Marriage Equality

August 19, 2017

“As a parent, I’m sure all you want is for your kids to be happy & find love – no matter who that person might be”

This page is usually about the lighter side of being a parent.

I try to keep it real and talk honestly about the trials and tribulations of parenting. I’ve covered topics from lost school shoes, my children, the hubby and I getting caught having sex, swearing and even (some might say unnecessarily!) stories about my vagina

A topic that I’ve never touched on is same sex marriage. My view as a parent however, is incredibly simple; I just want my children to grow up in a country that formally recognises that LOVE is, in fact LOVE.

So will I be voting YES? Of course! I will because I believe everyone has a right to lead a beautiful life.

To that end, I asked a gorgeous openly gay friend of mine to write a piece on same sex marriage.

So…PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, make a cuppa, get comfy and enjoy the read…the opening quote I used above is from the Tim’s piece so it’s well worth the time

Please share Timmy’s thoughts and share the love

Fiona xxx
Thanks to the gorgeous Tim Millgate aka Tina Turnon

There’s been a lot of discussion around Marriage Equality (or Same Sex Marriage) in Australia over the last few weeks, and as someone who is 100% same sex attracted I must say, it hasn’t been easy. The stories in the news, the articles you read online and let’s not start with the comments – it’s all been a lot to take in.

At times I’ve felt let down by the government, disappointed at the misinformation that is being spread by the “No campaign”, frightened by some of the venomous words I’ve read from the naysayers & worried about how this would be effecting the LGBT youth. I’ve thought – if I’m a confident, happy, out gay man of more than 18 years – how would these kids be feeling who might be struggling with their sexuality or feeling like they’re in a minority?

As someone that grew up in country NSW, a real gay boy from the bush, my mind then went to those kids that live outside the bubble of the city & who mightn’t be exposed to the LGBT community as we are a little more in the big smoke. Do they know they’re not alone? Do they know there’s a whole community (and fingers crossed a nation) that’s fighting for them? I truly hope they do.

I’ve been extremely lucky over the years to have an incredibly supportive family when it comes to being gay (and not only have they accepted me being gay but also been huge fans of me being a sometimes Drag Queen!). Thankfully, I’ve always known that I’m accepted, I’m loved and that I have the backing of my family and friends back home. My Mother, my Aunt and my Grandmother all still live in my hometown & I know they’ve been having discussions in their communities about the Marriage Equality debate & how they will be voting yes.
It makes the world of difference as a kid, knowing that you’re loved no matter where you are in the world. I’d encourage you to please have these positive, encouraging conversations around VOTING YES in your own communities and circles as well. Let’s ensure that Australia is not left behind (again) when it comes to same sex equality.

So my advice to all the parents out there is to have honest discussions with your kids about Marriage Equality. If they have questions, be a listening ear. If they have entrusted you with knowing that they might be LGBT themselves, my best advice is just to love them. Tell them they are amazing and beautiful and that if they’re feeling down that it does get better. Let them know there is an amazing community out there full of the most loving, passionate, creative people who will embrace them for who they are. If you need support for your LGBT kids, reach out to an amazing Sydney based LGBT youth service twenty10: or check out the incredible Wear It Purple guys:

I also implore you to check your enrolment via the AEC website & when the time comes to send back your vote, please vote yes. Just imagine if this is the future of one of your kids that you’re deciding on – as a parent, I’m sure all you want is for your kids to be happy & find love – no matter who that person might be. You can find all the dates and info about the campaign here:…/email-me-your-questions-please…
You can also find loads of information (and donate to the cause, should you so desire) at

Finally, I wanted to share something that a beautiful friend sent me last week that brought tears to my eyes. I was lucky enough to attend her (heterosexual) wedding in Europe last year & more than anyone, I know how she loves love.
She wrote to me:

“I can’t believe the conversation on marriage equality going on in Australia right now. Reflecting on my level of hurt, frustration and disappointment, I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling. But as frightening, sad and surprising it is to hear the small minded and bigoted views, it is also extremely important to surface them so that we can move the conversation on and ultimately close it out, so that it’s no longer a topic that even needs discussion and especially no longer needs a vote. So take heart Timmy – this conversation is happening because equality is coming and it ultimately can’t be stopped. Love love. And that’s what I know for sure, that no matter what way the vote swings on Same Sex Marriage, Love will always triumph… love will always win”

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Hot wax in bali

August 17, 2017

I’ve done some incredibly dopey-arsed things in my life.

