Apparently, Art Camp Has a Dress Code
I have enrolled Hayden, breaker of all crayons, in art camp. Creative Arts Camp, to be specific. Which, by the tuition, you’d think included a new violin for each kid.
Because I certainly cannot play with tiny Legos for the entire month of August while he is on vacation from school, especially when I am trying to pack all of the stuff we have accumulated over the past eight years.
Did I mention that we bought a pirate ship?
Right. Art camp.
So, two days ago, Hayden comes home from art camp, pulls off his big-bog New Balance and says, “my teacher at Doomiflatch School says that I need to wear shoes that are easier to put on.”
Excuse me? As in, easier to tie?
Last I checked, three year-olds are not supposed to know how to tie shoes, but grown-ups are. And as a teacher of an art camp for three year-olds? I think this woman should expect to have to tie the occasional shoe.
“You tell your teacher that these are the only shoes you have.”
Which is true. Almost.
Then yesterday, around 4:30, just as Hayden and I are sitting down to our geriatric dinner, the phone rings. With a mouth full of pasta…
“Yes, Mrs. M? This is So-and-So from Doomiflatch School.”
“Um, this is kind of awkward…”
And I think she is about to tell me my son has a secret hitting problem or keeps showing his penis to the class or something else AWKWARD.
“Do you think Hayden could wear different shoes to Art Camp? You see, he gets frustrated trying to get them on and off and it takes him a long time and so he gets left behind by the other kids. Because the kids have to take off their shoes to enter the dance room.”
And I really have to stop myself from reminding her that she is a teacher of three year-olds and needs to help my child tie his shoes and if I hear of him getting frustrated or left behind again I will ream her a new asshole and get my money back.
A brief silence from me prompts her to go on.
“You know, he could wear Crocs, or slipons…”
“We wear real shoes, lady, not Crocs.” “Those are the only shoes he has. He has very flat feet, and we’ve had a problem with ingrown toenails, so he has to wear supportive shoes.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll just make sure one of the assistants helps him, then.”
– – – – – – – – – –
So, yes, since he actually has four pair of shoes, I managed to force him to wear a different pair of shoes today. Some Velcro closed-toe Tevas. They are far from cool or comfortable, and he didn’t like it one bit. In the car on the way there, he was already complaining that they “hurt.”
And now, he is fake crying in his room because I told him he had to have rest time so I could blog and tweet and deny my need to pack boxes and I am going to blame all of his whining on the art camp teacher.