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I really want to be a ‘Rock Star Mum’

I really want to be a rock star parent/fit mummy but I just can’t get it together. There are times like today where I can get one right, but it’ll never be both.

I started off like a total freaking over achiever this morning. I swore inside my head only 31 times which is a personal record. I actually started picturing myself wearing make-up and Lorna Jayne clothing while hanging out with the braiding mums doing kid drop off. My car wouldn’t smell like month old apple cores and I’d no longer find little snotty boogers on my walls or couch. Yup, that was the crap inside my head this morning.

I honestly smashed it…I bound (read, got) out of bed without hitting the snooze button, the kids turned off the television as soon as I made an appearance, hugs and kisses all round, breakfast eaten by 7:15, clothes on by 7:30, Maclean unpacked the dishwasher without whinging, Molly had time to read a book out loud, Memphis did her word box, no one asked me to help them get dressed while I was doing a poop, teeth were brushed (only two arguments) by 7:50, I remembered where a school hat was hidden so I didn’t have to walk back inside searching, kids were at school before assembly started and they all had hats and undies on. KILLED IT.

Now it was my turn… I’m trying to make myself be one of those MILF type mums and get their body back into shape. It would probably help if I gave up bad food, coffee and alcohol but they’re the things that make me semi reasonable to be around. I went straight from school drop off to a Leisure Centre with a girlfriend for a spin class followed by a swim. Don’t be too impressed by this as it’s for an event on the 30th of October we’re in and I don’t want to embarrass myself by stroking out at the start of the race.

Got on the bike feeling awesome and then realised I was wearing an ill-fitting pair of undies. I have never had this experience before but apparently it’s not uncommon. They kept inching themselves in whenever the instructor yelled “and UP we go” so up I’d go and down would go my hand to try and help my bits out – now If you’re wearing Lorna freaking Jane lycra/stretchy/’lift your arse up’ pants you have no chance in hell of helping anything out.

Holy shizenhausen, It was bringing back memories of my first sexual experience – a whole lot of rubbing for very little satisfaction. My friend Chris was on the bike behind me and I think she was starting to get concerned that I may have had an std or something.
We finished the class and I then realised I’d FORGOTTEN BY DAMNED SWIMMERS. It’s too far to drive home for them and 2 other friends had also arrived for a swim. I pulled out my trusty credit card and bought a new pair of swimmers that were on sale (loved it) I don’t think I’m the only person that gets that little sphincter tightening feeling when you hand over your credit card. I know in my head there’s available money on it, but I get nervous I might have forgotten I’ve made a large transaction and my card will get declined. Which is dumb as it’s never happened, but that’s my money spending female guilt rising to the surface.

I changed into my swimmers, discovered they’d left the freaking security tag on them – much to the amusement of my a-hole friends and then went swimming.

One of these days my morning will run perfectly…

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Spiders are not my friend

I have a ridiculous fear of spiders.

This fear is not something I’m proud of as it reduces my once confident frame to a quivering almost piddling pile of mess. I get the heebeejeebees and desperately need the help of someone preferably taller, hairier and of the testicle swinging variety.

Several years ago Adam was on nightshift at the fire station. I arrived home a little after 7:00pm and put the kids straight to bed. Walking upstairs I had that icky feeling you get when you think someone is waiting around the corner to scare you; true to my feeling I looked up and there was the biggest crankiest mofo spider I had ever seen. I stood there for maybe five minutes before deciding waking up the kids and fleeing to the UK wasn’t really an option.

I tried to be brave and walk into the kitchen. When I moved, he moved as if he was going to pounce. I ended up grabbing my phone and taking a photo to prove the size of this intruder. As you can see in the photo, the monster was so big he actually needed red eye reduction. I sent the photo to the husband for justification and phoned to see if he could leave work temporarily to come and kill the spider.

When I told him – even after the lousy bugger had seen the photo – to come home he just laughed at me. Yep…pretty frigging hilarious you big dopey a-hole. YOUR wife is trapped on the stairs with YOUR kids in bed and is being terrorised by something out of the worst horror movie in history. Even his boss had some sympathy for me and kindly offered to bring around the fire truck with lights blazing to kill the monster. Admittedly, he may (or may not) have been joking but I started screaming “yes yes yes” like a crazy orgasmic woman and just heard peels of laughter interspersed with gasps of “no no no” by the a-hole husband. In my mind I actually started workshopping a shared custody agreement of the kids and new living arrangements.