One of the most ridiculous was in Bali four years ago on my first ever ‘leave the kids and hubby at home’ girls trip.

I had been looking for a present for the hubby for days to no avail. Sure, I’d found a “your wife is awesome” shirt, a Bintang singlet and a wooden penis bottle opener, but that doesn’t really say ‘thanks for telling me to go on holidays, love your work, you’re a great dad/lover/husband blah blah blah…’

Then it hit me!

I would get him the gift of a smooth, hair-free vagina. Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I was a hairy goonie goo goo or anything, but I’d never been completely hair free.

‘Oooooh,….Now there’s something he won’t be expecting’ I thought happily to myself. Sure, he’ll expect some loving upon my return, but not from a sexy mumma who had replaced her badger with a sphinx.

So off my friend and I trotted in sunny Sanur to find a place to make my vag look…ummm sphinxy. The first day-spa was booked out, the second two didn’t do waxing down there (I know, WTF right!) and the fourth one had curtains separating the massage tables and tentatively agreed to do it.

Looking back, I probably should have taken that as a sign that I definitely should leave my curls on my girl.

Narrator: but just like all of the stupid shit Fiona has done over the years, she ignored her instincts.

Off we went – me to get my foofa waxed and my friend Rosi to get a hot stone massage – right beside me – with a threadbare sheet dividing us.

I stripped my undies off, lay down on the overly worn table and waited for the beautician (I use that term very loosely) to start making me sphinxy.

Then she applied the wax….Oh. My. Fucking. God. it was so hot it was like someone had poured hot lava onto my bits.


I was in so much pain, I’m pretty sure my left labia majora wanted to retreat in on itself while flipping a little flap bird to her.

You see she was using wax that was far too hot and then she put down a strip of cloth so she could rip it off.

189 beads of sweat had formed into a lap pool on my top lip (on my face that is). Yup. That’s what she was using on my poor little damaged Dolores – and no, Dolores is not her real name – I’m just trying to maintain her anonymity.

I had to hold my breath the second time she ripped and just kept whimpering pathetically throughout. Each time she ripped the wax off I’d yell something resembling “MOTHER FUCKER” or at least that’s what Rosi told me she thought it sounded like during my pathetic screaming

Half way through I asked for a break so that I could have a beer. Now if you’d have ever told me I’d; a) Drink a Bintang or b) drink it while having my flaps torn apart, I would have given you my contemptuous death stare of disapproval

I kept ripping back the curtain saying “WHAT THE FAAARK” to my neighbour Rosi and having a chuckle. I figured if I was hurting, there was no way in hell I was going to let her relax in peace and enjoy her massage.

Halfway through my lady asked me if i’d had kids and I whimpered “yes…(sniff sniff whimper) three” To which she told me how amazing my little Dolores looked. So much so, she then called Rosi’s masseuse over to have a gander.

So here I was; drinking a beer, whimpering, cussing like a two bit hooker gypped out of $20 while Dolores was being stared at by two Balinese ladies. I pulled back the curtain to tell Rosi that her masseuse was now using her massage hands to help remove dangling bits of wax. EEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!

My lady eventually went back to work alone on my stunt bits. At one stage I actually had to help by pulling apart my flaps (ermagherd) and watch her apply hot wax. Now I do understand that there are people in the world that would be turned on by having hot wax flaps, but I my friends, am definitely not one of them.


Once done, we went back to the villa and I had a shower. When I finished I stood there naked and looked in the mirror.

Was I a sexy sphinx? Ummmmmm, no. Not unless the sexy sphinx had been in a fight with Garfield on a crystal meth rage. This sphinx had burns everywhere and she looked incredibly sad.

