Tag Archives: Cat

A Tale of Two Sisters

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Mornings are not our finest hour. Not by a long shot. Darling Hubby leaves by 6:30, a full 15 minutes before I begin to stagger around and a good hour before I wake the children. A typical morning involves numerous, increasingly menacing wake up calls, tears, recrimination and few epithets whispered under my breath.

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.”


20 Questions

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As further evidence that I am aging at warp speed, I attended a bridal shower today for one of our former babysitters. Lauren, whom we met when she was a junior in high school, is getting married next month. Her sisters and Mom threw her a shower and graciously invited Cat, Tate and I to attend.

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.


I’ll take this over an Oscar any day

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Tonight Cat and I lay in her bed and practiced some of this week’s spelling words which include critical, friends, drizzle and traffic. I had written out this week’s words on index cards, and she was trying to win them from me by spelling them correctly. Our rule is that if she spells a word correctly, she wins the card from me. If she spells any word incorrectly, I win her entire pile of (previously won) cards and she starts from scratch.

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.”


Is there a jock strap for your heart?

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I am not an athlete though for a very brief time in high school I played field hockey. They issued shin guards and mouth pieces. They taught us to block shots with your stick. They taught us to take a hit without getting hurt.

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.


Makes sense to me

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Now that Cat is in second grade she has timed math tests. She needs to be able to answer 50 addition or subtraction questions in under five minutes. By the year end, she needs to be able to answer 100 and her score on that test will determine her third grade math placement and apparently her potential admission to Harvard.

Last night when I walked in from work Cat was waving a paper in my face and hopping around the kitchen. “Mom, Mom, Mom, LOOK. I got 49 out of 50 right on my math test. I ROCKED it.”

Sure enough, I looked at the test and she had correctly answered 49 out of the 50 addition problems, in under five minutes. “Wow, I am really impressed, Cat” I said. “Good work.”

She then handed me a second test. On it, she scored 9 out of 50. “What happened on this one?” I asked, secretly relieved that I may not be footing the bill for Harvard after all. “Well, it was subtraction and I ran out of time,” she said.

“Looks like we need to practice a little more on subtraction so you can get better at it,” I said.

“I guess so Mom but really I like getting more things a lot more than I like having them taken away so I may always just be better at addition.”


Keeping me real, again

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Today was Pajama Day at school.  Both girls were up and dressed early for a change. Both were ridiculously excited at the prospect of going to school in just their jammies.  Cat upped the ante by insisting on wearing her bathrobe in place of her jacket.

“Wow” I said as they walked out the door to catch the bus. “You both look fantastic. You look so comfy.”

“Yeah,” Cat replied over her shoulder. “We look just like you on your work-from-home days except our hair is fixed up.”


How considerate

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Cat and Tate have a playroom just off of our family room that houses their toys, books, computer, their own couch and tv and various and sundry other of their treasures. The room generally looks lived-in on a good day and post-tsunami on most others.

Because the room has a door, I generally just shut the door so that I don’t have to view the mess until quarterly when I decide that I cannot take it anymore and go in and shovel out the playroom. Yesterday was my day to bring order to the chaos.

It took over two and half hours of me working non-stop. I filled one recycling bin and two yard sized trash bags. I cursed. I cleaned. I polished. I questioned the nature and origin of some of my finds. But at the end of the clean-athon I was tired, sweaty but victorious.

Cat, who had made herself conspicuously absent during the cleaning, was the first to arrive.

“Wow Mom,” she said. “The place looks great. You really did a good job.”

“Thanks Cat.”

“No really Mom, I can tell this was A LOT of work for you.”

“Yes Cat, it was” I said looking at her (in a fashion that I hoped was) rather pointedly. “And what does that tell you?” I asked, hoping for a reply that reflected a sense of responsibility, consideration and of taking care of one’s own belongings.

“It tells me that we need to be a little less messy in the future, so the next time you clean, it won’t be such a big job.”


T-H-A-N-K-F-U-L

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Now that Cat is in second grade, she has weekly spelling tests. The week’s words are distributed on Mondays with tests the following Friday. Last week was her first test and she scored a perfect 12 out of 12 despite having words like princess, actress and krill. She was jubilant.

