This morning Cat mentioned that someone she knew lived close enough to the school that she could walk to school. “Technically, you live close enough to the school to walk too,” I said. “We only live a mile away. You could do it easily if there was a sidewalk.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Yes, really. When I was in elementary school I walked to school when I was in the fifth, six and seventh grades,” I said. “Lots of kids did. Some rode bikes and the schools had big bike racks to lock up the bikes. There were lots of walkers.”

Completely without irony or sarcasm she said, “Oh, so cars weren’t invented back then?”

They are taking the bus tomorrow.

She was inspired to become a doctor by an injury she suffered last week. She received second degree burns on her left hand after spilling hot soup from the school cafeteria on herself at lunch on Friday. The doctor at the emergency clinic, our dear friend Beth who is a nurse and our family doctor all treated her with such care and tenderness, that she is now inspired to join the medical profession “and help other kids who have bad stuff happen.”

As part of her preparation for medical school, Cat has been playing doctor for the past few nights. Tate is her belligerent receptionist, and Chris has been cast as her patient. Chris shared with me her sage advice after one office visit.

“So what brings you here today?” Cat asked her father.

“Well, I get this awful pain, right here in my chest, when I am away from my beautiful girls for very long,” said Chris in a blatant attempt to suck up after being away for the weekend. “Can you help me?”

Cat performed a cursory exam and then scribbled some notes on her clipboard. “I am going to write you a prescription for Prostacia. Take that and tell me how it works.”

“Prostacia?” Chris asked amused. “What will that do?”

“It will help you man up.”

This morning we were all cleaning the house. I asked Cat to polish the furniture in her father’s office and spray some Febreeze in the room when she was finished. “That will certainly vanquish his manly stench,” she said.

Sounds pretty descriptive to me.

Cat announced to me earlier this evening that she had an interesting homework assignment. She is studying the various phases of matter – solids, liquids and gasses and needed to find five pictures of each matter type.

We decided to scroll through our iPhoto archives before butchering the magazine pile. Cat selected the photos and with each one, my mood noticeably lifted.

Her gasses photos depicted:
- gasses coming off of a volcano Chris and I visited while in St. Lucia for his 40th birthday
- sulfur coming off of fireworks at the Epcot lagoon
- smoke coming off of hot dogs Cat roasted over a campfire during our camping trip this fall
- skywriting of a smiley face on a clear Florida sky
- neon in the lights at Radio City from our trip to see the Rockettes last year.

Her liquid pictures featured:
- Cat on the Slip-and-Slide in our yard
- the geyser spraying at the Wilderness Lodge
- lighted fountains outside of a restaurant we visited
- bubbles from bubbles Cat and Tate were playing with in Williamsburg while our car was being detailed after the unfortunate spaghetti/ice cream/barf incident after visiting Paul’s Deli
- liquid cookie paint from a fabulous dessert at the Artist Point restaurant at Disney

Her chosen solids were:
- a dolphin she petted at Sea World
- our bulldog, Scarlett
- the Littlest Pet Shop monkey Amy, that she earned after a perfect spelling test
- the cookie from the Artist Point dessert
- Cat sitting on Grandma Liz’s lap

Her homework reminded me how fortunate we are. We have had wonderful adventures and we have fabulous memories. Scrolling through the pictures I saw literally thousands of photos of trips (an amazing number to Disney), smiles, hugs, laughs, people and places we love. Our life is an amalgam of solids, liquids and gasses that have combined to create a lot of happiness and love.

And it’s that matter that truly matters.

Her list included:

“No doing a happy dance if I get a 12 out of 12 on my test. It’s embarrassing when you do that.”

“No bursting into tears if I do not get a 12 out of 12 on my test. That would be awkward.”

“You need to make sure you do your hair and make-up nice, but you can’t wear a dress or a lawyer suit. You need to look cute but not TOO cute because I don’t want the boys in my class to crush on you. That would be awkward. Besides, they are all supposed to crush on me.”