Dolores was not really in any shape to be given as a gift. I hoped that soothing cream and the flight home would help her recuperate, but sadly, I’m afraid sitting in a 3cm wide plane chair does not do any favours for a badly burned and damaged foofa.


I got home to the spunky eager beaver hubby and thought to myself ‘oh well, it’s the thought that counts.’ I pulled down my pants and said “surprise! Here’s your God damned present”

His response?

“Eeeewwwww…What the hell did you do?” before rolling around in laughter.

What an ungrateful bastard

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Being an a-hole mum

August 10, 2017

At the end of the day, I think I’m a pretty good mum.

I’m by no means one of those amaze-balls mums – and to be honest, I don’t even believe there really is such a thing. I can honestly tell you that my intentions are (almost) always pure, my heart is full and I love my family with a wildly ferocious heart.

Do all of these magical fairy dusted emotions stop me from being an absolute arsehole to my children and husband at times?

Nope. Not at all.

I yell and carry on like an absolute arsehole…and not just any arsehole, I’m talking a big ugly one with sweaty hairy balls hanging down the crack while flipping the bird to the world.

I don’t even mean to carry on like the proverbial bum-bum, but there are random occasions when I imagine yelling “fuck you” to them all and then run away to a deserted Island with Adam (I’m actually referring to Adam Levine here – not my husband) drink cocktails and then just ummmm…stare at him.

My arsehole moments are admittedly random, erratic and generally unwarranted. I don’t really even sweat the big stuff – the big stuff I can take care of easily with my stress levels in tact. I just crack it over the tiniest of things because apparently, that’s what mum’s do.

Could it be because the little stuff is out of our control? Like when I actually resented the crap out of my hubbie for not having a big cut under his balls from delivering our babies into the world.

How ridiculous was that sad but true thought in my head?

I’ve even been jealous that my hubbie can jump up and down on a trampoline with the kids and the fact that he can sneeze without piddling himself.

I have resented my kids for never sleeping in. For the love of God small insomniac children, just sleep-in for one fucking day so that I can play catch up on sleep… and maybe even have a languid sexual encounter with my husband (and his non-delivering balls)

I sometimes crack it that we can’t go out for dinner without having to book a babysitter 2.5 years in advance.

I get the ferocious eye-roll combined with teeth gritting grimace when I see a Facebook post of the braiding, Lorna Jayne, muffin baking, label wearing, always smiling mum when she posts perfect photos of her neat-arsed children in her perfect house.

I crack it at the remnants of toast on the kitchen bench

I become an arsehole sometimes when I can’t do a poop by myself without having to zip up a dress, talk about school or even just be stared at mid-strain by an adoring trio of primary schoolers.

I crack it at the husband for fondling me when I’m unpacking the dishwasher…and then I’ll crack it at him if he doesn’t fondle me when I’m unpacking the dishwasher. HUH?

I’ve even been mad at a school shoe.

A. School. Shoe.

I’ve picked it up and thrown it against a wall because the stupid bastard MOFO thing hid itself when we were late for school.

These things are utterly ridiculous to get mad about, but hey, if that’s all I’ve got – this stupid random shit that only ever bothers mums – my life can’t be too bad!

I have a spunky, helpful, loving sexy beast of a husband who is an amazing father, three well balanced and healthy kids that adore the hell out of us and I have my health, wealth (haaahaaaaa – that wealth part isn’t true!) food on the table, two arms, two legs and a heart beat.

Maybe I should just take a deep breath and remember that the next time I’m yelling at a shoe.

Or not.

Surely I’m not alone in the psycho tantrum stakes?


Bueller? Beuller? Bueller?

Adam Levine (haaaahaaaaaaa)

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Does anyone else want to dick punch reality tv?

August 2, 2017

Does anybody else want to dick-punch reality television?

I’ve had enough.

