I took a peek at some of my daughter's homework the other day. The class is learning how to count coins. For some reason, this seems advanced to me. I don't remember knowing about coins and money until I was much older. Mia is somehow picking this stuff up.
Of late, Mia's been obsessed with her Nintendo (she's really become adept at Mario Kart DS) and WebKinz. I don't remember playing video games when I was her age, because they weren't invented yet. I certainly didn't know or remember passwords when I was her age, yet here is Mia, carefully instructing me not to reveal her WebKinz password.
I take her to school every morning that I am able. I've looked on at the parents of her classmates, and I sense the same feelings: warmth; pride; love. Raising a child is ordinary and extraordinary at the same time. One minute I'm blinking tears at her sweetness, and the next minute I find myself yelling at her to get dressed for school.
Mundane. Profound. And she's now seven.