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There is enough paper in our living room to keep the Australian Taxation Office running for the entire 2021 – 22 fiscal year. It’s on the floors, walls, dinner and coffee tables and last week a sneaky A4 sheet was found shoved in my two-year-old son’s nappy.

There’s so much paper in my life I feel like the copy boy in a cheesy American comedy film. My world is paper. It is everywhere. Just one of the many pitfalls of a nearly seven-year-old daughter (my other kidlet) who thinks she’s Michelangelo painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

The Mini-Cliffo obsession with all things paper and drawing started long ago.

The moment my daughter could grip a pencil – she was off. And being of the firm belief that paper makes a better canvas than our freshly painted walls; the whole paper thing was born and has continued to this day. Our fridge door perennially looks like judging day at the Archibald Prize. Thank God for free magnets from vets and fish and chip shops.

In traditional fashion, the love of all things “Art Attack” was passed onto my son who turns two this month. His big sister does it – hence, he must do it. Only thing is, little Charlie didn’t get the “no drawing on walls” memo. He is one of those kids who believes his art must be shared with the world. A regular “Banksy” he is. Thank God for those little magic wipes you run under the tap. Also heads-up parents, at Coles they’re only $4.00 a pack and powerful enough to strip the wall back to Gyprock. They have saved us more than once.

But of course, I’m being tongue-in-cheek about all this (minus the drawing on the wall part). It’s obviously amazing my kids want to pick up a pencil/pen/crayon/anything pointy and draw with it. In a world full of computers, I-Crap and social media, the old creative outlets still seem to be the best. Now, if we could just keep that creativity off Mum and Dad’s bone white walls – that would be swell. Big Love.

Cliffo's son Charlie

Cliffo’s son Charlie