I want to make a ‘real’ reality TV show. None of this bullshit Housewives, Yummy Mummies or even The Bachelor/Bachelorette, shit has to actually get ‘real’

That’s right my Lovelies…

I’ll make a show about being a housewife (God I hate that fucking term!) and I’m going to call it something realistic like “Actual Mums” and can i just say; Actual Mums would flap slap the absolute crap out of the Sydney, Melbourne and Hollywood Housewives…combined.

The 6 STARS on ‘Actual Mums’ will show the more realistic side of parenting with epsiodes covering all areas :

Episode 1 – Meet the Families.
This episode will feature a bbq at the home of a Mum. All the mums congregate in the kitchen drinking wine or vodka while the husbands stay outside at the BBQ discussing football. 15 children run throughout the house while one toddler screams constantly while licking the floor.

Much hilarity ensues when one of the kids is overheard asking his dad “What does dick-punch mean and why does mummy want to do that to you?”

Episode 2 – The Raunchy side of Actual Mums
This episode explores the sexual nature of ‘actual’ marriages. One of the mums has sex with her husband every day, some three times a week, a couple once a week and one mum goes to sleep every night while her husband masturbates furiously in the shower

Episode 3 – Masterchef
Each mum will take you through her kitchen and show you her favourite meal to cook the family. Viewers will learn 6 different recipes for spaghetti bolognese and three variations of banana muffins

Episode 4 – Ladies Night
All the Mums try to organise a night out.

One Mum cancels as the babysitter was a no show, so only five mums make it out. One Mum leaves at 8:45pm as “little Johnny is a bastard and wakes up four fucking times a night so I’m knackered” By 11:30, one mum is crying, one is demanding shots of tequila, one is vomiting in the toilet and the other one is slow dancing with a chair to Bon Jovi . This mum has forgotten that she’s actually 43 and that chairs can’t dance for crap.

Episode 5; The School Drop Off
This episode takes us on the painful journey of the school morning.

From 6:00am, kids in half the families are awake and ready, while others sleep soundly as their Mums freak out about being late. Shoes and socks are lost, ties are misplaced, fights about hairdos/lunches/after school acitivites and what to have for breakfast.

You will find out which mum has her shit together, which mums are calm and which ones completely lose their shit and flip the bird to their kids 412 times each morning.

In this episode you’ll also learn how there’s such a thing as the ‘mum’s inside swearing voice’. ‘Mum inside swearing voice’ is a vocal bitch and says “for fucks sake” every five minutes.

Now that I’ve actually typed this all out, I don’t think a real show like this would ever work. Who the hell would want to watch other people living their exact freaking life? That shit would make me cry into my ice cream bowl 😥

It just looks like i’m going to have to continue watching things I want to dick-punch on television.



(And yes, you’ll see I’ve discovered the expression ‘dick-punch’ and I love it. I’ve tried to shake it up by using the female version of ‘flap slap’ BUT dick punch won out as my favourite 😂)

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Kids and drawings

July 26, 2017

My sphincter tightens with nerves every time my kids ask

“What do you think it is Mum?”

Here’s what happened last night

Miss 6: hey Mum, look at my drawing.

Me: wow, that’s fantastic!

Miss 6: can you tell what it is?

Me: ummm….yeah. Is it a Phoenix rising from the ashes?

Miss 6: huh? A what? No it’s not

Me: oh… is it a giant?

Miss 6: NO!

Me: is it a dog drinking water?

Miss 6 frustrated and looking at me like I’m a moron: NO!!!!!!

Me: is it a…ummmmm….oh yeah….it’s a ummmm

Miss 6 getting pissed at me now: Muuuuuummmmmm! It’s a talking shoe on a see-saw riding on the ocean

Me: oh yeah, I can see that!

My inside voice: WTAF? A talking shoe on a faaaarking see-saw??? How on earth could I ever guess that?

My guilty mum inside voice five minutes later: omg, my daughter is such an artist. I can’t wait to see her art hanging in the Louvre.

#whatatalent 😂

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Keep your sanity – leave them all at home!

July 25, 2017

Want to keep your sanity as a Mum? I highly recommend some time away from your husband and kids.

