Art Smart
Ah the call of crayons and tempra paint! The crisp white paper waiting to capture the genius within our children!
I have recently been gifted a luxury by my husband, who has agreed to watch the boys each Saturday morning while I walk to the local YMCA and take a pilates class. Each time I saunter out of my class, I pass by the adjacent art room at the Y. I stop and watch as a few children sit quietly at low art tables and experiment with markers, crayons, and (I imagine) their own artistic voices. They look so adorable that I convince my saintly husband to agree to bring the boys over after my class the following Saturday so we can partake in this charming scene ourselves.
Fast forward to Thursday, when I realize that the art class is also offered that morning. On a whim I decide to test the waters myself, before our big art family outing. What can go wrong, I think? We color all the time at home! Hmm, there may be markers so I’ll simply outfit the boys in our grubbies and off we go!
We arrive and, unlike the small gathering of children I expected, we are met by scores of people lining up for tickets! Tickets? We line up (not an easy feat with two 17 mo olds!) and proceed to not get any tickets, but instead sign our names to a waiting list. Half an hour later we get the green light to head into our first artistic experience! We enter the art room and my idyllic, Sunday-in-the-park-with-George art moment is shattered.
We are met with the smell of paint, shrieking 4 year olds running around the room with rainbow colored hands, and a floor that resembles Pollock’s finest work. We seem to be the youngest kids by far in the room, but I breathe and remember we are in our grubbies so what can go wrong? The boys entertain themselves by climbing into and out of the kiddie chairs, while I attempt to locate a few pieces of paper. I am given a paper plate full of paint and have to fully explain why I need 2 sheets of paper before being handed a “double paper portion” by the suspicious supply lady. I am told, when I inquire, that the absence of paintbrushes is part of the creativity for the day. Okay, I think, the boys totally would have preferred hands to paintbrushes anyway, what can go wrong?
I bring our supplies back to the table only to find the boys have already scoped out the paint supplies of the kid next to them and have sampled the goods. By which I mean they ate the kid’s paint. By the disgusted looks on their faces I convince myself this is a one time occurrance and dig in my bag to find: snacks, sippies, toys of all shapes and sizes, but not a single wet wipe. Okay, I think, we have our own paper now, so the boys will definitely prefer to put the paint on paper from here on out-
The paper remains relatively empty, but not their mouths. Within seconds S looks like he’s bleeding from the mouth with red paint, and R is taste-testing orange and green. I show the boys how they can use their hands to bring the paint to the paper instead of their teeth, but to no avail. I am forced to abandon the paint chow-down in a desperate search for something to wipe them down with. The supply lady motions me to the end of the table towards three sad brown paper towel strips and a pitcher with 1/2 an inch of water. I throw caution to the wind (and gain the shock of the supply patrol) by grabbing all three strips, dunking them in the pitcher, and rushing back in hopes of getting some paint off my artists’ tongues.
While wiping up the red mess that has become S’s face. R continues the smorgasbord on a quest for the one color that will prove delicious. The flimsy towels are no challenge for the mess we’ve made, so I eventually grab each boy under an arm and begin the 100 yard dash back to our stroller.
My husband chuckles that night when I tell him of our escapade, and yet still seems game for trying again on Saturday. Fine, I think, he’ll see how it is! I dress the boys in the same grubbies from a few days before. I pack extra wipes before heading out to my class.
I am met in the art room afterwards, by my 3 men and crayons!, markers! and multi-colored paper! The only sign of the former chaos is the paint murals lining the walls of the room. I am relieved and a little disappointed all at once.
The boys attack their paper with gusto. Not a crayon touches their lips. Their dad looks at me as if to say: Really? This is so hard? I see him living the Sunday-in-the-Park-with-George art fantasy moment. He is the taking in the brilliance his boys are laying down on the paper. I sigh, but at least I have my hands free to snap a pic for posterity.
