The Pied Pippa

I am cursed with the knowledge that I have a friendship limit. By this I don’t mean that I can only have so many friends, but rather I acknowledge that there is a side to me that only true friends will put up with. This side of my personality inevitably rears its ugly head when people have known me for a certain length of time. It’s when the crazy comes out, it can take years, it could be hours of time spent together. It merely lies in wait, waiting for some flash of recognition, a hint of zane in the other person and then BAM, she’s here. The real me. The girl who doesn’t censor her speech, swears too much, unloads geekery, sends too many Buzzfeed links, reads YA fiction, and puts on the delightful voice of Sally Sourbottom. I have seriously been punched for putting on that voice.

Crazy Pippy has a handful of truly awesome friends. Others have warily walked away. All have asked the question that many have raised before them: "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Unfortunately I appear to have reached this level of comfort with my son’s nursery workers. As a result of the last two weeks’ worth of blunders I am now seriously wondering if I need to find another nursery…

1. Firstly, I ran away from another parent. I do not regret this. My only defence is that I heard her talking to one of the staff inside and she sounded so dull that I felt that this was my only option. She was a "facts and figures" mum and as we both walked towards the door at the same time I freaked a little bit. What if she wanted to tell ME about the boring facts? What if I got stuck in the car park talking to her? No. Not me. This woman would not make me late for work. So I did what all normal people would have done (right?).

I let her hold the door open for me.

I looked her straight in the eye.

I ran.

2. I questioned the shape of the poppy display. There was a giant poppy on the door of the nursery for Remembrance Day. It was not store bought and the children had obviously had fun finger-painting it a bright, but patchy, red. However, as I stood outside of the gate, waiting to be buzzed in, it hit me. I realised what it looked like; a big, bloody maxi pad. I couldn’t help it. I giggled. Queue the nursery worker sent to fetch me.

Did I stay quiet?

Nope. I told her.

Was she impressed?

No.

Did she laugh?

No, she did not.

Did I try it again inside for comedic value?

Yes, I bloody well did.

Crash and burn.

3. Without permission I fed all of the children breakfast. My child can eat enough food to put a grown man to shame. I often joke that I returned to work because it takes two incomes to feed my husband and son. It’s not really a joke.

When we entered the nursery on Wednesday morning, my son had already eaten a bowl of cereal and two biscuits, but when he saw the boxes of cereal on the table he ran straight over to them. Seemingly starving he wordlessly begged me for the goodness contained in the cereal boxes before him. Well he’s my kid, I gave the nearest nursery worker a courtesy glance, and put a few Shreddies in a bowl for him.

What happened next was a bit beyond both my expectation and my ability to control. Like zombies who have smelled the rich smell of spilled blood the children began to gather around. The taunting sound of crispy treats hitting plastic was obviously too much of an allure and one by one they began to take seats around the breakfast table.

Warily, I looked towards ONE OF FOUR of the nursery workers on hand. She said nothing but shrugged at me. For some reason I took this shrug as "go ahead, do more damage." So I did. I assumed that ONE OF THE FOUR nursery workers would have stopped me had this been an issue. So I went around the table and asked each child what they would like and provided them with bowls of dried cereal. I then loudly said to the nearest little girl "It’d be better with milk huh?" and dutifully ONE OF FOUR sprung to action to go and get the milk.

Thinking I had gotten away with my Robin Hood act, I prepared to leave when the nursery manager popped back into the room and asked me why I had fed all of the children. At this moment I felt a bit like Jasmine in Aladdin when the stall owner threatens to cut off her hand for giving the little boy an apple. So sheepishly I laughed, shrugged my shoulders, and said "because they were hungry."

I still can’t decide how bad this really is?

I’ll just be over here sitting on my hands and trying not to say anything else that will get me into trouble.