I’ve just had 8 days in Bali and it was blissfully incredible for my addled mum brain.

I’ve had a few parents say to me:

“oh I could never leave my wife/husband/kids for a week as I’d miss them too much”

while others have have been

“OMFG, you lucky Bitch. I’m coming next time”

Can you guess which group are my friends and which group are the ones I want to give a little forehead slap to while yelling “BULLSHIT” at the top of my lungs?

Seriously, how on earth couldn’t you love having some time to yourself?

Let me tell you the reasons why it was amazeballs and therapeutic for both my sanity and well-being:

😍 it was freaking sensational remembering that I was an adult and a strong-assed woman who wasn’t ‘just’ a mother.
😍I had a room to myself, a spa bath on the balcony and a full sized bath inside.
😍Not a GOD DAMNED washing machine or kitchen in my vision
😍I could say “FUCK” whenever I wanted
😍My BFF and I spoke about everything and anything UNINTERFUCKINGRUPTED!
😍Nobody asked me where their clothes, sock or shoes were.
😍I wasn’t woken up by the husband poking me in the back.
😍I could watch whatever crap tv show I felt like
😍I read books (glorious books!) without stopping during every sentence to answer questions.
😍There wasn’t a single piece of snot on anything I had with me.
😍My teeny tiny hangover was something I could enjoy all by myself.
😍Laying by the pool was relaxing – not one child doing fucking handstands yelling “Mum WATCH ME I’M AMAZING”
😍No ironing.
😍No fighting
😍No unflushed poop in the toilet!
😍I was Fiona or Miss Fiona and not a single person yelled out “MUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUM”

It was farking awesome and I loved it.

I was so pumped I was randomly singing songs like “I am woman” by Helen Reddy “Run the World (Girls) by Beyoncé and “Roar” by Katy Perry. My voice sounded like shit but I was all over the whole female empowerment song thing.

By day 4 I was singing alcohol enhanced songs like the holiday favourite “Kokomo” by the Beach Boys, “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” by the fabulous Cyndi Lauper, some really strange boy band songs that I haven’t sung since the 90’s and humming along to Tequila by the Champs.

It’s not that I didn’t miss the kids or indeed the husband, I missed them terribly

By my last day I was just really looking forward to getting home to my family. I felt relaxed, stress free and completely ready to be loved up. I arrived home while the kids were at school to find some “Missed you/love you Mummy” drawings and I thought my little selfish holiday loving heart would burst.

The husband had done an amazing job with the fambam and I was as chuffed with him as he was with himself. He’s still waiting for his 212 blow jobs that I apparently now owe him, but he’s happy enough just knowing they’re in the bank.

It was a bit of a love fest last night and again this morning with the kidlets. M2 told me I was a better mum than dad was – which I felt happy about until I realised she was simply referring to my ability to make dinner and school lunches 🖕😘

It’s been 30 odd hours now since I arrived home and I’m back into the swing of things. The only small change? I remembered how freaking lucky I am – I have a husband that I actually genuinely love and three kids who are pretty bloody awesome. On the flip side, it also helped them remember how frigging awesome I am at being a Mum 😜

So…if you want to join the Relaxed Mum Family Appreciation Society; might I suggest going away with one of your BFF’s, have some cocktails, feel the sun on your face and enjoy the sand between your toes?

It worked for me and I’m pretty bloody sure it’ll work for you.

So go on… go and sprinkle some freaking holiday magic fairy dust onto your life


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Rock Star Mums Drink Champagne

What type of mum are you?

