I used to think getting my daughter to sit down and do her homework would be the hard part.
Turns out, the real challenge is convincing her to do it without a cat paw wrapped around her pencil.
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Every single afternoon, like clockwork, she pulls out her notebook, grabs her pencil… and scoops up Mochi, her kitten, like he’s her official study buddy. Doesn’t matter if he’s napping or halfway across the room—he gets dragged into “homework time” whether he likes it or not.
At first, I thought it was just a phase. You know, a few cuddles, maybe some distractions. But no—my girl insists that Mochi “helps her think better.” She wraps his little paw around her pencil and starts writing like they’re taking a test together.
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The craziest part? It actually works. At least, that’s what she tells me. Every time I suggest she put Mochi down and try to focus without him, she looks at me like I’ve asked her to give up her best friend. “Mom, he’s my brain buddy,” she says, as though that explains everything.
I’ve tried to reason with her, explain that a kitten isn’t exactly going to help her understand long division or write a compelling essay about penguins. But every time, Mochi ends up right there, perched on her desk or curled up in her lap, and she scribbles away, determined to get it done—with one paw of her kitten wrapped firmly around her pencil.
It’s not that I’m against Mochi being around while she does her homework, but it’s the reliance on him that has me concerned. I can see it becoming a problem. What if one day we’re out somewhere, and there’s no Mochi? Will she not be able to focus? Will she struggle to finish even the simplest assignment?
But the more I watch them work together, the more I’m torn. Mochi, as odd as it sounds, does seem to have a calming presence. There’s something about the way my daughter talks to him, coaxing him into doing the “work,” that makes her focus more, not less. I’ll find her humming quietly to herself as she works, with Mochi’s paw guiding her pencil or nudging her notebook, his little head tilted as though he’s offering advice.
Then one afternoon, it happened. I walked into the kitchen, expecting to find my daughter and Mochi engaged in their usual “study session,” but instead, the room was eerily quiet. I peeked around the corner, and there she was, sitting at the table with a paper in front of her, looking frustrated. Mochi, however, was nowhere to be seen.
“Sweetheart, where’s Mochi?” I asked, my voice soft, concerned.
“I… I can’t do my homework without him,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes wide with worry.
The words hit me harder than I expected. She was struggling, genuinely struggling, because her “brain buddy” wasn’t there. Mochi had slipped out through the open door earlier, and while she’d looked for him all over the house, he was nowhere to be found.
I sat down beside her, rubbing her back. “I know you love him and you want him to help you, but sweetheart, you can do this without him. You don’t need a kitten to be smart.”
She looked up at me, and for the first time, I saw the vulnerability in her eyes. “But… it’s easier when he’s with me. He makes me feel better, like I can think clearly.”
It was a heart-wrenching moment for me as a mother. I could see that this attachment to Mochi wasn’t just about having a furry friend. It was about comfort, security, and a sense of control. I thought back to when I was her age and how hard it was to believe in my own abilities. Maybe this kitten was her way of grounding herself, of feeling like she had something steady beside her as she took on the challenges of school.
“Sweetheart,” I said, “what if we try to find a way to do your homework without Mochi just for today? You’ve got this. And if we get it done, maybe we can have a special treat, just the two of us, to celebrate.”
Her face lit up slightly at the mention of a reward, but there was still doubt in her eyes. “What if I can’t do it without him?”
I took a deep breath. “You’re not alone, okay? I’m right here. I’ll help you. And when Mochi comes back, you’ll have a whole new thing to show him. You can tell him all about what you learned. You can do this, honey. It’s all you.”
Slowly, she picked up her pencil, her little hands still shaking slightly. She glanced at the door, still hopeful that Mochi would come trotting back inside. But as the minutes passed, and he still didn’t appear, she started to focus more on the paper in front of her.
I sat with her, my presence a gentle reminder that she didn’t have to do this alone. As the evening wore on, she completed her math problems. Then, with a burst of confidence, she started writing a short paragraph about penguins. I watched, amazed, as her hands steadied, her confidence growing with each word she wrote.
When she finished, I hugged her tightly. “You did it, sweetheart! You didn’t need Mochi after all.”
Her smile was hesitant at first, but then it grew. “Yeah,” she said, looking at the paper in front of her. “I guess I did.”
Just then, the front door creaked open, and in trotted Mochi, looking as proud as ever. My daughter’s face lit up, and she scooped him into her arms, showering him with affection.
“Mochi, guess what? I did it all by myself! I didn’t need you to help me after all!”
And in that moment, something clicked in both of us. It wasn’t about needing Mochi to succeed, it was about believing in herself. It was about finding the strength inside to do hard things, even without her “crutch.”
The next few weeks were filled with more progress. She still wanted Mochi around, but slowly, her reliance on him faded. I didn’t need to push her anymore. She started doing her homework without worrying about whether her kitten was in her lap or not. She’d occasionally ask for him, but the panic wasn’t there. She learned how to focus, how to problem-solve, and how to push through difficult tasks on her own. Mochi, while still her cherished companion, was no longer the key to her success.
One afternoon, as she finished up a particularly challenging math test, she looked up at me with a grin. “Mom, I think I can do this even without him. Mochi’s just for fun now.”
I smiled back, proud of how far she’d come.
The twist in all this wasn’t just that my daughter learned how to do her homework without her kitten’s “help.” It was that through her attachment to Mochi, she’d discovered her own inner strength. Sometimes we lean on others, whether it’s a pet, a person, or a favorite toy, because it gives us comfort and reassurance. But in the end, we all have the power within ourselves to rise above our challenges and succeed on our own terms.
So, to anyone out there who might be feeling unsure or stuck: remember, you have what it takes to succeed. Sometimes it just takes a little nudge to see that you don’t need the crutches you’ve been relying on to stand tall.
And if you know someone who needs a little encouragement today, share this post with them. You never know who might need to hear that they’ve got this. Keep going, and remember—you can do it on your own, even if you’re surrounded by distractions.
