He has two highchairs – one for eating and another for coloring. He goes to the coloring chair and says “chair,” except that it sounds more like char, and that is how he tells us he wants to draw.
I pick him up, slide him in, give him his 8-pack of washable Crayolas and the backside of a salvaged piece of junkmail. Within a minute, he has tossed each crayon onto the floor, along with the paper, and he is pounding to get out from behind his empty rainbow-scratched tray.
So I let him out and he crouches down to pick up the crayons and carefully, intently, he slots each one back into their box. It is here he will spend many more minutes than he ever spent drawing.