May 12, 2017

To all the mums out there,

it really doesn’t matter what type of mum you are – you could be a:

Crafty mum

Lorna Jayne mum

Couch-loving mum

Wee in your pants after sneezing mum

The cracked nipple mum

Short tempered mum

The always tired mum

Single mum

Married mum

Divorced mum

Gay mum

Straight mum

Bi-sexual mum

I don’t want sex again mum

The daddy is your mummy mum

The mum is your dad mum

Skinny mum

Chubby mum

The Gunt-carrying (you should know what that means – if not, Google it) mum

Healthy mum

Sick mum

Caesar birth mum

Natural birth mum

Emergency birth mum

Didn’t give birth mum

Still birth mum

The adopted mum

Foster mum

Self-doubting mum

Perfect mum

Confident mum

Crap mum

Awesome mum

Scared mum

Bickering mum

Yelling mum

Cajoling mum

Bribing mum

Silent swearing mum

Loud swearing mum

Inside head swearing mum

Fuck mumbling mum

Nerdy mum

Hippy mum

Grandma mum

Work from home mum

Work from the office mum

Part-time mum

Full time mum

Corporate mum

Social security mum

Smart mum

Sassy mum

Boring as batshit mum

Drinking mum

Conservative mum

Wildly chaotic mum

Didn’t want to be a mum (the oops mum)

Crazy mum

Cranky mum

Bitchy mum

Braiding mum

Baking mum

Take out mum

Always late mum

Prompt mum

Or just a plain old mum…

It really doesn’t matter what type of mum you are, you deserve a freaking medal this Mother’s Day.

So, a big Happy Mother’s Day on Sunday to all you crazy biartches. May your day be filled with lots of love and a little wine (or a whole lot of wine, depending on your category).


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Parent sex and getting caught

May 9, 2017

Having your children catch you having sex is – or indeed should be – every parent’s worst nightmare.

My supersonic hearing apparently didn’t work too well the other morning. It was 5:30 am (!!!!). Our bedroom door was closed and we thought we’d enjoy a little adult mud wrestling – without the mud, slutty clothes or actual wrestling.

My mummy superhero hearing knew to listen out for the creaking of floorboards, the little ‘tap tap tap’ on the door, followed by “mummy, daddy – good morning” announcement that we’ve taught them to be overly conspicuous with.

Out of habit I randomly throw my eyes towards our door, turn my head to the side (which can be incredibly awkward depending on positioning) and listen.

Normally it’s a nope, no kids. Door still closed. All good.


I turned my head to look at the door and it’s WIDE OPEN. This is the ONE morning our kids decide to be stealth ninjas. I threw the husband off (and out) and then hear our girls (6 and 7 years) whispering


They’ve obviously opened the door, saw nude Dad bits on Mum and then quietly retreated to stand on the other side of the open door to work out what to do.


We looked at each other with horrified expressions while yanking the doona up to preserve what little modesty remained. Talk about closing the gate after the horse has bolted.


“We want hugs and kisses”.

Yeah well, we did too 30 seconds ago but you just royally screwed the pooch on that one kids.

So, hugs and kisses and the kids leave the room.

We both just looked at each other with a combo deal of horror and amusement – OK, 99% horror. We both optimistically (and stupidly) hoped there was a chance they didn’t see anything.

The Husband went out to see all three kids and was immediately met with M2 (7 year old)

“Dad, why weren’t you wearing any clothes?”

“I was just about to get out of bed,” he said.

“And what were you doing to Mummy?”

“Ummm, Mummy was cheeky and I was wrestling with her.”

“But why weren’t you wearing any clothes while you were wrestling her?”

“Um, Daddy, has to go to get ready for work now….”

I lay there mortified but also grateful that he was on the receiving end of these questions. I just lay there praying to the Big Man upstairs that our kids wouldn’t go to their Catholic school with stories of their parents’ nude wrestling.

When I walked out, the first question I received was… “Mum, why were you and Daddy wrestling in the nude this morning?”. As M2 asked this, M1 ( 9 year old boy) smirked and did some weird hip gyration that will unsettle me for the rest of my life.

I responded the only mother way I could think of.

“OK kids, lets get breakfast, help me with the lunches, get dressed, find your shoes etc…”.

I must have rambled for two minutes with a list of chores and the avoidance tactic worked.

Next time we’ll barricade the stupid frickin’ door.

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Please don’t offer me parenting advice

April 28, 2017

I love it when people offer me parenting advice.

