My four year old, Eden, has been going to preschool now for three months.  Three months in which she has learned a surprising amount of knowledge and made many new additions to her vocabulary.  It seems as if every week she has a new favorite word.

This week she keeps saying ‘mysterious.’  ”Hey Mom,” she whispers while I’m cooking, “I smell something…mysterious.”  Once I asked Eden where her book was and she replied she didn’t know.  When I pointed out that she was the last one reading it so she should know, my youngest furrowed her brow and muttered, “Oh Mom, that is certainly mysterious.”

And did you notice?  I’m not Momma very often anymore, now I’m Mom most of the time.  My baby is trying hard not to be a baby anymore and it’s killing me.  Whenever any of your children grow up it is hard, but when the last born does it?  Torture, sheer torture.

To add to the drama of it all, my ranking as being my daughter’s number one hero is constantly in danger of being usurped by her preschool teacher, Miss Lisa.  You see, Miss Lisa is suspiciously similar to Mary Poppins in that she is apparently practically perfect in every way.  At home, my daughter quotes Miss Lisa religiously.  ”That’s not how Miss Lisa does it,” is a refrain I hear often.  Every time I pick Eden up from preschool I fully expect to see Miss Lisa floating up to the heavens, holding on to some old-fashioned umbrella with a parrot head as a handle.

Everyday Eden draws a picture for her teacher.  Every day she tells me how much she loves her teacher.  ”I know you do pumpkin,” I answer her.  ”No,” claims my daughter, insisting that I just don’t grasp the depth of her feelings, “I LOVE her.  I really, really LOVE her.”

Seeing how my youngest has blossomed these past few months I am deeply grateful that I have chosen a fabulous place for my daughter to visit two days a week.  A place that provides her with an incredible teacher.  A place where she can learn big words and let more people into her generous heart.  A place where she can grow into the person she is becoming.

Really, I am glad.  Happy even.  While at the same time I want to cry a little bit on the inside.

It’s all very mysterious.