by Woog
At least we weren’t being forced to imbibe warm milk, like those who went before us. From 1950 to 1973, every school kid was given a small glass bottle of milk at morning recess, because it was believed to be beneficial for children’s physical health (not to mention the fact that milk makes kids smarter). The problem was that the milk was delivered first thing in the morning, and was generally left out in the sun until recess. By the time it was ready for consumption, it had usually gone off. Many people who went to the school in that era still have an aversion to milk. Thank God for the Whitlam government, who took a look at the scheme and then kicked the bucket over.
Today there are some strong arguments against kids drinking cow’s milk, one of the main points being that cow milk is designed to meet the needs of rapidly growing calves, not little children. Some studies have linked cow milk to allergies, diabetes, constipation and ear infections. Anti-cow-milkers might even implore you to replace the milk on your kids’ cereal with any of the following:
Soy milk
Almond milk
Rice milk
Goat milk
Sheep milk
Buffalo milk
Oat milk
Hemp milk
Cashew nut milk
Coconut milk
And of course there are fierce arguments ranging around the pros and cons of these too. If you ask me, it can be dangerous to know too much. It can certainly be tedious.
But back to my lunch (the lunch not carried in a Mork and Mindy pail). Every day I had a Vegemite sandwich on white bread, which may or may not have been fresh, depending on the day. It was inserted into a sandwich bag that had some special kind of closing mechanism that never worked. Next to it was either a banana or an apple. And then there was the treat! The treat was either a Scotch Finger biscuit (with a crunch that was made to share, except I never did) or a bit of homemade slice.
The closest thing I’ve found to those sandwich bags of yore are Ziploc bags—or, as I like to call them, Mummy’s Little Helpers. These little beauties are cruelly shunned by those primary schools with a no-waste policy, but I have spoken to teachers the world over, and here is the hot tip: they love Ziploc bags. They not only use them for their own lunches, they also keep flashcards in them and find them useful for sorting and classifying their colourful plastic counters. But the impact on the environment cannot be ignored, so when you get the letter home from school saying that next Tuesday has been declared a Litter-Free Lunch day, I’d suggest you plan to keep your kids at home. You do not want to fork out for the unbreakable Tupperware litter-free lunchbox again, because it is always used as a soccer ball once its contents have been consumed. And it is not unbreakable. Trust me.
But just what to put in that lunchbox? Government websites have loads of information to guide you through this arduous undertaking. Where once your mum slapped two pieces of bread together and slapped you on the back as you left for school, now you risk social ostracism should another parent spy a pre-packaged item in your kid’s bag.
Ideally, your child’s lunchbox will contain fruit and vegies, something starchy, something containing protein and something from the dairy family. AND DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT INCLUDING THAT MINI PACKET OF TINY TEDDIES. I know they are convenient, and I know they will get eaten, but would you let your kid take a loaded gun to school? Some people seem to think that they are essentially the same thing.
I believe the biggest revolution in packed lunches over the years is the box itself. Gone are the days of the tin pail. Lunchboxes these days are insulated satchels complete with a compartment into which you insert a frozen brick to keep the contents cool and fresh. You can even buy lunchboxes that have solar panels, allowing you to heat or cool your food as you require.
My lunches were always hot (though not by design), always Vegemite and always squishy. I recall sitting on the bench one lunchtime—I was in Year 1, I think; at least I was still at that age where the teachers made you sit and eat your lunch before you could go and play. I was always concerned to make sure that my sandwich had the correct margarine-to-Vegemite ratio before I ate it. (I don’t know why I was so particular about this.) Anyway, on this occasion, as I opened up the sandwich, I found myself under the flight path of one of those notorious playground pests, the revolting Indian myna bird. This particular myna bird must have been unwell, because it dropped its guts onto my sandwich, adding a spread of its own.
Of course I immediately became completely hysterical and had to be taken to the office for some soothing words and an emergency sandwich.
‘A bird pooed on my Vegemite sandwich and I am starving to death!’ (I told you I was a drama queen.)
Because it was considered an act of God, rather than the act of a forgetful, hungover or lazy parent who just could not be bothered to pack their child’s lunch (like some kids’ parents . . . *ahem*), I was able to go to the canteen and have the kind ladies prepare me a fresh sandwich for free. Needless to say, this fresh sandwich was Vegemite (and I personally supervised the application of margarine and Vegemite to ensure the correct ratio).
All these decades later, I have never forgiven that species of bird for ruining my lunch and scaring the living bejesus out of me. They are still the scourge of Australian playgrounds, and you can find them digging though bins and even in classrooms. Ironically, they were introduced into Australia in the late 1800s to counter a pest problem at Melbourne’s market gardens. Who knew they’d turn out to be a pest problem? They are one of only three birds worldwide to feature in the top 100 Worst Invasive Species on the Global Invasive Species Database. So, yes, I do bear a grudge . . .
