“Well, let me give you a tour. This is one of ten playschools we have in the capital. We tend to have smaller classes to allow our educators to have more one-on-one time with the students. Our students range from two to six years old and we’re thirty percent funded by the government and the rest is paid for by the attending families.” She walks us down a hall that’s lit up with construction paper flowers cut and glued together, creating a kaleidoscope garden.
“How adorable is this,” Lilly says while taking in all of the flowers. “Wait, are these lilies?”
Carina smiles proudly. “Yes, the kids and staff truly wanted to welcome you.”
“That’s so sweet.” She observes the flowers some more and then turns toward me. “Aren’t these beautiful?”
I nod, not much of a gushing man myself.
Cameras click from behind us as Lilly cutely smells one. “Ooo, they even have that lovely glue stick smell.” The people around us laugh, and I just admire my girl for so easily capturing hearts with one simple comment.
After we take in the art projects in the hallway, Lilly making sure to stop and admire some of her favorites, we’re brought into a classroom where kids in green-and-blue uniforms squirm on a round rug at the front of the room. They’re sitting cross-legged, hands in their laps, huge smiles stretched across their faces.
When Lilly comes into view, they all start clapping and cheering. It’s really fucking cute.
Two mini chairs sit at the front of the room. Chairs made for children, not adults, that we’re directed to. Henrik advised that we’d read a book to the class, but he didn’t mention the tiny chairs. With my hand in hers, Lilly brings me to the front of the classroom and takes a seat, tugging me to join her.
Christ.
Of course Lilly has no problem fitting her small ass in the chair. Me, on the other hand . . .
I maneuver my large body in front of the minuscule chair and then squat until my butt hits the surface. About six inches from the ground, my knees nearly kiss my shoulders as I attempt to make room for my body, but from the squirming kids inching closer, I have no room to stretch out.
So I hunch up and try to look comfortable.
From the smiles on the educators’ faces, I can tell I’m failing tremendously.
“I’m so happy to be here. How is everyone?” Lilly asks.
The kids all shout together, their tiny voices filling the room in a high-pitched squeal that causes me to flinch.
Can you tell I haven’t been around a lot of kids, or really any for that matter? I’ve spent my whole time working for the king among the palace walls, so being around this many kids is foreign to me.
I don’t know how to act.
How to talk to them.
How not to look like a giant troll that resurrected himself from a bridge to sit on a chair entirely too small for his body.
Cameras flash as reporters take notes and hold out recorders while Lilly leads the room in a collective song about counting cods. I just sit there, trying not to break my back from the immense amount of pain I’m experiencing.
“And this is how the cod counts, the cod counts, the cod counts,” Lilly sings next to me, clapping her hands.
I catch Henrik in the back, motioning for me to join in.
I smile through the pain and clap my hands with the kids as my lower back tenses, the fabric of my pants clinging tightly to my thighs. For fuck’s sake, don’t let my pants rip right in front of these kids.
“The cod counts, the cod counts, the cod counts.” Lilly laughs and sings.
Jesus, how long is the cod counting?
She looks over at me, and I smile through my grimace, nodding my head. Yup, the cod is still counting.
She takes my hand and waves them in the air, and the kids do the same. “The cod . . . cooooounnnnnttttssss,” Lilly sings loudly, the kids shrieking, and then the song is over. Everyone claps, me included, glad that nightmare is over.
“Wow, you’re such good singers,” Lilly says. “Should we sing it again?”
NO!
