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.”

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.