Each of our fellas has a sketch pad within arm's reach from where he sits in the car, as none of them can be far from paper and pen.
Needing some paper to write on while I watched my guys play catch at a park one recent evening, I grabbed the nine-year-old's sketchpad. Flipping through its pages was like peeking into his imagination and his world.
I thought maybe you'd like to have a peek, too, at some random drawings.
I'll be sharing with you a regular view into the boys' sketchbooks each week, mostly from the six and nine-year-old's, and some from the four-year-old, too, although I don't have to have a drawing to know what's in his head.
Because I already know.
I know because of a song he was singing the other day. Over and over the other day. On and on the other day. It was a short song; a succinct one-liner.
It went like this:
There are balls in my head,
There are balls in my head,
There are balls in my head,
There are balls in my head,
Ad nauseam.
At least now we know.
