The other day Maddie and I were listening to music in the car, jamming out and singing along. “Mommy?” Maddie said. “I like singing pop music.”

“I do too, honey!” I replied, smiling. “What are some of your favorite pop songs to sing, and why?”

“Well,” she said pensively, “There’s that Justin Beaver, of course. He has a lot of popular songs. Unfortunately,” she continued, “they’re not very good.”

“Well,” she amended, “a couple of them are well-written and would be nice to listen to if someone else sang them.”

And this? Is why I love my daughter.

3:30 a.m. last night, there was a knock on our bedroom door. “Come in,” Brian groggily said.

Cora came tiptoeing through the door. “Mommy, I . . .” but I was already out of bed and stumbling towards the door before she even finished her sentence, knowing from the past four nights what was going on.

We’ve got a new baby in the house, and no one’s sleeping.

Cora adopted a four-month-old kitten the day after school got out; it was her promised sixth birthday gift, and we’d made her wait until school was over so she’d be home to bond with it. And as fun as that kitten is, around 3:30 a.m. we all wish (just a teensy bit) that Kitten was back at the animal shelter.

Dear Maddie:

This weekend we celebrated your eighth birthday for what seemed like days: we spent a fun morning with friends horseback riding and eating ice cream at the stables; we went for a huge long family swim with more friends; we at ice cream and cake and pizza and your favorite meal: smoked ham, baked beans, and steamed broccoli. And of course we took lots of breaks for opening gifts.

The weekend was a revolving door of friends and family stopping by to drop off a birthday present, and I can’t help but rejoice at what a close community you’ve got in your own right here. Friends came by with a book of poetry about animals (how well does she know you???), or with gift cards to a favorite store, or even an original poem written by a sick friend when she had to miss your birthday party. You, my friend, are well loved.

Yes, today is the last day of school, and everyone in the world is rejoicing.

Except Cora.

Every time we talk about the “summer” or the last day of school, she growls at us. Sometimes she cries. She can’t believe her teacher won’t be her teacher any more, and there’s no WAY she can imagine first grade will be anywhere near as good as kindergarten.

My poor kiddo.

Yesterday all her workbooks were sent home from school, and at bedtime she gleefully got out her mathbook and did math problems before lights out.

Yeah, there’s no hope for her.