I stand at the counter, pouring a cup of coffee while Zeca stands on her step stool next to me. I get ready to pour cream into my cup and she asks if she can stir. Today is a good day - I don't feel crowded by her presence, am not concerned about spills or messes. I notice her hands resting near mine, so small but capable, and I am touched by her pleading smile. I tell her that she can stir and she excitedly grabs the spoon and waits. I pour the cream and we both stare into the cup, watching as the white swirls with dark brown. We stand silently and without moving until I ask, "What does it look like to you?" I ask this even though I know her answer will be "clouds". She doesn't look up, doesn't take her eyes from the coffee, and says, "Mama...it looks like magic". It's a small moment but many of the best moments are. I hurry through my days, ticking off the things that I must do. There is time for work or family and friends or self but not always enough time for everything. Some days, I simply want to get through the day and get the kids to bed so that I can have some time to myself. In my rush, I know that I miss many of these small moments and I have to learn to treat myself with kindness, to forgive myself for getting lost sometimes. I am grateful, though, for those times when my mind is still and I too can see the magic in a cup of coffee. This is the gift a child can give - reverence for the ordinary.