And if you didn’t understand the level of sarcasm in that statement, please… I implore you, stop reading my page as we can no longer be friends.

Truth be told, I didn’t mind advice when I was pregnant from well-intentioned folk;
“You must get pain relief” (I did – I had gas)
“You can’t get pain relief” (screw you and your dopey advice)
“Don’t eat cheese” (didn’t with my first, a little with my second and smashed every soft cheese around with my third)
“Don’t drink wine” (didn’t with my first… can’t comment publicly without being mum shamed during preg 2 and 3)
“You must breastfeed” (I did)
“You should Bottle feed” (I did)

Blah blah blah…

I didn’t even mind the advice from people when all of the babies had finally vacated the vag;

“Feed them at 6 months”
“Feed them at 4
“Don’t co sleep”
“Co Sleep”

It goes on…

rash cream, sleeping patterns, reading, foods, preservatives, behaviour training (seriously – WTF!) and even how to dress my kids.

I’d even go so far as to say, you should actually listen to everyone when you’re pregnant or a new mum.

I’m not saying act upon it – more like throw it into a blender (not that bloody Thermomix $2000 one though as it turns everything into risotto) blend, lay it all out on the table and then choose whatever works for you.

BUT…now that my kids are fully functioning (at school and can wipe their own freaking bums) PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD – DO NOT offer me parenting advice.

I figure if the Husband and I have survived being parents to this point, we’re ok without your opinion 😘

I’m certainly not saying my kids are perfect angels. Truth be told, they can be absolute little a-holes at times. But you should know that we’re the only ones allowed to make that comment or indeed tell them how to behave.

So if you ever feel the need to give me parenting advice or even criticise my kids… please – and I say this with respect – check yo’self

“Check yo’self” says the gangsta mid forties suburban housewife 😂🖕


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Do I have to shag every time we have a snog?

March 30, 2017

I love kissing the Husband.

I’m not talking about a peck: I’m talking about the good old fashioned pash/tongue kiss/snog/French kiss/make out/necking/sucking face.

That romantic, long and slow glorious wet snogging that makes you feel like you’re the only couple in the world.

Love it.

Kissing to me is still a real Mills and Boon romance moment. To the Husband though, it’s really just a preview to a Debbie does Dallas Porn Star moment in the bedroom.

Kissing to men in relationships is purely a precursor to sex.

Full stop.

Exclamation mark.

I recently conducted another one of my extensive surveys (read, 5 women over drinks, three women over the phone, 2 mums at my kids sport and 2 husbands) about kissing and I now know this to be a complete fact.
Women in relationships no longer get to have the long slow Blue Light Disco pash without ‘someone’ trying to swing a leg.


If you kiss your partner passionately, don’t think you can just close your eyes and go to sleep without some serious annoying back poking happening.


Remember the good old days of the Blue Light Disco when you were sooooo excited to pash spunky Nick or Johnny in the back corner?

Even back then Nick or Johnny weren’t being romantic, they were using this as a way to show you their intentions. Don’t you remember feeling Nick’s intentions through his 501 Jeans on your thigh? 😳

I know romance is alive and well but to my husband (and apparently everyone else’s) a long slow pash equals the start of foreplay – or in some cases the actual foreplay.


So here’s the deal, if I don’t want to have sex, I give the Husband 3 quick goodnight kisses.

Just quick ones.

They are on the lips, but I do tend to make them quick. No tongue or any real open mouth, a two metre space between the lower parts of the body – all in a bid to signify it’s not “game day” If I make the mistake of opening my mouth, have an accidental boob rub or thigh grab while kissing, it’s on like Donkey Kong.

Am I completely insane and live in a non-intimate relationship? Of course not! We have three kids, a healthy relationship, moments of romance smattered throughout our week and pashing sessions immediately followed by (thankfully non child producing) lovemaking.

As far as the husband is concerned, I should be happy that he wants to jump me every time we kiss. Flattering? Sure, but he’s a guy…it’s in their very nature 🙄

I tell you what would be nice to have a big old pash and not have to put out afterwards.

What do you think?

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