I then phoned two of my nearest and dearest girlfriends…both of their husbands weren’t home and their reactions were varied. Chris was all “oooooh….I’ve had one of those bastards crawl over my face and another in my pants, there’s no chance I’m coming to your house haahaaaaaaaa” My other friend Ness had necked a few drinks and offered to ride her pushbike over to help. The offer was tempting but I couldn’t let a tipsy friend explain to the police that she was only drunk peddling to prevent death by spider trauma

I hung up on my giggling friends, eyed the 12 foot spider monster some more and may or may not have done a little wee in my pants. I then decided to be more hard core and kill it myself. That thought lasted two seconds as the spider literally flipped me the 8 legged salute. The only option left for me to take was to phone my neighbour and see if I could get a true hero to come and help.

My neighbour Bev was a spritely 70 years old at the time and had been at a lawn bowls function. A few wines to the wind and Bev came in, looked at me with a mix of sympathy and pity with her lovely wine glassed eyes, took off a shoe and killed that massive SOB. Once on the ground Bev picked it up with a tissue, gave me a hug and took it home to her bin. If it was in my bin, Bev knew I believed the spider would rise from the dead, crawl out of my bin, tap dance on my face and lay eggs in my mouth. Nightmares for years.

No matter how old or how tough you think you are, we all need awesome 70 year old neighbours. Neighbours of the Bev variety make the best spider killers, give the best hugs and can actually be more heroic than any freaking husband.

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Leave pass

I’m a happily married mother of three.

That statement however does not preclude me from having a leave pass – and it’s been Adam Levine for a very long time. There’s something about Maroon 5’s lead singer that makes my ovaries quiver and my mind wander to inappropriate places. I understand that it’s not realistic as he has a freaking gorgeous Victoria’s Secret model as a wife, but hey, isn’t that the point?

My husband Adam (my real husband Adam, not the Levine one) indulges this little obsession and doesn’t judge me if a music clip comes on and the urge to lick the tv screen is too hard to resist. My little girls don’t even think it’s unusual for mum to just stare at the screen with the same wistful smile they save for Justin Beiber.

Most of my friends (both male and female) have leave passes that are interesting and varied;

Matt Damon (agreed!)
Margot Robbie
Jason Stratham
David Beckham
Ben Affleck
Karl Stefanovic
Justin Beiber (disargree but whatever floats your boat)
Orlando Bloom (she swears it’s not because of his paddle boarding dick pics)
Emma Stone
Bon Jovi
Channing Tatum
Chris Hemsworth
Ellen Degeneres
Joe Manganiello

Then I have the other friends who say they don’t have a leave pass because they love their husband/partner/girlfriend too much. OMG, yawn and vomit at the same time. To those non leave pass believers, I’m screaming “bullshit!”

Who is your leave pass?

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Drinking Parents Categories

I love watching people at parties and drinking parents are my absolute favourite. Over the last few years I’ve noticed drinking parents always end up in different categories. Here are a few of my favourites:

1. The Careful Drinkers – these are the parents that go out as a couple and stay together for the entire night. It’s like they always have the others back so that no enjoyment can be had by either partner. They talk to you as a couple and always end up talking about how wonderful their kids are. I like this couple but tend to look at them as the fun police. They never get drunk and have a tendency to be a little Judgy McJudgy on all of the other categories. Can always be seen in the company of other Careful Drinkers and have little shits as children.

2. The Want To Be Young Again Dad Drinkers – these guys walk in and make a beeline for the other dad drinkers and talk football and surfing and their son’s football and surfing. They’ll start the night with good intentions by drinking mid strength beer… hours later – good intentions gone – you’ll find them playing British Bulldog 123 or UFC fighting while pausing for shots of rum/tequila and weeing behind the garden shed. Generally married to Swearing Fuc$%#@ Mum Drinkers and Hot Mess Mum Drinkers

3. The Swearing Fuc$%#@ Mum Drinkers – this is definitely one of my favourite groups. They arrive and start networking through the room regaling stories of their amazing kids, other school mums and their single friends who sadly haven’t met someone yet. After a few chardonnays, they’re talking about their a-hole kids and how they destroyed their once perfect perky boobs, those lucky single bitches they know and they’ll be giving lessons on how to evade your husband when he wants sex – they’ll say things like “just slap the tip on his effing dick and he won’t show it to you again” Basically they’ll just swear like a hooker gypped out of $20 on a Friday night in Kings Cross. Generally found in the company of everyone by the end of the night

4. The Muhammed Ali Drinking couple – we’ve all been there. You’re both two-or maybe five- sheets to the wind and everything is fabulous. Your husband accidentally looks in the general vicinity of that bitch you went to school with 20 years ago and it’s on like Donkey Kong. Just short of chanting ‘fight fight fight’ your friends all take steps back and wait for the show to start. This couple always ends up at the front of the house with the husband weeing on the next door neighbours’ car while telling his wife to go to hell. The wife reacts by calling him a tool and screaming “WE’RE LEAVING NOW YOU A-HOLE!!!!. Generally the topic of conversation in all categories by the end of the night