This week the pressure is on. There was no school Monday which means the list didn’t come home until Tuesday. This was a busy week with Tate’s birthday and other odd interruptions so the practice has been more sporadic.

Though it is only a second grade spelling test, I am amazed but the level of angst I feel on Cat’s behalf. As we practice, I sit listening and realize only when she has spelled a word correctly do I remember to breathe. Fortunately, she is a pretty strong speller or I would have passed out by now.

Cat and I have a system for her spelling practice. We write the words on index cards, and then I read the word aloud and she spells it. If she spells the word correctly, she takes the card and puts it in her pile. If she spells any word incorrectly, I get ALL of the cards in her pile. The goal is for her to take all of my cards. Her natural senses of greed and competitiveness kick in pretty early in the process until she is determined to leave me empty-handed. Up until tonight though, I was the one holding all of the cards at bed time, and neither of us was happy with that outcome.

Tonight, after birthday cake, 90 minutes of homework, a rousing game of Operation, and bath it was time for our last spelling scrimmage. As we started through the pile I was torn between happiness at her increasing confidence with the words and fear that once again, I would be the “winner” in our competition. For once, I desperately wanted to be left empty-handed listening to trash talk. I am normally pathologically competitive, but I did not want to win this one.

She breezed through gang, yank, honk, sung and fang. She took chunk and crank, which had caused her to stumble earlier in the week, without missing a beat. King, wink and blink fell easily and with increasing sass in her tone. We were down to three cards and my stomach started to churn. Literally. The source of my discomfiture? Because, second and thankful.

She plowed steadily through because thanks to a mnemonic about elephants. She hesitated on second, for a second, but finished strong with a victory whoop with high fives all around and a booty dance chaser by both of us. We were high on literacy and feeling fine.

And then there was one. One card. Thankful.

She started “T-H-A” and then stopped and stared at me for a second. “Ummmm. N. K. ummmm FUL” she finished in a rush.

“One more time,” I said. “I want to be sure I heard you right. Take me through it one more time, just like you did.”

“T-H-A-N-K-F-U-L” she said to the sound of me exhaling loudly. “Thankful.”

Now she knows the spelling, and I know the meaning.


Outlawyered again

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On our drive to Hershey last weekend the girls peppered me with questions or comments about every five seconds. This, despite the fact that they were watching a movie on the dvd player and that I was clearly trying to nap.

“Mom, look, Charlie found the golden ticket. Did you see that?”

“Mom, Veruca Salt is really mean. She can knock people’s heads off with her bare hands. Did you see that?”

“Mom, they can eat the grass, would you eat the grass?”

Now is a good time to mention that in honor of our trip to Hershey, the ladies were watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

About 75 minutes into the barrage my concussion and head cold got the better of me and I turned around and yelled, “Ladies, REALLY. Can’t you see Mommy is trying to take a nap? MUST you ask me 9,000 questions? What about your FATHER? Can’t you see he is in the car? If you MUST ask 9,000 questions, why not throw a few his way and let me have a few minutes of peace? Can you give me one good reason why you are harassing me and not him? Just one?”

Without missing a beat Cat said, “Daddy is DRIVING Mom and you always tell us never to bother the driver. It’s not safe to bother him but it’s fine to bother you.”


Watching Daddy go grayer by the second

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We went away this weekend for a family trip to celebrate Tate’s birthday. Unfortunately, a combination of bad weather and a bad cold (mine) found us back at the hotel earlier than expected, with the children looking for something to do.

Cat, 7, decided to make her own fun. She put my bra on over her nightgown and then went around to her father, sister, and I holding up the cups and saying, “Change? Anyone got change for a pretty lady?”

I burst out laughing but her father was not as amused. “Ummm. Don’t you think you should tell her that isn’t appropriate?” he said.

“You are right dear,” I replied. “Cat honey, Mommy has a life lesson for you. Do not ask men to put change in your bra. Ask for paper bills. With BIG numbers on them.” I fell back laughing onto the bed.

Darling Hubby, whose face and hair were noticeably grayer than when the conversation started yelled, “Daddy has a new rule. No one in our family gets to make money by people putting ANY kind of money in ANY of our underpants.”

There go the retirement and college funds.