It's controversial, I know, so before the letters of complaint about blatant child cruelty and psychological damage come flooding in, I want to say that I do, of course, think his behaviour is outrageous. In real life, we should be praising our children up the yin-yang for their artistic endeavours, even if they do sometimes — or often, really — look like a pile of, um, poo.

And this is also not the moment where I want to get into a discussion about what is art? It's completely understood that every piece of playdough sculpture is precious and a unique expression of the individual child and, therefore, needs to be encouraged: even if the piece in question does closely resemble a rude body part.

Because here's the thing, it's okay when you're young to draw a couple of wiggly lines and call it a unicorn. It's sweet, it's cute, it's appealing.

But when you're an artistically challenged grown-up (unless of course you are showing at a modern art gallery, are a famous artist and have squillion-dollar price tags on your works) then life, as a parent, can be hell.

I can't draw a stick insect and when it comes to craft, well ... I'm crap! I got thrown out of pottery classes, aged 11, for being so hopeless. Which would be fine but, as a mother, I constantly have to be making things and I'm not really the "making things" kind of mother. I'm more the "Let's go to the mall and get one that's already made in China" kind of mother. Is that so bad? Apparently so, read on.

You see, creative mums make birthday cards, graphically design party invitations, hand-paint lunchbox name tags; you get the picture. It's so arty, sustainable and admirable. And frankly I can't take the pressure. Once, in a fit of madness, I decided to put together a wizard costume for my son, so I could feel, for once in my life, like a "proper mum".

I could have bought one pre-made from Myer for $30. But no, I got the fabric, I got the ribbon, I got the spangly bits — it cost a fortune. Two days and one hissy-fit later I took it to a local dressmaker who salvaged it for an additional cost of $90. Mmmm. But at least I could proudly claim it was homemade (sort of), as it wasn't actually made in my home. Honestly, am I the only person who's done this?

And if you are one of those talented-type mothers, who can (in your lunch break) run up a dress for your daughter's party that evening (no really, I had a friend who actually did this), then all I can say is, "Ease up, sport!" You aren't making life any easier for people like me, who send their children to school so teachers trained in felt shapes and double-sided tape can help them make masterpieces and clean up the mess afterwards.

So my excuse is buying the finished product means that I'm kick-starting the economy, even if it is someone else's. There's an art in that, somewhere.

Read more from Julie at her website Omigoddess

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