Penis Paraphernalia Incidents and my daughters..

Penis Paraphernalia Incidents

I think if we were painting with broad brush strokes we could say that there are two types of mothers in this world. Those who have Tupperware and those who don't. (I am not afraid of massive sweeping generalisations here folks)

Let me explain. Tupperware mothers are the MacGyver's of the parenting world, they have a solution and the necessary equipment to solve any crisis that may arise. Runny nose? Here is a freshly ironed vanilla scented hanky. Hungry? Here is a snack involving nuts and organic produce. Bored? I've put together this cross word slash sudoku involving endangered animals and the corresponding aid agencies that assist them – yes of course it's aligned with your child's learning development framework.  Tupperware offspring will most likely speak a few languages and usually only allowed to watch the Nat Geo channel. 

It may shock and surprise you to know that I do NOT belong to this elite category of Mothers. I wanted to join, and for a little while I had a few people fooled. I even purchased some Birkenstocks...It didn't last long, I was living a lie and everyone around me knew it.

My mothering is a little unconventional in that I don't have a fucking clue what I am doing most of the time. We go by “feel” in our family. Sometimes that works great... sometimes that leads to my girls playing “Snap” with gay porn playing cards.

Before I explain, I wish to point out that both my daughters are fabulously well balanced citizens who would would give someone a kidney should the situation call for it.

(Deep Breath) There have been 3 Penis Paraphernalia Incidents involving my daughters. Note to reader - once I get into it, that last sentence won't seem quite so offensive and “calling of department of children services” worthy. 

The first P.P.I wasn't my fault amazingly enough. My eldest went to school one Monday morning and her best friend, had over the weekend, acquired a pen on a rope. This particular little girls father was a doctor....who specialised in sexual health....The pen was a penis, the little girl had said my daughter could borrow it. That is how she came home form school one Monday with a plastic penis pen hanging around her neck. 

The 2nd P.P.I was innocent enough also. The morning after my hen's night (need I go on?) I was feeling a little, erm....fragile so I had put the girls down in front of ABC kids so I could have a little nap. I had been given various “hens” related gifts the night before and in my merry state had carelessly thrown them on the kitchen table. As I dozed on the couch I heard my eldest yell from the kitchen “Mum can I please use your new pink drink bottle” ( By now I think you've all about joined the dots right?) In my hazy state I yelled “yep sure bloss” not entirely sure which pink drink bottle she meant. Next thing I know, in walks my lovely girl unknowingly drinking water out of a novelty size penis shaped drink bottle.

The 3rd P.P.I was all my fault and could have been down right traumatising had it not been for some handy scissor work the day prior. I had purchased some gay porn playing cards so I could make an amazing birthday penis collage for one of my gay husbands (don't pretend like you haven't done the same...no?) I stupidly left them in the “making box” and of course the girls had found them. I walked in to find them playing a game of Snap. I will point out that I had cut each card from the waist down so in this situation no Penis's were actually present ( except for the logo on the back of the deck. However it was very badly drawn so could have passed for a sausage and eggs if pressed.)

When I investigated what was constituting a “snap” it turned out my clever girls were matching up occupations. Naked fire man with naked fire man and so on...

So that's it, this non-Tupperware mother has had 3 Penis Paraphernalia incidents and now you know about them all. I do wish to say that there was a considerable amount of time between each incident and we do not throw P.P. around this house willy nilly.

Have a great week, just do your best.

E x

Try before you buy.

Hi, my name is Em Rusciano. Mother of two, wife, recovering manic depressive, reality TV survivor, former breakfast radio host – and that's just all in the last 10 years.

I thought I would spend this particular blog introducing myself and then you can decide if you wish to return.

I am 31, although mentally about 19. I surround myself with gay men and can't spell. I am a political junkie and my wardrobe consists of mainly tutus and combat boots.

Homer Simpson is a personal hero of mine along with Ita Butrose, Gough Whitlam and Peggy Guggenheim.

I constantly feel like a failure and am not really sure what I want to do when I grow up.

I was an elite hurdler.

I have depression.

I am no longer medicated for this depression as I have got to a point where I can now get out of bed un-aided!

I swear. A Lot. 

I was on Australian Idol in 2004. I was "the mother who cried". That was the label assigned to me by the shows producers anyway. Having not really sang much at all it came as a complete shock to make the top 12. I was a bit mental throughout the whole process because it was so bloody overwhelming. 

Imagine being a stay at home Mum studying at Uni having never had any real aspirations to be a performer (look I did spend a large amount of my youth trying to convince my parents to let me join Young Talent Time but didn't we all) and then all of a sudden finding yourself being catapulted into the public eye. I am a raw, messy person who pisses people off just by breathing. It was an extremely steep learning curve.

I felt the best course of action was to go about it as though nothing was unusual and tried to just be myself but soon found that I was leaving myself wide open for misinterpretation and criticism. I was a walking sound bite. The producers loved me. A lot of the public hated me.

In the end I came 9^th, not bad for someone who had not really sung in public before. After I left Idol I got into broadcasting. I could not believe someone was willing to pay me money to talk shit. It was my dream job. Radio is a tough gig, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. The trick to radio is knowing when to STOP talking, that's the true art of it.

Austereo (FOX FM, 2DAY FM, B104.5, SAFM, 92.9FM) saw something in me and offered me the DREAM GIG. Hosting breakfast radio (which is the holy grail for those aspiring to do broadcasting) in Perth. My husband had been working in AFL for a while now and was looking for a break so we decided to take it.

Perth is a beautiful city. I spent 4 years there and don't regret a second of it. Getting up at 3:45am sucks arse. It just does. It's HORRENDOUS. It nearly destroyed me. It destroyed my relationship with my co-host Wippa who ended up leaving to go and work at NOVA and I almost lost my best friend Sam Mac (who replaced Wippa) over it but I learned so much about myself through IMMENSE self reflection and constant feedback and as a result grew as a person. Plus I got to sing with Chris Martin from Coldplay and thank Kevin Rudd for saying sorry to the stolen generation, pretty bloody awesome.

I quit my job December just gone and moved home to Melbourne. Best. Decision. Ever. 

I have only had two moments of absolute clarity in my lifetime, moments where I didn't question myself at all. You must understand every move I make is usually plagued with self doubt and fear. The first was walking out of an abortion clinic 9 years ago deciding that I would keep my baby and the second was quitting my breakfast radio job. 

I think both those decisions saved my life.

On the work front I'm on the 7pm Project each week doing the Metro Whip around (I love this show and ALL the people who work on it) and I am on Kerri-Anne  weekly as well. I hope to do radio again one day, once the "diva" tag has died down.

I don't have an agent or a manager. I should get one. I don't know if anyone will have me.

I have started singing again and it's in my kids' toy room with my guitarist who recently moved here from Perth. We hope to do an open mic night soon.

I have learned that no-one is perfect and if someone spends their energy trying to ruin your day/week/life just tell them to go away (swear if need be, I would). Life is too short for wankers.

I love my kids.

I think working Mothers are the un-sung heros of our society.

I now – LOVE MY LIFE.

So there you have it. A messy, confusing account of the author of this blog. I promise to keep it simple and concise the next time we meet. I though you should see the real me before I get onto the serious blogging.

E x