My 6-year-old recently surprised me with this doodle taped to a metal loop in the headboard on my side of the bed. I told her I’d put it on my blog, along with her comments.

Me: What should I write?
Her: First, I want to tell you about it. I tried really hard to draw it, and I’m interested in doing the way my daddy draws, and his way, and I really like it.

Me: What is it?
Her: It is a picture of me. You can keep asking me questions.

Me: OK. Why did you draw it?
Her: Because I was interested in it. In the way you draw, I mean.

Me: What does it make you think of?
Her: It makes me think of you.

Me: That’s very sweet. Thank you.
Her: You’re welcome. Next question.

Me: Do you think you might have a job that involves drawing someday?
Her: Eh, maybe.

Me: What would you like to do when you’re my age?
Her: I think maybe be a writer like you. For the pictures.

(At this point she dropped a pomegranate seed she was eating and declared, “This could be a major drama,” before getting a towel to clean it up. I found it and ate it before it could stain the rug at all.)

Me: For the pictures? What does that mean?
Her: That means that I really like your pictures and I want to draw like you.

Me: Well, thank you. Let’s do this again some time.
Her: OK.

—bedtime—