The drive to the art center was quite lovely. We drove through one of my favorite neighborhoods in our area, one that I hope to live in someday (tree lined streets and unique older homes). When we arrived the first thing I noticed was that the parking lot was much fuller than it was the last time. While my husband got our son out, I got our nine month old daughter situated in my wrap carrier. We walked towards the education wing of the art center. I immediately noticed that there were small children exiting carrying portfolios like we had gotten last time. This was not a good sign. Once across the threshold, we were asked if we needed any help. I replied that we were for the two to four year old art class at eleven thirty. We were sent to talk to one of the art teachers in the art room. There were a few parents and small children still getting their portfolios. My heart sank, we had missed the class without a doubt. I approached one of the art teachers and told her that I thought the class was at eleven thirty and she looked really confused (apparently all Friday two to four year old classes are at ten thirty). After another mother gave me a dirty look (no clue what her problem was), the teacher correctly observing that I was more than a little distressed that we had missed the class (our son had been talking about for days and was super excited to take another art class), she took me into the office, double checked the time for me online to make sure that it was correct (which it was I just read it incorrectly … three times!). I was so stressed out that we had missed our son’s class!
(To be continued …)