Another pest that used to be common in the school playground was the dog. When I was little, there was always a stray dog roaming the grounds, or someone’s pet had followed them to school. These dogs were also fond of stealing lunches. (As well as the lunch-stealers, there was this huge labrador who used to swing by from time to time. This beast had a huge set of balls on him, which must have been sending testosterone surges to his brain, as it wasn’t lunches he sought out; he was looking for small children to dry hump. The very sight of him coming through the school gate would cause us all to break out into hysterics.)
My journey though the grades coincided with a period of increasing migration. As new families joined our school communities, they brought with them an array of tasty new lunchbox items. All of a sudden I was swapping my Vegemite sandwich for two handmade kibbeh—win! Meanwhile, my Lebanese mate got to acquaint herself with an Australian icon.
A Maori family moved into our suburb and offered to host a Hangi feast at school. This meant that all the male teachers spent the best part of one Friday morning digging a huge hole in the ground next to the cricket nets. A large beast (I’m not quite sure what it actually was, come to think of it) was lowered into the pit and covered with earth. In my memory, there was no concern about occupational health and safety, nor did hygiene seem to be an issue. I do remember that, while I was not a fan of the food (the meat was a bit too fatty for my liking), I loved the spirit of occasion.
Another family who joined us were from Malta. A pair of sour-faced twin girls turned up in our class and I could not wait to see what they had in their lunchboxes. Their mum and dad had taken over the milk bar, so when I saw that their lunch pails had exotic-looking little pastries along with full-sized bottles of Coca-Cola, I enquired whether I might partake in a little taste test.
I was refused with a sneer and these stinging words: ‘Maybe your dad should buy a takeaway then . . .’
Excuse me?!
Speaking of bad playground etiquette, we really should address the issue of scabbing. Heaven forbid you should ever be labelled a scab. That word would follow you around for weeks.
Scabbing, for those not in the know, is the art of persistently nagging your fellow students for either a bit of their ice block, or five cents to buy five carob buds at the canteen. The art to being a good (i.e. effective) scab is to know when to fold, and not sim
ply be a pain in the arse. And of course you had to pay it forward; when approached by someone you scabbed off yesterday with their scabby request today, you had to pay up.
Scab. Such a charming word. You want to know another charming word?
Infestation. But that’s a whole other story . . .
CANTEEN DUTY
The secret to a successful canteen duty shift is to listen to the professionals, like the supremely experienced canteen supervisor. Arrive on time, with coffee, and listen while she instructs you. And if you can’t be arsed to take on canteen duty yourself, the least you can do is make life easier for those on the front line.
What makes life easier for the canteen ladies? I surveyed some, and here are their responses:
• Do not write orders upside down on the bags. (For some reason, this is a particular irritation.)
• If your ordering bag is chockers with small change, write EXACT MONEY on the bag. It is perfectly normal to go and search around the house for five- and ten-cent pieces. I know this, because I have done it. I have the most success with old handbags and the floor of the car. Even if it is not the EXACT MONEY, write it on the bag anyway. It will save some profanities coming out of your kid’s canteen.
• If you write THANK YOU and include a smiley face, your order will be shown to others and you will be declared a lovely human being.
• Please remember to put your kid’s name on the lunch order, as well as their class. A plain paper bag with the words SAUSAGE ROLL written on it, and nothing else, is insulting to one’s intelligence.
If you really want to win hearts and minds (above and beyond the smiley-face manoeuvre mentioned above), teach your kids the following canteen-lady-approved best practices for making canteen purchases.
• Form an orderly line. Unless you are a new kindy kid—you can do whatever you want, you adorable little munchkin . . .
• Have some sort of idea about what you actually want to order when you reach the head of the line. Don’t just stand there like some slack-jawed yokel who had no idea what they were queuing for. And don’t then put a fifty-cent piece on the counter, and expect me to read your mind. Unless you are a new kindy kid. You guys can get away with anything, you are so freaking adorable.
• Don’t hand me five cents and ask: ‘What can I buy with this?’ The answer will disappoint you. You cannot even afford the fucking lunch order bag. Tell your oldies to cough up some more cash. Unless, of course, you are a new kindy kid; then you can buy anything you want. In fact, you can have two.
• Use the words please and thank you. If you say to me, ‘Can I have a chocolate-chip cookie?’ without using the magic word, I will flat out refuse to serve you. Learn some manners! Unless you are a new kindy kid, in which case you can help yourself to the contents of my handbag.
• Don’t expect to be able to buy a paddle pop after 1.30 pm. You have no idea why, but there is this big bloody sign stuck up behind the counter. I am sorry, kindy kids; if it were up to me, you would eat nothing other than rainbow paddle pops ALL DAY LONG.
• Understand that those hot cheese rolls do not just appear out of the sky. The mini party pies don’t get themselves into the warmer on their own. And the carrot sticks are lovingly prepared by hand; they do not emerge from the ground wrapped in foil and labelled CARROT STICKS. And so I repeat my fourth point: say please and thank you.
All hail to the canteen ladies and men out there. You do good work, sometimes under very difficult conditions. And if you are anything like me, and have mental computation skills that are completely shot to shit, you will know just how physically and mentally draining this canteen business can be.