5. The Jekyl and Hyde/Hot Mess Couple – at first glance, this couple are very responsible conservative parents that just haven’t been out for a while. They drink quickly and look at their phones expecting a “your kids are sick” call to stuff up their night. Within 2 hours they’re drunk, forgotten they have kids and are demanding shots really really loudly. They’ll start dancing on the couch thinking it’s a dance floor while absolutely destroying Whitney Houston and Bon Jovi songs in a strange high pitched screaming voice. One or both of this couple will vomit in a pot plant before 2am and continue drinking only to then pass out on the front lawn. Initially can be found with your non drinking parents but after the third drink work out their rookie error.

6. The Seasoned Parent Drinkers – these are the most professional of the group. They can drink two bottles of wine/case of beer each and maintain coherent conversations till the end of the night. The next morning you’ll find them on the sideline of their kids football match in their BCF folding chair, drinking double strength coffee and wearing dark sunglasses. Probably shouldn’t have driven to the oval but nothing gets in the way of Johnny’s football. This couple is hard core and tend to associate with all categories during the night. Approach with caution as they’ll force feed their less experienced friends drinks… just for the fun of it.

7. The couple with no kids– they get drunk and have fun knowing there is no chance of a child waking them up 2 hours after they arrive home. Can be seen in the company of all categories throughout the night. Smug bastards…

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How much I love backchat

I’m going through a bit of a hard time with back chat at the moment.

Not my own back chat which is clearly hilarious and witty; I’m talking my three kids taking turns in the fun game of “Who can piss Mumma off the most with back chat.” Current score board; Maclean 299, Molly 412 and Memphis 247. Even the Husband has decided to join in the game with a low non podium standing score of 87.

Back chat is a constant source of mummy having to take anger management issue classes in my mind. These classes take place in a field of sunny flowers and have Adam Levine ( = leave pass) from Maroon 5 talking to me in a strangely effected French accent. I pretend I have no issues in anger or his nudity and he leaves his ridiculously hot model wife and we run off into the sunset.

Anger issues = gone.

I digress…I’m not sure if it’s my age or parenting style, but I do believe children should be pretty well behaved and not be the future stars of Most Wanted TV shows…sure the notoriety of having a famous child would have its benefits, but I would prefer their fame and fortune to come from winning either an Academy Award or a Gold Medal at the 2028 Olympics. Both of these talents would ensure I get to be the inappropriate old lecherous mother they take to their celebrity filled events.

Again I digress.

I’m not sure if it’s just their age or if in fact I’m suddenly faltering with my parenting in the discipline arena. Simple and harsh demands like “brush your teeth, eat your dinner, come inside, do your homework” are constantly met with moans and little quips that make me feel all hot and flushy. I find myself having the strange desire to back chat the 8, 6 or 5 year old back chatters which really doesn’t help matters. My maturity level tends to decrease with each comment and I have to sometimes remind myself that I’m actually the parent.

I know things will only get worse once the kids learn the art of argument and their hormones (both theirs and mine) kick in. I know that day will come and I’ll look back at these days with a wistful sigh and a longing for more of the things I complain about now.

In the whole scheme of things, my children are absolute little Rock Stars who are amazing 90% of the time. To be honest, I should be grateful that the other 10% allows me to have a nude French speaking lead singer help me with my anger issues. That’s a win right there and a pretty good reason to go and start an argument with them.

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The Social Media Mums

After an extensive survey of other mothers (read 1 at gymnastics, 1 at school, 2 phone calls and myself) I’ve discovered a majority of us do the “perfect mother get rid of crap in background” photos on social media.

The gymnastics mum doesn’t go to too much effort; she simply moves her kids around to the cleanest area of the house for a photo – “I don’t want anyone thinking my house isn’t clean!” Which really works for her as I thought she was a complete nerd. Turns out she’s actually a normal mother of four girls (kill me now) with the same control freak issues as the rest of us.

School mum made me laugh, she chuckled and said “oh God, I don’t take photos inside my house, I just move the little buggers outside for photos” which is cool as it makes her look like the fun outdoorsy mum.

The two phone calls were interesting as well. One mother just takes photos of wherever her kids are at the time. Of course it does help that her youngest is normally doing something absurdly crazy in the photo to distract you from anything in the background. This is the mum friend who is a rainbow coloured magical unicorn and everything is always neat anyway.

