Last Tuesday Grandma H recounted a conversation she had with Dear Daughter while I was at work. They were enjoying a walk when they found a fuzzy caterpillar. Grandma, thinking she was teaching things to Dear Daughter, commented that the caterpillar would eventually become a butterfly. Dear Daughter (having the butterfly turning into a caterpillar thing already covered) replied that indeed it would, "but first it will be a "chrysalis." Grandma was a bit stunned. I told her I knew how she felt, and that often when I try to teach Dear Daughter something, she ends up "teaching me back" about an even more complex issue.
After the "new moon" thing I was thinking about how much we have always read to Dear Daughter, from the time she was only weeks old. Then I considered her love for books, how many she owns, and our weekly trips to the library. A bit of quick math (weekly trips to the library for the past 13 months, multiplied by an average of 10 books per trip, added to the number of books in her "personal library") gave me an estimate of at least 600 books that we've read to Dear Daughter. Of course, we have probably read those 600 books an average of 10-15 times each, so counting all the repeats, we have quite easily read her 6,000 books.
But I still have one troubling question: I wonder why I don't seem to be getting any smarter?