Speaking of canteens? Where have the finger buns gone? In fact, where did the whole essence of flavour go? The shift towards the ‘healthy’ canteen began when I was in Year 5, I think, when our canteen swapped chocolate buds for carob buds. For those not in the know, carob is fake chocolate and has a gritty, powdery taste and, in no stretch of anyone’s imagination, is it anything remotely like chocolate. It tastes like dirt.
There has been a slow but persistent change in how we feed students via the canteen. We now have someone called ‘The Canteen Conveyor’, whose prime job is to strip the joint of anything that might be actually enjoyed by the children. I am sure that this person will not be happy until all we can offer the kids are some steamed organic yams and some alkalised water.
And I will not be content until the Sunny Boy is back in a freezer near you. Some traditions should not be tampered with. Now, excuse me while I go julienne these carrots.
19
IT STARTED WITH AN ITCH . . .
Have you ever been on the receiving end of a note like this?
Dear Parent,
It has come to our attention that several children in your child’s class are packing parasites in their hair.
Commence panicking now.
Regards,
Class Teacher (who is now wearing a shower cap)
If so, you are not alone. At any given time, regardless of socioeconomic factors, the scalps of between 20 and 40 per cent of kids in Australia are being feasted on by head lice. (You can stop scratching now; you have probably been spared.)
I have had several experiences of nit-wrangling. It quite often starts when I observe one of the kids mindlessly scratching their hair. Said child is dragged into the kitchen and deposited near some natural light, while I drag a teeny fine-toothed comb through their locks. Most of the time, we are in the clear, but on the odd occasion . . . BINGO.
Nits are nothing new; in fact, they have been around since Jesus was playing halfback for Nazareth. Head lice have even been found on the mummified bodies of ancient Egyptians.
As a wingless insect with useless legs, they are unable to jump, so travel from host to host by direct contact only. They feed on blood and can only live for a short time without a hit of human haemoglobin. It does not matter if you hair is clean or filthy. They do not discriminate or care.
Primary schools are a hotbed of infections. Let’s have a look at some of the epidemics you are likely to encounter inside the school gate—starting with my personal favourite . . .
GASTROENTERITIS
Known as gastro, it is my number one ‘go-to’ excuse when I want to get out of something. Telling someone you have gastro elicits immediate sympathy and your excuse is accepted without hesitation—because no one wants to catch it from you. The thing about gastro is that it is highly contagious. Spreads faster than wildfire.
If your kids are struck down by gastro, here are some handy hints for you, starting with: STOP EVERYTHING! Make sure you are in tiptop condition yourself as you are in for a rough ride. Then get yourself off to the hardware store and purchase:
• The protective clothing that people wear when they are removing asbestos from old houses.
• Two large buckets per child.
• An industrial container of bleach.
• Large sheets of plastic and duct tape.
And on your way home from the hardware store, stop at the chemist for some electrolyte products (for the kids) and then hit the drive-through bottle shop for some medicinal vodka (for you). The above items will not necessarily save you from a spin on the nauseous ride yourself, but at least you’ll save the couch.
A GHASTLY TALE OF GASTRO
Of course, you can never really be prepared for gastro. It’s just too unpredictable. This is tale from a fellow school mum:
Look, this is something I have never told anyone, mostly because it’s just so embarrassing. But what the hell, here goes . . .
A few years ago I was recovering from a very nasty bout of gastro. I had no choice but to do the school pick-up. It had been twenty-four hours since my last brutal visit to the toilet, but I took a bucket with me, just in case a vomit emergency occurred during the thirty-minute round trip.
I pulled up to the pick-up zone at 2.55 pm and waited patiently for the kids to finish school. My stomach started making all sor
ts of crazy noises, resulting in the most horrific-smelling fart. Not thirty seconds later, as I was basically being overcome with fart fumes, the teacher on pick-up duty tapped on my window to have a chat.
Without thinking, I wound the window down and BAM! The poor thing was greeted with the most hideous smell I have ever produced.
She sort of took a step back, while I started chatting in a very animated way, waving my arms around in a pathetic attempt to somehow get rid of the smell. Honestly, it was the most awkward three minutes of my life and NEVER have I been happier to see my two kids walk towards the car at 3 pm so I could get the hell out of there!
Trust me, my friend, you would have been discussed in the staff meeting that afternoon.
Kids with gastro are miserable to deal with. Taking a sip of water can trigger a barrage of bodily fluids from every available orifice, and you had just better hope that there is a suitable receptacle nearby.
An early sign that gastro has arrived at your school is a lack of appetite. This will shortly be followed by supreme vomiting and crapping, the likes of which you have never seen before. Your child will complain of severe stabbing pains in the stomach; this is because there is an infection in the guts.
Soldier on, Mama, and cancel whatever you had planned for the next four days.
‘SLAPPED CHEEK’ DISEASE
I first encountered this little viral infection when I got a call at work. It was the daycare centre, asking me to come and pick up my four-year-old son as he wasn’t feeling too great.
