How do you make a sex sandwich?

I was somewhere around 7 years old when I was told (what I believed at the time) to be the funniest joke in the world. "How do you make a sex sandwich?" I had no idea of the technicalities of sex but when I heard the punch line I immediately squealed with laughter. "With Penis Butter and Vaginamite". 

I think I love that joke even more now that I realize it is uniquely Australian. No one else makes up vegemite jokes.

The joke became a regular in my repertoire, even though I had no idea of how babies were made or the logistics of what went where I loved the play on words. I also knew it wasn't a joke to be shared with my parents, it was purely for the playground. 

A couple of years later I went along with my father to my first ever sex education class. I, like a lot of  little girls, idolized my Dad (still do). He was the funniest, smartest, tallest guy I knew. I was eager to please and show him how clever I was. When the man pointed to the girly bits and asked what they were I shot up my hand and got that urgent bounce that little people do. The man pointed in my direction and said "we have someone over here who knows what it's called".....I was ecstatic and eagerly shouted out "its a VAGINAMITE".  A girl at the end of the row called Andrea who was 10 times smarter than me and in my year (and knew the joke) giggled so much, she fell off her chair. Oops. Wrong word. 

After yesterday's blog a conversation began about when we tell our little people information and how much is too much too soon. Little traveler number 1 already knows about secret women's business, I got in early after finding out she had friends that were unfortunate enough to be "early starters" at age 9. She  knows that love presents itself in all different forms and that "special cuddles" are required for babies. Last weeks breakfast table question was "if you were gay and married in a state where it was legal in the US and you moved with your gay wife/husband to Australia.....would your marriage be recognized?" I'm pretty sure when I was 10 these were not things I was considering before I'd finished my weetbix.

I can't help but think of friends who were out for a drive with their young son and daughter and the conversation moved on to love, marriage and all the different possibilities of who could end up together. Their daughter said with great pride of her depth of knowledge "I know what it's called when you're a lady who loves ladies............you're a vegetarian!"

Public Conversations

We were standing in line at the 10 items or less counter when little traveler number 3 turned to me and asked in a nice big loud voice "Why is the front of your bottom hairy?" I prayed that the people around me were non English speakers but when the girl behind the counter smiled and the man in front of me snorted I gathered this was a conversation we were sharing with everyone.


I tried a distraction "do you think we have 10 items? Shall we count them again?" It didn't work, he continued on.......and it got worse "I mean, I know why you have hair on your eyelashes, to keep out the dust....but why do you have hair on the front of your bottom? What are you keeping out?"


I think all parents have had these conversations and it seems to be universal that they occur in public situations.


I found myself in a line of (I'm not exaggerating) about 50 women waiting to go to the toilet at the Australia Zoo last summer. As we all stood gazing forward waiting for a door to open it occurred to me that I had certain secret women's business to attend to and 3 little travelers at my feet. I am a believer of open and honest communication with my children but a toilet cubicle at the Australia Zoo wasn't quite how I planned to have the conversation. I was going to have to create a diversion.


As we all piled in to the cubicle I lined them up in order of urgency eg. seriously busting to just busting and managed to inconspicuously gather the necessary equipment out of my handbag. When it was time to do what I had to do I said in my best Sesame Street excited tone "what's that up there? Is that a crocodile in the ceiling? All three travelers fell for it and I smiled to myself at my brilliance and speed. Done. Crisis averted.


As I stood up the voice of little traveler number 3 screamed with a tinge of both curiosity and amazement "what's that string?!" The room fell silent. Someone giggled.  I had an audience. Before he could ask me again in a louder and clearer tone I whispered desperately (and making no sense at all) "my knickers are falling apart but please don't tell anyone, I'll be really embarrassed". He was happy with the answer, he had a secret.


As I walked out of the cubicle I faced the crowd and knew that I had probably shared more information  than any of them had hoped for. A sympathetic mother gave me one of those looks  and said with a grin  "no secrets here hey". I laughed and agreed "I know, I'm dying of embarrassment". Little traveler number three knew he was in on the joke and said "yes, her knickers are falling apart, but don't tell anyone....she'll be really embarrassed".

Home Room Horror

My current facebook status is this: Just walked out of the first home room parents meeting - KILL ME NOW.

Career wise I didn't really get my act together until my mid to late twenties, which is why I have such a tragic varied resume. In the early years I answered switchboards, packed oranges, voiced radio commercials, sold advertising space and poured beers at the local football club.  All of these things I did very badly. Cringe worthy in some cases. I finally found my groove in the world of Human Resources and as much as I loved it, I found myself in some challenging situations. Telling people they no longer had a job or even worse having to talk about body odor.

Why am I telling you this?  I guess I'm just trying to show that no amount of experience will set anyone up for the role of Home Room Parent. Home Room Parent is hard core.

I'm not sure if Home Room Parents  existed when I was a child? Remember when all class trips and parties (did we have parties?) were organized by the school. Which is why I'd really like to meet (and slowly torture) the person who is responsible for the concept of Home Room Parent.  I don't know who they are but I'm guessing they may be the same person who invented "party bags" and cupcakes for the class on your child's birthday.

My first experience as a home room parent was in Canada.  This was my first child, my first experience at school, in hindsight I was fresh meat. I was wide eyed and eager to suck up please the teacher. "It doesn't involve much, just some money collection and volunteer co-ordination". What she didn't tell me was celebrations were a bi-weekly event and of a similar scale to the Beijing Olympics.  I was about to find myself begging strangers for cash, vegetable trays, canned food and clothes for the needy. Maybe even a kidney if you had a spare one?

After collating the email list and dealing with the politics of privacy issues, divorced parents and non english speaking nannies I realized we were going to have some "issues". After the second class event and the first field trip it became evident that the same 2 people were going to volunteer every time, me and the other sucker. The chip on my shoulder began to develop, I started to get a crazed look in my eye at school drop off as I rummaged through backpacks for cash that was "promised" the week/month and finally year before. If I had to cut up one more carrot stick or attend one more mind numbingly boring bus ride, things were going to get ugly. When I found myself in the snow chasing the Prada wearing, Gucci bag carrying mother in her black Audi begging for $15 for the teachers present....... I realized I had reached my lowest point.


The other 18 parents started to hide from me at every opportunity.  I was like a bad teenage relationship, I was needy and awkward. I constantly asked for money or help and when they tried to break up with me I played the guilt card. It was a long year but when it was over I declared it was never to be done again.

Six years later, I find myself at the first meeting of the home room parents. How did I get here? They got me at a week point and I was stung by a professional.

All around me are women of different shapes, colours and cultures. I can hear women speaking French, Spanish, Arabic and English.  My French is almost non existent and I don't speak Spanish but I'm pretty sure we're all saying the same thing , "how did I get sucked in to this" and "is it too late to do a runner"? I note that even though we are a room of "parents" there is not one bloke in the room.

We are all handed folders with email templates, class lists and given advice on how to collect money, healthy snack options for parties and appropriate facilitation of siblings on class visits. The blood is draining from my face. As I stare out the window a friend bounces past and stops dead in her tracks. I watch the moment that she realizes I am in the home room parent meeting and see her start to laugh in a sadistic and uncontrollable manner. I make a cross eyed face, gesture putting a gun to my head and pulling the trigger. KILL ME NOW.