When I was a kid, I drew for hours on a seemingly endless ream of printer paper that my dad brought home from work. It had perforated edges, with tiny little holes every 1/8" or so. I loved folding those long ribbons of paper into garlands, or rolling them up into tight circles just to watch them unravel as I threw them at my older brother. This was just one benefit to that paper.
I could draw.
I could color.
I practiced trying to make my handwriting more creative and perfect, containing both shorthand and cursive (that didn't last).
My preferred drawing utensil was the crayon. Specifically Crayola. The Crayola crayon box of 12 wasn't going to cut it, oh, no. I had endless paper, I certainly needed that 24 box, then the 48, then... onto the hard stuff - 64 count!! (With its amazing crayon sharpener on the back.)
OH! The places I went with that wonderful, endless ream of paper and that super big box of crayons! Until one day, that paper supply ended. I found I no longer had a connection, but I still had crayons.
Then I discovered the wall along the stairway could be drawn on.
But that is another story.