Billy started drawing this week. Not just scribbling. Not just stabbing the paper with a pen. Not peeling the paper from the crayons or breaking them or, worse yet, eating them (though we haven't seen that last one in a while, thankfully).

No, he's been drawing. People. People with hair. People with beards. People with arms and legs. And always with smiles.

He and I have a deal. If he goes to the potty, he can watch "Baby Signing Time" while I load the dishwasher. But he has to draw while he watches the TV in his play room. The first time I explained this deal to him, I set up a piece of art paper on his easel (Ms. Stacee, his occupational therapist at school, explained to me that autistic children find it easier to draw on a vertical surface), turned on "Baby Signing Time," and handed him an orange crayon.

"Draw what you see on TV!" I said to him with a bright smile, trying to make it sound like the most fun activity ever.

He gave me a weird look, and I fully expected to come back into the room and find him peeling the crayon while staring transfixed at the TV. I had to get the kitchen cleaned up, though, because we had guests coming so I left him with it.

When I came back into the room, I was totally shocked that he had followed my instructions. To the letter. The entire surface of the TV screen was orange. And he had his eyeball half a millimeter from the screen, trying desperately to see his program through the crayon.

He had drawn what he saw on TV. On the TV.

And he looked up at me like, "Hey, don't look at me. This was YOUR big idea." I couldn't help but laugh.

Over the past few weeks, when he gets his TV time, he's humored me by making a few half-hearted squiggles on the paper. But the big breakthrough moment came when I wasn't looking.

I copied a move that I saw our private occupational therapist, Kathy Merydith, do during one of her sessions with him: I drew three circles on the paper and said, "Now, can you give the balloons faces?" Then I trotted off to the kitchen to get dinner started and left him to it.

Fifteen minutes later, I realized it was way too quiet in the play room. I ducked my head, expecting to catch him in the act of filling the puppets with Moon Sand or running over Willow's baby doll with his fire truck.

But no. He was still drawing. The three "balloons" now had happy faces, green beards and LEGS! With feet! The cutest little "Ls" emerged from the bottom of each head. And a crooked smile adorned each face, along with both eyes and a nose. I called Dave to tell him the news and he confessed that he was more happy and shocked at that moment than he had been when Willow took her first steps. Willow, who already says two dozen words and colors as well as Billy did just two months ago, will probably always have to work that much harder to amaze us. I know that's not great parenting, and the subject of another blog could probably be how to make the "normal" sibling of a special needs child feel "special" herself, so when I figure that out, maybe I'll write about it.

Anyway, over dinner, we all admired Billy's picture again and dubbed it "Three Happy Guys." Over breakfast the next morning, he reached for his sketch pad and furiously filled it with drawing after drawing, which we named "A Pear Takes a Walk," "Clown Face" and "Daddy Needs a Shave."

Of course, the first thing I did was go out and buy him every art supply known to man. I have sketch books of every size, crayons of every texture, shape, color, and surface, including the bath tub, and a variety of paints.

This morning, he sat down with his Pop-Tart and sketch book and began to draw carefully and slowly. First, there is a giant head. Often, this fills most of the available space. Then he made two dashes for the eyes and added a crooked smile and a round nose. "Where are his legs?" I asked. He thought for a second and then added the miniature "Ls" emerging from Mr. Big Head. Then he hesitated, put crayon back to paper and made straight lines emerge from both sides of the head. "Are those arms?" I asked.

"Arms!" he agreed. Then, "He's sleeping!"

You could have knocked me over with a feather. That was the first time he narrated or explained what he was drawing for me.

"Sleeping?" I just repeated.

"Needs a blankie!" he shouted back to me.

"Well, let's draw him a blankie!" I shouted back. Billy grabbed a yellow crayo and drew a roundish blob on the front of Mr. Big Head.

"Needs a pillow!" he shouted again. Intonation, as you might have guessed, could still use some work. While he's starting to communicate great, Billy tends to shout everything as though he's calling a Bingo game. But I was so excited I was shouting too.

We continued like this, with him adding a pillow, "covers," which is apparently different from "blankie," and "Brown Bear" to the bedroom scene. Then he abruptly decided that "Billy Goes to Sleep" was a completed masterpiece and asked very politely, "Can I be excused?" And he ran off to stage a race between Lightning McQueen and Batman until it was time to leave for school.

I just couldn't stop staring at the picture. After he left for school, I Googled "drawing" and "child development" and found this link:

http://www.learningdesign.com/Portfolio/DrawDev/kiddrawing.html

And this description seems to suggest that Billy is right on target, age-appropriate, with his drawing.

That chart also suggested that kids at this age start to work out problems with their drawings, and I wondered if there was anything going on at night that was bothering Billy. He has several “brown bears” that sleep with him and two pillows, and he has plenty of “covers,” so all I can figure is that maybe he wants a yellow blanket. Or to grow a beard.

I love Billy's drawings. And as I looked through the pages and pages that he has filled in his sketch book the last few days I was struck by how all the faces are smiling. I know that's not unusual in children's drawings, but I think it reflects something beautiful about a child's soul. As Picasso said, “Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.” I hope Billy never loses that part of himself that sees smiling faces everywhere.