“Do not try to help me during the test. That would be cheating and it would be a black mark on both of our records. My record is clean.” (I am not sure what the pointed look after that last remark was meant to convey.)

“No matter how nervous you get for me, do not pee your pants.”

At this point, I had to interject. “Cat, have you ever known me to pee my pants?”

“No Mom, but I know how nervous and excited you get for me over the spelling tests and I thought you needed the reminder.”

This morning I was vacuuming her room and decided to check under the bed to see what I might find. Some of you may remember that it took it me two hours this summer to clean out her treasure trove under there.

This is what I found today:
- A Disney Princess alarm clock
- a flying monkey boy from her Wizard of Oz doll set
- a small plastic banana split
- one pair of my high heels
- one pair of my sunglasses
- a purple headband
- a flashlight
- one notepad
- two Christmas-themed pencils
- three books
- a partial deck of playing cards
- a mini whiteboard with two markers, cap surprisingly on
- two bottles of water
- two containers of lipgloss
- one sleeping bag
- one roll of toilet paper

I am not sure what any of this means. But I am now in the market for a giant clear plastic ball for next Halloween.

So you can imagine my complete shock and awe this morning when Cat, 7, required only three wake-up calls. She then completely dressed herself, brushed her teeth, fed her fish and without being asked, fed the dogs and prepared breakfast for herself and her sister. I was dumbfounded.

“Cat, thank you so much for everything you did this morning,” I said. “You showed tremendous responsibility and thoughtfulness. Mommy really appreciates it.”

Cat beamed at the compliment and then said, “No problem Mom. You will probably be seeing more of this. I just realized Christmas is coming soon so I need to start acting more responsible.”

Ah. That explains it. The girls know that I email Santa every Friday with a weekly status report. Cat wants to be sure that the reports leading up to Christmas are glowing. I am both pleased with her strategy and slightly disappointed in the ulterior motive. But I will take easy mornings any way I can get them, so I decided to see if Tate was on board with this new plan.

“So what do you think Tate? Are you going to start to do lots of good and responsible things so I can include them in my weekly report to Santa?” I asked.

Tate scowled and shook her head. “No Mom. Duh! If he has read any of your reports this year, we all know I am getting coal so I am not going to worry about the rest of the year. I’ll just play with all of the stuff Cat gets.”

Tate begged off due to another pressing engagement (read as decided to force Daddy to play games all afternoon) but Cat, 7, was thrilled to be attending a bridal shower. Not even a recent bout with a stomach bug and severe local flooding would dissuade her. She was determined to make the scene. She even donned knee high leather boots and a new sparkly bag for the occasion “because they will help me look older and fit in.”

And fit in she did, for a time. Lauren’s friends who had heard all about her adventures in babysitting for us, all made a fuss over Cat and went out of their way to make her feel included. Erin, Lauren’s twin, who also babysat for her, spent a tremendous amount of time with Cat chatting and hanging out. Cat beamed.

Because it was all going so smoothly, I let my guard down and had a glass of wine. Erin stood up to announce that the games were beginning with a take-off of the Newlywed Game. Lauren would be asked 36 questions that her fiance had answered earlier, and her responses would be compared to the videotaped responses he had given. Lauren sailed through questions of Nick’s favorite meal, their first date, and other sweet and innocuous questions. I sipped more wine and enjoyed the game.

Then the question was asked, “Where did you and Nick first have sex?” Before Lauren, who was blushing furiously, could respond, Cat yelled “LAUREN AND MR. NICK HAVE HAD SEX? They DID IT?” While I tried to shush her she turned to me and asked indignantly, “Did YOU KNOW about this?”

I handed her a 7-up and told her to drink quietly. The questions took a more G-rated turn with the number of kids they would have, intended names, etc. One of the questions was about Lauren’s bra size, which Nick correctly answered. Cat stated loudly, “Well, I guess we all know NOW how he would know THAT.” I handed her cup back to her and told her to sip it while I took a large gulp of mine.

