Pre-School Poet’s Society

, , , , , | Learning | April 20, 2018

(I work at a daycare and am filling in for the teacher in charge of the two-year-olds. While I am pouring paint to do their art project, they get impatient. I look up and see five two-year-olds standing on their chairs.)

Me: “Get down! OH! Wait… Can you say, ‘O captain, my captain’?”

Two-Year-Olds: “O captain, my captain!”

Me: *dying*

Needs A Change Of Parent

, , , , | Right | April 19, 2018

(I am what they call a “floater” — basically a substitute — at a local day-care. This means I might work with different age groups each shift I am called in to work. Today, I am working in the one-year-old room. We have a schedule for when we change the children’s diapers, but they are also periodically checked throughout the day. A coworker and I have our group playing outside in the fenced-in area. A mom comes up to the fence to pick up her baby after signing her child out of the office. I hand the child over the fence to the mother, then go in to get her child’s things. She takes her child and the things to the car just a few feet away, so I think nothing more of it. A minute later the mother comes back to me, holding her child out in front of her as if she is disgusted by her.)

Mother: “She needs to be changed.”

(I wordlessly stare at the mother for a few seconds before it registers to me that, yes, this is actually happening. Not wanting to cause a scene or fuss with the mother, I take the child back in, change her, bring her back out to the mother, and hand her back over the fence.)

Coworker: “Did she really just bring her child back to us just so we could change her?”

Me: “Yep.”

(Both of us stared at the mother as she drove away, wondering how in the world some people ever became parents.)

A Santa Existential Crisis

, , , , | Working | December 22, 2017

(I am assisting a line of parents when a woman storms up to the counter. She seems rather upset. This happens close to Christmas.)

Mother: “Sorry, but could you tell me where [Coworker] is, please?”

(I shout for her.)

Coworker: “Hi! Can I help?”

Mother: “Did you tell my daughter that Santa doesn’t exist?”

(Silence falls on the room.)

Coworker: “How old is she?”

Mother: “Five.”

Coworker: “Yes.”

Mother: “Why?”

Coworker: “Because Christmas is nothing more than a commercial holiday nowadays, and your daughter doesn’t need to be told a MAN is going to be getting her everything she wanted for Christmas.”

Mother: *with a rigid smile* “It was also the only reason what was looking forward to Christmas this year, after seeing her father die right before her eyes last Christmas Day.”

Coworker: *going pale* “Oh, umm—”

Mother: “So, thank you. Thank you for ruining Christmas. The first two Christmases my daughter is going to remember: seeing her father collapse on a dollhouse they were building together, and learning that Santa doesn’t exist from a virtual stranger. Thank you, you self-righteous b****!”

(The woman ran out of the daycare in hysterics. Everyone else then turned towards [Coworker], and she barely had time to escape before utter chaos ensued. We lost a lot of business that day (to which we have yet to recover), and [Coworker] was let go for her conduct. I got in touch with the woman with condolences and apologies. She accepted, but said she wouldn’t be coming back. I don’t blame her.)

Scream Bloody Murder At The Sight Of Blood

, , | Healthy | December 11, 2017

(My son is 18 months old. I am planning on entering him in daycare and returning to work. I check around, and choose a daycare in part because of the above and beyond training the staff all have, including comprehensive (instead of emergency only) first aid training, annually. About three weeks after I enroll him, I get a call at work from a frantic daycare worker, who speaks perfect English, despite what happens next.)

Worker: “Your son was climbing on a chair and fell. He hit his head quite badly. There is a lot of blood coming out of his ear, and he hasn’t moved in 15 minutes!”

Me: “Is he talking or doing anything!”

Worker: “No, he hasn’t done anything at all since he fell. Maybe you should come pick him up.”

Me: “Call an ambulance. That’s very serious. Call right away. I’ll be there soon!”

(I throw my keys at my boss, barely tell him that my son is hurt and I have to go, run out of work, and drive like an idiot, all while picturing the most horrible things, and arrive just as the ambulance gets there.  The ambulance attendants and I rush inside to find my son calmly lying in a staff member’s lap, getting read to, trying to reach up and grab the book closer to himself. When he sees me he gets up and runs over to me, gabbing away the whole time. The staff member I talked to originally turns to me and the ambulance attendants.)

Worker: “That’s the first time he’s gotten up since he fell. He’s been lying in her lap reading books for the last half hour. We checked him over and he’s nicked his earlobe, which HAS bled quite a lot. That’s why I thought his mom should pick him up, but she insisted I call the ambulance, so I thought I better comply. Lawsuits, you know.” *stupid giggle*

(The ambulance attendants were extremely disgruntled to be called out for something that clearly wasn’t an emergency of any sort, and the worker keeps trying to blame me (‘New parents! Always overreacting to normal childhood bumps and bruises. Insisted I call an ambulance, etc.’) I may have lost it a little bit, yelling at her that her wildly inaccurate description of his injuries is why I insisted on her calling the ambulance, and that she had caused not only a huge waste of time for emergency services, but also extreme anxiety for me in her effort to make the story seem more interesting, or whatever her problem was.)

Make You Laugh Like A Donkey

, , , , , , | Learning | November 12, 2017

(The summer before I start fourth grade, at age nine, I spend most days at a summer school/daycare hybrid with lots of kids up to my age. It’s brilliantly organized; each week has a specific educational theme, with snacks and activities and guests all focused on that theme all week, often including a Friday field trip related to it, too. One week in particular is focused on animals or farm life or something. We have a guest speaker who is telling us about different farm animals.)

Guest: “And what is this animal?”

Class: “A horse!”

Guest: “Right! What about this one? Kind of looks similar…”

Class: “A donkey!”

Guest: “That’s right! And did you know that sometimes a horse and a donkey will have a baby? Does anyone know what we call a half-horse, half-donkey?”

(My hand shoots up enthusiastically.)

Guest: “Yes?”

Me: “A JACKA**!”

(The class, and some of the instructors, erupt in laughter.)

Guest: *awkwardly* “Well, no, we call it a mule.”

Page 1/1312345...Last
Next »