Every parent hits the same three-way squeeze:
They draw on the wall anyway.
You can say no forty times. The impulse doesn't go anywhere — it just relocates to the door frame.
The easel ate the floor.
Four square feet, permanently in the way, and it gets folded up and forgotten by month two.
The tablet keeps winning.
Not because you want it to. Because it's the only thing they'll choose on their own while you cook.
Nothing you buy looks like it belongs.
Bright plastic in a room you also live in. So the playroom slowly takes over the house.
The problem isn't that they draw. It's that nowhere in the house is theirs to draw on.