Public daycare allows for things private daycare does not, such as a town-wide gathering of all the toddlers in a big square, with exhibitions of their work and cookies and singing.
As we made our way towards the crammed square, I envisioned chaos, toddler hordes chasing any cookie-bearing adults down and devouring them for their crumbs.
But, this being nice, neutral Sweden, the exhibition was lovely. We saw NK’s ceramic worm, her homemade hedgehog and the grass she grew in a little box. We found lots of allergy-friendly goodies. She blew bubbles and ran around the fountain splashing things with a stick.
Her teachers never materialized for the singing, though, so I held her and made my way up to the steps. We got stuck up there with the kids, off to the side with some other parents, but still on the steps. NK knew all the words and hand motions and sang her heart out.
Sadly, I did not know all the songs. Or even half of the hand motions.
I hope no one noticed.
Then this morning I asked a teacher why NK’s class was not together (I spotted six of her classmates being held across the crowd by parents) and she said there was a teacher, of course.
I just looked vague and started talking about NK falling off the slide as we made our way home. No sense in getting into an argument. This is where not being fluent is a beauty, it allows for escapes.