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Let them breath fire…just not now!

I honestly don’t know where they get it from…

There will come a day that I’ll be incredibly grateful for raising daughters with strong minds, strong wills and even stronger attitudes to boot.

They’ll be able to stand up for themselves, get their point across in a strong and concise manner, keep themselves out of trouble and value who they are.

They’ll also teach our son to understand that women are a force to be reckoned with…a force that deserves respect.

I will be grateful for this.

One day…

But today is definitely not the day.

I need a drink.

God help me.


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Nailing this whole mum thing

Shout out to all the Mums who woke up this morning and thought

“today is the day that I’m going to nail this whole mum/wife/partner thing. I won’t raise my voice or lose my shit. I’ll just be amazing and all Carol Brady-ish”

Haaahaaaaa you great big Dorks…what time did you realise it was never going to happen?

You do know that Carol Brady was a fictional character who had good old Alice cleaning and cooking all day right? It also took several writers to make that stuff up…AND you knew it wasn’t real when Mike never once wanted a shag while holding his hand up against the door to keep it closed from the kids.

Just saying.

Nobody nails this game 100% and if someone tells you otherwise, feel free to yell obscenities at them and look for the tv cameras 🖕🖕🖕

Rock on Mums 🤘


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Don’t be a dickwad parent for 2018

I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want from you for 2018.

For everyone to stop being judgemental DICKWADS about other Mums.

As parents we all want to be perfect. I get it, I honestly I do. Hell, I strive like a bastard for that unreachable target, but my hapless parenting skills seem to keep getting in the way.

So if you’re a mum and you’ve got your shit together like Carol Brady, congrats…and please pass on my regards to Mike, Marcia, Greg, Peter, Jan, Bobby and that annoying little shit, Cindy 🖕

But maybe just take a minute to remember that it’s not all peaches and cream for everyone all the time. There’s always someone going through a parenting shitstorm.

So if you see a mum having a hard time, don’t be a judgey dick.

Whether it be the tired mum at the shops with screaming kids and baby poo smeared on her face, a girlfriend who needs a shoulder to cry on because her husband is being the meat in a turd sandwich, the mum who has a tanty throwing a-hole child at the park or even just the mum you caught flipping her kid the bird behind their back…trust me, the last thing she needs is a condescending wanker judging her.

And I speak from experience as I’ve been each and every one of those Mums.

So for the love of all that is good and Adam Levine like in the world, don’t be a twatburger.

Be kind.

Parenting is hard enough without a judgmental Jane looking on. So without holding hands and singing Kumbaya, be kind and look after each other.

You never know, maybe one day you’ll need an understanding nod from a friend or indeed a perfect stranger.

Parenting is really fucking hard…so take a long hard sip from the understanding cup and don’t pass judgement. Instead maybe just pass her a smile, a hug or even a glass of bubbles to help her get through the day.

Make this a great year for everyone. It’s not too much to ask is it?

Happy 2018 all and share the love xx


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Marriage Equality

“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

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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New Year’s Eve resolution truth bomb

Every New Year’s Eve I commit whole-freaking-heartedly to my New Year’s resolutions.

This time last year I optimistically decided that 2017 was the year I would:

a) be nicer to people that I find annoying
b) I’d become a better parent and stop doing things like muttering F Bombs and flipping the bird behind their backs
c) I’d lose weight like an absolute freaking champion
d) I’d stop drinking

It’s now 12 months to the day and it’s clearly turned out well:

a) I tried really really hard, but I failed miserably.
b) I mumble F bombs like I have Tourette’s and still flip the bird at my kids – and the husband
c) I’ve added on probably 3 kilos 🙄
d) and because of a, b and c, I’ve never stopped with the bubbles and Grey Goose

So apparently I’m still a cranky, chubby, inappropriate, swearing, booze hound of a woman who’s trying really, really fucking hard to nail this whole Mum thing.

Maybe this year my resolution will be to NOT have a resolution?

That’s a thing right?

What are your resolutions for tonight?


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Being an a-hole mum

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?

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

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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What type of mum are you?

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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