While most of you enjoyed the massive Obamagasm that throbbed through the world last Tuesday and are now basking in the afterglow smoking a post-coital cigarette, we parents are left sitting on politically correct minefields that are just waiting to go off.

Just yesterday I had to weather this conversation:

Scarlett (7): "Mom, did you know that Obama is the first Native-American in the White House?"

Me: "No, he's not a Native-American, he's an African-American. Native-Americans are those people who ..." were brutally massacred and stripped of their land by whites...no, can't say that .... live in reservations and have alcohol problems ...no... "have feathers in their hair and live in wigwams."

Scarlett: "Mom, you don't know what you're talking about. What's a wigwam?"

Me: "No, hang on, I don't think they call them wigwams anymore. I think they're now called teepees."

Sausage (5): "Mom, we saw a picture of Obama at school today. Is he a brown man?"

Me: "Well, actually he's black."

Sausage: "But he's brown!"

Me: (Trying to change subject) "Did you think he was handsome?"

Sausage: "No. But mommy, he's not black, he's brown."

Me: "Look, I know he doesn't look black but he is black, okay? Sometimes people can look pretty white but are actually black."

Sausage: "Like Michael Jackson?"

Me: "Exactly!"