Leave My Crotch Alone

With Mother’s Day looming just around the corner, I was reflecting on my own experiences growing up with my mother (and when you sit in the sun in a tin foil hat and mirrorball sequinned jacket, you can do nothing else but, reflect). And whilst extinguishing the dying embers of a smouldering grass fire in my backyard (should have picked a slightly less sunny day for reflection), a couple of incidents come to mind, like…remember the time I wore that mirrorball jacket and burned down the backyard…


Remember last week when I was trying on jeans in the change rooms and the sexy young sales assistant half my age, snuck in and grabbed me on the crotch?

Okay, you got me. That didn’t really happen. Well…it did, but it didn’t. I mean, it did actually happen, just not like that…exactly. Imagine the same scenario except…flip the ages around and substitute the sales assistant for…you guessed it…MY MOTHER! Probably the most embarrassing thing a mother could ever do to their son…

Take him shopping…for jeans.

Because you always know the moment is gonna come, when she bursts through the curtain which face it, is the world’s flimsiest attempt at privacy and security (see PVC shower curtain or First Class section on a plane), and not only does she usually pull back the curtain whilst your strides are still around your ankles, but why is it, the very first place they go for is…

“Have you got enough room in the crotch?”

And the reason why there is ALWAYS plenty of room in the crotch when you’re trying on jeans with your mother is because of exactly that…you’re trying on jeans WITH YOUR MOTHER!!! And everything that usually resides in your crotch has retreated so far back up inside yourself, you can hardly stand upright and you are mere inches away from completely disappearing up inside your own body cavity.

Incidentally, that’s not the only time I’ve been grabbed on the crotch in public. I was also grabbed on the crotch in the middle of a nightclub while carrying a beer in both hands…BY A MAN! I should have just punched him right in the face but…I had two beers to finish. It was the most awkward 20 minutes of my life.

And then there was the time the tables were turned and I embarrassed my mother, when I did that horribly politically incorrect, insensitive kind of thing called…being a stoopid teenager (by pretending to be mentally disabled when visiting my aunty in hospital). It’s horrible I know, but I was a teenager and you know, it’s what we did back then. Approaching the hospital I slurred my speech, added a limp and even drooled a little. And like you, right now, she was mortified. So much so, she started slapping me repeatedly to cut it out. Which, to people in the carpark coming out of the hospital, seemed like a terrible mother beating her mentally disabled son. I know, I’m a monster.

But what I reflect upon the most, is the time I got my ass whipped by a bully, a year ahead of me at school. I came home crying, my shirt all torn, my nose bloodied, wearing my underpants wedgie as a hat and before I could even blubber the words out of my mouth, she’d slam dunked me into the car and you couldn’t see us for smoke as the tyres squealed with horror underneath us. She may be small in stature, but you do anything to hurt her kids and by god…she is ready to rumbaaaaaaaaal!

The bully’s parents owned a new motel in town and when my mother kicked through the front doors, it was High Noon at the OK Corral. She tore strips off him, strips off the mother and I was so worked up, I threw up all over their new carpet in their foyer. Word to the wise, don’t mess with us, we’ll come at you with both barrels heaving. I’ve never been so proud and it’s a great secure feeling to know that someone you love so much has got your back like that.

So through it all, through all the embarrassing moments, one thing is definitely clear…I need a different mum (I kid, I kid…monster, I tells ya). No, what is clearly evident is that…you love your kids no matter what and we in turn, love you right back.

Happy Mother’s Day



School is…IN

Schnitzel hits the big 3-0!

30 Weeks and doing well.

And for us, it means…school is in! (New for me, but old news for my lovely wife…she is a school teacher after all).

But this is school…with a difference. The kind of school that’s mandatory to watch videos of naked women, where sleeping in class is encouraged (why else would they ask you to bring in two pillows?) and instead of a diploma, you get a placenta. That’s right, I’m talking about…

Child Birthing Classes!

Or…“How to scare the living sh*t out of yourself, without really trying”.

This is the business end of the stick folks. Here’s my down-on-all-fours, nitty gritty, Top 10 ways to scare you and your partner into thinking, “what the hell have we got ourselves into?”

#10 – Epidurals: A javelin jammed in your spine to make the badman (pain), go away.

#9 – Six different massage positions designed to help ease pain and discomfort during the 2nd stage of labour (and coincidentally, the very same positions that got us into this situation in the first place).

#8 – Describing birthing pain as…indescribable. (Oh goody, put me down for two, then).

#7 – The birthing room is, “no place for jokes”. (Come on, you’re killin’ me, here!).

#6 – “Because you run the risk of inverting the woman’s uterus.” – The response to my question, “why does the woman have to give birth to the placenta? It’s got a chord, right? Can’t they just yank it out?” – See #7

#5 – If you bring your iPhone into the delivery room filled with Contraction Apps, “we’ll throw it in the toilet!”

#4 – Wolfmother is not considered appropriate “birthing music”.

#3 – Nobody knows what baby Gorillas are called…(guess you had to be there).

#2 – Lying down on the bed is one of the worst ways to give birth…(thank you Hollywood movies!).

#1 – Everything you learn today may or may not be applicable on the day…WHAAAT??

So now, I feel much better. Can’t hardly wait for next week’s class.

(Did anyone else feel that shiver?)