“What’s she doing?”

“Painting.”

“No, she’s not.”

“Sure she is. Just not with a brush. She does it with her eyes first.”

“Well, what is it of?”

“I’m not sure yet, but it must be really good. She’s been sitting there for hours.

“Wow.”

“I know. Dedication like that from a child her age? It’s unheard of!”

“Tell me about it. I can barely get my three to sit still, let alone get them interested in art.”

“It’s a blessing really. She sits there happy as a clam, doing something productive, and I get time for me. You know, like before we had kids.”

“You’re bad!”

“I know, but I deserve it.”

“Still, doesn’t it bother you that she’s stopped talking?”

“It did at first, but once I realized it enhanced her art, I let it go. She gets herself worked up into such a little frenzy, nothing can faze her. It’s like I’m not even here.”

“How nice. I just read an article about how children with hobbies have higher self-esteems. I’ll clip it for you.”

“I’ve been thinking about writing into one of those talk shows that interview genius children.”

“She’d fit right in with a talent like that, no doubt about it.”

“Just between you and me, Bob’s been making a fuss.”

“Oh, really?”

“But you know how men can be. He insisted we take her to the doctor.”

“What’d he say?”

“That she’s severely artistic, like I didn’t already know!”

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