Cleo's generally a pretty focused kid these days; she can really bury herself in a princess book, leafing slowly through the pictures and quietly mouthing an accompanying narrative, and it's not unusual to find her spending ten minutes or even longer on one of her sprawling, colorful drawings. Heck, the girl even got engrossed by a nature video (African Cats, a beautiful film about African lions and cheetahs), in sections, over the past few days.
Such concentration can be fun to watch, even if it's also a touch isolating: she is, momentarily, in her own world. Occasionally, though, a stray comment or sung line will give a bystander a rough sense of what she's thinking about. Just yesterday, for instance, she and I were sitting in the car, waiting as L. dropped off her computer, for repairs. Cleo was quiet for a few moments, and then started to clap with the music on the radio. And, suddenly, after clapping rhythmically for a bit, she brightly exclaimed, in an apparent reference to herself, "Keep the beat up, sparkle girl!" And then, from a slightly different perspective, and in a reassuring voice: "Very good, class."
Very good, indeed - for if Cleo is happy doing her thing, she's also pretty neatly convinced that she does it well. This morning, for instance, she sat down purposefully with her markers and crayons, and produced a dynamic drawing of Rapunzel, in her tower, flanked by the witch and by a prince concealed by a tree. When she finished, she showed it to me, and proudly proclaimed that she is the best drawer in the world. "Well," replied her rather dully literal dad, "there are a lot of good drawers in the world." And she, unfazed: "But I get letters. I creep downstairs, and open the mailbox, and get lots of letters from people saying how good I am."
Well, then. Turns out she's not alone at all, even when she appears to be. Very good, class.
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