After enduring my first toddler art-together class, I have determined that condoms are clearly not the best form of birth control. Quite frankly, I would not be surprised if our poor sweet art teacher decided to never have children.
I know I'm coming off the cusp of writing about how mothers need to bond together and support one another in our choices. However, it's very hard to do that when you're surrounded by mothers who feel the need to lecture the art teacher about how their child is not shredding paper but rather engaging in developmentally appropriate paper cutting. Ack.
Or, the other mother who brought her 15-month old to a 2-4 year old art class and just let her dump an entire tray of paint on the floor while she gives a play by play of everything her other daughter is doing. However, I was too distracted by her pairing of heels, jeans shorts, and banana clip to remember exactly what her daughter was doing with the "bright yellow paint that is now on the paintbrush, and now making a catepillar, and now on the floor..."
The only thing the class did for me, other than mesmerize my art-obsessed daughter for an hour, was remind me why people hate to be around mothers. Seriously, if I was stuck in a room with these ladies (oh, wait, I was), I would not want to hang out with a mom. Ever.
The developmentally appropriate mom was too busy using her blackberry to actually enjoy the class with her child. Hello. It's called ART-TOGETHER. Her excuse was that her child would only do stuff with someone else, NOT HER. That wasn't surprising to me considering the first thing she said to me after "hello" was "Don't look at him when he comes in or he won't come in the room. Didn't you hear me [I looked at him thinking she was joking and because when someone tells you not to look, um, you look]? I said not to look." Okay, I'm so not ever looking at your child. Yowsa.
The loud sportscaster mommy was clopping around after her 15-month old who was covered in paint while yelling at her other daughter that coloring did NOT mean painting (like you're going to tell a little girl she can't paint when EVERY other child in the room is painting...). She'd come over every now and then and tell my daughter that "daddy's going to LOVE that picture, isn't he?" My daughter just gave her the Go away loud lady stare that my polite smile was trying to say.
And me? I was sitting with my sweet daughter as she painted a glorious picture of a big purple blob.
Look. I know my daughter isn't two yet and everyone (all those really supportive mothers) tries to tell me that I have a rude awakening ahead of me. However, I like to think that my daughter, who still does have tantrums and fits, is inherently kind, gentle, and quietly brilliant. And while a crazy art class might be good birth control for some, it actually made me want to have more kids. And never see those mothers again... at least until next week, in the music class, that I teach. What's that thing about karma again?