Then a question arose, “Lauren, who will Nick say is more likely to initiate foreplay?” As an aside, Nick’s answer was priceless, “Lauren, because I like to just get down to it.” On cue, Cat leaned over and asked “Mommy, what is foreplay?”

My response? “It’s an indication that it’s probably time for us to go now honey.”

The game ended and Cat and I said our good-byes and started the long drive home. We drove quietly for a while listening to the torrential downpour. After a few minutes Cat asked, “Mommy do you remember when and where you and Daddy first did it?”

I frantically tried to think of some wise and age-appropriate to say. But my aging brain failed me and I chickened out. “Cat honey, Mommy needs to concentrate on driving in this storm. Why don’t you just listen to the music on my iPod and then you can ask DADDY anything you want to about this when we get home?”

I decided I can’t keep her from growing up. I can’t keep her from asking these questions. I can’t stop time from marching across my face, my ass and my short-term memory. But I decided that if I am going to age this rapidly, I am taking Darling Husband with me and these questions will certainly help him catch up.

Because she has only had the cards for this week’s words one night, I expected to walk away with all of the cards. Normally, Monday night and Tuesday night are “my” nights to win with her running the table on me by Thursday. Apparently however, she had been cramming while I ran out to the dry cleaner and to do other errands because she spelled all twelve words correctly on her first try.

“I deserve a trophy,” she shouted jubilantly.

“Indeed you do,” I said. She and I both spied one of her Barbie dolls at the same time. I held it up and said “In recognition of your spelling prowess and your tremendous dedication to literacy, I hereby award you this trophy for hard work in learning new words and for perfect spelling performance,” I said, handing her the Barbie and then erupting into applause.

Cat beamed.

“Thank you,” she said, immediately slipping into acceptance speech mode. “I am very honored to have won this award. This really means a lot to me. I barely know what to say.”

The she paused and said with complete sincerity, “I would like to dedicate this to my mom, because without her, I would not be such a good speller and because she sounded out ‘traffic’ for me. Here Mom, this trophy is for you.”

My acceptance speech was a tearful, choked “I love you too Cat.”

Where is the protective equipment and such valuable lessons for parents? Was I at work or in Target during those seminars? Is there a make-up class?

Today Chris and I attended a special meeting about Cat at her school. Apparently our girl lacks focus. She would rather discuss her dogs, her Halloween costumes or our trip to the mall than to focus on spelling words or math facts.

Her teacher, who went out of her way to refer to Cat as “endearing” and “eager to please” summed it up by saying, “When she is with me, there is no stopping her, she is REALLY with me. But when she is not, she is really not.” It was a fair criticism. It was an accurate statement. It was an issue to which we had already been alerted.

It was also a knife in my heart.

Jill posted recently that no one prepares you for the parenting mistakes that you don’t see coming. I think it’s also true that no one prepares you for the anxiety and pain you feel on your child’s behalf. It is wrenching to have a child who is charming, bright and eager to please who falls short in her efforts. It physically hurts to watch her scrunch her face with concentration and determination only to be crushed to learn that 11-3 is in fact not 7.
And if there is a pain worse than hearing your child say, “Forget it, I am just dumb” then it is not one I am prepared to face.

To add insult to injury, she is learning to ride her bike with no training wheels but daily faces the taunts and inquisition of a younger neighbor, “Can’t you do that YET? When are you going to ride a bike with no training wheels?” He has been doing it for two weeks. I resist the urge to encourage him to do so in traffic. Barely.

These issues are small. She is healthy. She is bright. She will conquer bikes with no training wheels and second grade. Face these we will, though the weather be foul and face these we will, though the Hackencracks howl, to paraphrase the good Dr. Seuss. But I could surely use a jock strap for my heart while we do.