(I am picking up my three-year-old daughter from daycare one afternoon. We cross the parking lot to my car.)

Me: “How was school today, sweetie?”

Daughter: “I found a snack!”

Me: “You did? Was it yummy?”

Daughter: “Mommmmmyyyyyy! You don’t eat snacks!”

Me: “What are you talking about, [Daughter]?”

(My daughter stops walking, sets her backpack down, opens it up, and pulls out her “snack,” which happens to be a dead snake.)

Me: “AAAAAHHHHHH!”

(I screamed so loud that two policemen eating lunch in the sandwich shop across the street heard me and came running. Later, one of them said it sounded like someone was having their legs pulled off.)

This story is part of our Snakes roundup!

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(I am a secretary at a big summer camp. Due to the extended needs of our small children, we only take kids through age 12. I answer a call.)

Me: “Hello, this is [Camp]; how may I help you?”

Mother: “I’d like to register my son for the finger-painting class.”

Me: “That’s excellent. May I just ask your son’s age?”

Mother: “Certainly, he’s 17.”

Me: “…I’m sorry, but I don’t think we can take your son.”

Mother: “Why?!”

Me: “Because we only take children up to age 12, and anyhow, this class is for our five-year-old age group. If you’d like, I can refer you to [teen camp]; they’re better suited to teens.”

Mother: “No! You’re going to take my son! He wants this class!”

Me: “I’m really sorry, but that rule is set in stone. We can’t bend it. Like I said, I can help you—”

Mother: “NO! NO! NO! You sign him up right now or I’ll have you fired!” *to son* “Here, Little Johnny! Tell this b**** to put you in the class!”

Little Johnny: “Yeah, I know the class is for five-year olds. My mom just doesn’t want me to go see my dad. Sorry about that. She’s an idiot. Bye.”

Mother: *in background* “LITTLE JOHNNY! DON’T TELL HER THAT!” *click*

(My husband is British, and I am Canadian. I have moved overseas for him, and we have started a family. Because I am a foreigner, and the fact that a couple other woman in the community do not believe that I deserve my husband, I am the target of rude gossip and mean remarks, which I usually ignore. I am picking my son up from daycare, and overhear a couple boys my son’s age talking to him.)

Boy #1: “My mother tells me I’m not to play with you; your mum is an evil witch!”

Boy #2: “My mum told me your mum put a spell on your dad so he’d marry her, and then when he had you he was stuck!”

(They continue with a few more taunts asking if I’m a witch. I am close to tears because my son is being pulled into this stupid grudge. I am about to take my son and leave, when he suddenly pipes up.)

Son: “Oh, I know she’s a witch. You know how?”

(Both boys shake their heads.)

Son: “Because everything she does is magic!”

(I really start crying now and hug my son tightly. He never understood until years later just how much his words meant to me. The gossip didn’t go away for a long time, but I had my son’s support for his ‘witchy mother’.)

(At my nephew’s daycare, children are being ‘screened’ to see if they need pre-K education. My nephew is about three years old.)

Teacher: “Can you tell me your first name?”

Nephew: “George.”

Teacher: “And what is your last name?”

Nephew: “Of the jungle.”

(He got docked points for that!)

(I’m the room leader and am talking to a coworker. This happens during shift when we are in the room with the children.)

Me: “Did you have a good weekend, [coworker]?”

Coworker: “Yeah, I went out drinking with some friends last night. I was wasted!”

Me: “You were drinking last night?”

Coworker: “Yeah. I also didn’t feel like I was buzzing enough, so I mixed my alcohol with some [strong painkillers] and THEN I had a good time!”

Me: *stunned* “…And now you’re in work, responsible for other peoples’ children when there’s a chance you’re not only still drunk but high, too?!”

Coworker: “I feel fine! You worry too much.”

(I reported her that day and she was put on report. However, she handed her notice in the next week stating we were “too strict.”)