Got dignity?

Girlie's artwork was chosen to be on display in our city's school offices and this week they had a small reception for the show.

Turns out Girlie's work was actually on display in the Superintendent's office. It was an amazing self-portrait done in pastels.

Before we even got there, Little Guy was on a tear, so I really should have known what was coming.

At the reception, he had the manic energy, what I call the rips. He ran away from me, grabbed things he wasn't supposed to touch, wouldn't listen to anything. At one point he plopped down in the Superintendent's chair and started riffling through the guy's desk. Under any other circumstance, I would have whisked him outside to the car, but this was supposed to be something nice for Girlie, about Girlie, so I picked him up, bribed him with a cookie, and left Girlie to chat with her art teacher.

A few minutes later we returned and Mr. Superintendent himself is in the office. As I am introducing myself, Little Guy spots a basketball on his shelf, likely some signed Celtics memorabilia. He starts squirming to get to it while I'm holding on to him for dear life.

Then Little Guy sort of whacks me in the head pretty hard. Mr. Superintendent is still commenting on the artwork, but clearly he sees me getting throttled by the three year old. In his office.

We do leave then, by the time we get to the car it only gets worse, but I'll spare you the details, and frankly I'd like to block them from my memory.

So, rationally, I can see what happened here. Little Guy had been at preschool all day (where his teacher reported that he'd had a great day, seriously?). I picked him up, ran a few short errands, and came home. As soon as Girlie got home we headed for the car.

Little Guy needed to burn off some energy before we went inside again. He'd been at preschool all day exhibiting model behavior and he'd had enough. I get it.

That night I couldn't recover. After dinner, I yelled at Little Guy, Girlie, Hubs. The dog.

At one point, Hubs pulls me into the living room and in his voice for crazy people he asks if I can think of a way I might approach things differently. I eyeball the fireplace tools and consider whacking him with them. Suddenly I'm the three year old.

It was that kind of day.

Art appreciation

So today I am heading to Girlies school to do an art presentation. I volunteer with a program to supplement art education in the classroom. Because of the budget cuts, the kids only get a half year of art class, so the rest of the time a small group of parents fill in on a rotating basis. We present a famous piece of art, talk about the artist, and do a project. Pretty simple stuff.

The thing is, I am not an artist, not that familiar with art history, and a little intimidated by the prospect of grabbing the attention of an entire class of second graders. Give me a room full of adults any day, but little people? They scare me. But I do it, because I feel very strongly that art is an important part of developing a whole person. The program is pretty organized and the school provides most of the materials. While it is art, and I am the type who can barely draw a stick figure, we are talking elementary school art, so I think I can handle it.

We're looking at Van Gogh's The Starry Night. I will talk about the painting, and Van Gogh himself, and then another mother will lead a related art project. I decided to make star shaped sugar cookies, because every kid loves a cookie, and if my presentation is a little boring I'll just whip a cookie out. Hey, kid! Look, a cookie! Anyway, I am working on the cookies and reading over the materials when Girlie mentions that they will be having a substitute teacher the day of my presentation.

And that the substitute is last year's art teacher, Mr. B.

Fabulous.

Then I called the other mother to confirm the head count and found out that we are combining classes. So I'll have sixty kids instead of thirty.

Outstanding.

Which is why I am up at 5 AM to bake a second batch of star cookies. For sixty kids. And preparing to impersonate the art teacher. While he watches.

Maybe I should have just volunteered to correct the spelling tests.