10/09/2011 15:11 BST | Updated 22/05/2015 10:12 BST

Achtung Baby: Fine Art

Child drawing Corbis

Finje appears to be going through a "Tortured Artist" stage at the moment. Having previously shown only sporadic interest in colouring in or painting by numbers, she has recently discovered the positive and calming aspect of picking up a crayon.

Extreme emotions seem to be the prime motivation behind her pieces. When she finds herself in a bother, is very sad or über happy she disappears off to her room emerging some time later clutching a wad of paper and keen to show and tell. Yesterday, following a minor incident, she was asked to go and have a "good think" (yes, I really said that) about her behaviour.

What followed was a serious (hormonal) mum-fail succeeded by a steep learning curve. In my defence it isn't always immediately clear exactly what Finje-The-Artist is trying to convey in her pieces, but my short tempered snappy tone was uncalled for and I regretted it immediately:

"What is that? It looks like scribble to me. I know you can do better."

Disappointed and frustrated she nonetheless attempted to explain. What I had dismissed as scribble was her attempt to make the sky look dark because it was supposed to be night time. It was only then, prompted by my conscience, I took a moment to really look at her drawing. Sinking into a pit of guilt and shame I took in the detail of her pictures.

The night sky was the background for a space ship and a rather impressive ringed Saturn and Jupiter with her distinctive red dot.

What I'd taken to be erratic doodles told the story of a yellow elk visiting his friend (blond) Finje in a castle with a gigantic staircase.

By the time I got to the obvious family portrait (breasts and all), I was appropriately contrite and found myself, by way of purging the guilt, considering the unthinkable.

I did contemplate, just for a second, sticking the pictures on the fridge door. This, an act, in my opinion, perilously close in cringe-factor to showing a photo of your child from the see-through compartment of your purse to a complete stranger you found yourself chatting to on the train.

But I didn't do it in the end.

Note to self, it's all in the detail.