pass.
But if a member of either of these two groups tells us something of life 'before' or 'after', we are apt to stare hopefully and relay these messages on to all who will listen. We claim that it is because they are closer to the 'before' and 'after'....But I worry that this is part of the fairytale we tell ourselves.
I do often think of the things that Jeff said to me the night before he died. I know he was feeling ill and he was the classic stereotype of a sick guy making him feel crabby and sad. But some of the things he said, although painful and sad, they also give me 'hope' of sorts, that he knew something I didn't....
So, I will cling to my hope that Jeff still retains his imagination and hang off the words of little ones and those whose bodies are beginning to fail to house their soul....Even if it is a silly belief, it brings me comfort to believe he is with us, holding me when I cry, encouraging me and smiling at his little ones.