There was a time not long ago, maybe even a few months ago, when my dear oldest boy would sit down to draw and what would emerge from his crayons was a jumbled tangle of lines. There would be lines darting furiously in every direction, Mateo's hand moving like a roadrunner's legs. Then suddenly the line making madness would be over, and when I would ask him what it was, he would invariably say, "Oh, it's a rocket ship." Oh.  Okay.

But within the past few weeks, it's as though a light has gone on in that cute head of his and now there are recognizable shapes and even people and characters. Now he seeks out the time to draw, and has many ideas of what he wants to create. There are still lots and lots of ships, but these ships have definition and many cool features. Light rays, lasers, crystals with magic powers, "water tornadoes." He's created underground worlds with skyscrapers, glass spider webs, secret prisons laden with jellyfish. Lately he's begun dictating stories to me based on his work, and I've been amazed at the details. Where did this all suddenly come from? I can remember all those days I worried about him not having any sort of artistic expression. Another lesson in, it's all in their own time.