Fan mail

On Saturday, L. took Cleo and a friend to see Milkshake, the Grammy-nominated, Baltimore-based children's band that's fronted by a woman whose child is an alumna of Cleo's nursery - and, more importantly, whose wardrobe tends towards flamboyant tutus. A good show, I gather: Cleo heard several of her favorite tunes, including the gentle 'I Love You,' and got to sit (and dance) in the front row. At one point, in fact, the lead singer asked Cleo what she'd had for breakfast - prompting, apparently a convulsion of shy gestures from the starstruck two-year-old. "Boogerberry muffins?" wondered the singer, helpfully. No, Cleo replied, cereal and strawberry muffins: a fabrication, but still a relatively coherent answer in the bright glare of fame.

And then, that evening, L. set Cleo up with the finger paints, so that she could create a thank-you note to the band. What wonderful things must land in these musicians' mailbox! Instead of the stock hurled lingerie, or a screamed proposal, they'll receive, tomorrow, a field of rainbow hues and a mom's appreciative note.

Making music might seem to be simple. But, as we learn again and again, the responses that it can provoke are far-ranging, and deeper than you might expect.