My final mum responder (see, I’m sounding official) said she just doesn’t take photos of her kids. “I can’t be bothered” and before you judge her for being an a-hole, she has four kids and loves them to death. I think non-photo taking mum has got it going on…There’s no evidence anywhere that she’s not Martha Stewart and her kids always look crazy neat.

I’m more into angles myself…if the kids are at the dining/craft/drawing table, I just take the photo towards the side that has the least amount of crap in it. On some days, this just means lying on the ground and taking it from that angle as there’s just no other option. On other days I just take a photo of the ocean…

Today I took a ‘real morning’ photo and a ‘BS photo’ ten minutes later. The first one is the bomb shell of my kids getting ready that I ordinarily wouldn’t post. The second one is one I’d consider posting – kids look neat (molly has a hat on to hide that her hair isn’t done) and there’s no junk in the background as I’ve quickly thrown in the corner of the room.

Which one would you rather see?

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The Pocket Money Dilemma

How do you roll in regards to pocket money for your kids? I’ve heard many different arguments about the concept and I’d love to hear your thoughts as well.

I’ve heard many differing opinions; there’s the ‘children should be doing chores to learn responsibility without being bribed’ opinion, the ‘children should learn that money only comes from hard work and responsibility’ line, and my least favourite only comes from crazy people – give kids money just for being kids. I find the last opinion fundamentally flawed, if getting money came from just being cute and doing jackpoo I’d be a freaking non-working gazillionaire.

I’m not a tight arse, but honestly I’ve only tried combining the first two. Our kids have their regular chores I expect them to do simply because they should and if they want something extra they have to earn it. I’ve noticed the commitment level of earning pocket money is directly related to what they’re saving for – if it’s for something they’re desperate to buy, the manic fervour to ‘get it done’ is amazing to witness.

My sports mad 8 year old has been saving money for an AFL sports game. This app is $9.99 so I told him that it’s worth two weeks of extra chores @ $5 per week. I might sound like the proverbial fish’s bum, but I still believe kids should understand the concept of savings… and I also thought it would be fun to have a slave for a fortnight.

Every morning at 6:30am I’ve woken to the dulcet tones of clanging glasses from said slave unpacking the dishwasher. Then the list of chores starts:

“Mac, can you listen while your sister reads to you?
Mac, be a doll and help your sister find her shoes would you?
Can you please take your sisters down to brush their teeth?
Do this, do that blah blah blah… ”

Any resistance is met with a

“Hey buddy, did you want me to download that game on Friday afternoon or Saturday morning?”

Resistance = goneski.

You may judge me for this, but today was my last day of taking advantage of my eldest. He came in at 6:25 to ask whether I wanted to keep the smiling face sticker on the spoon (questions like this are normal) or should he take it off? To be honest, he really didn’t care about the sticker, he only showed me in case I forgot that he was a hard worker and today was in fact payday. Mac also wanted to remind me that the girls hadn’t done anything extra so they shouldn’t get pocket money. After witnessing lazy SOB’s in my old workplace get paid for doing sweet FA, I completely agree with him.

So there you have it. I’ll be downloading a hard earned game this afternoon for my son, and the girls will be out of their mind with jealousy. Hopefully they’ll understand the lesson here and appreciate that all things come to those who get off their bums and earn it.

Do you have a pocket money policy in your house?

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The Olympics with kids

Watching the Olympics with your children is really very special.

The M’s are now 8, 6 and 5 and old enough to understand the basic concept of the Olympics. Their school has been teaching them about Rio, Adam and I teach them about participation and from each other they learn about the savagery of competition.

The first gold medal for Australia was Mack Horton, and he probably heard our screams in Rio from our lounge room. We were all prepped, pumped and ready for the start, going through each competitor lane by lane. Channel 7 showed some highlights of Mack and we all agreed that he looked like a young and spunky (ok, the spunky bit was my contribution) Clark Kent. Without his glasses that made him Superman so we were ready…

You could feel the shivers of anticipation from the kids and then the race started… it was the most impassioned cheer squad ever with us all hollering

“GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
WOOOOOOOHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!
COOOOOOMMMMMMEOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN! AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OOOOOOOHHHHHHHMMMMMMMMYYYYYGOOOOOOODNESSSSSSS! YES YES YES YES YES YES YES!!!!! AUUUUSSSSSSSSIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE AUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSSSSIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE AUUUUUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEE
OIEOIEOIE!YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES HE’S GOT IT HE’S GOT IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOO, WE FORGOT THE GREEN AND GOLD POM POMS!!!!”

And he won by an Australian fingertip. Oh my Goodness, I haven’t heard the kids scream in such a crazy way for anything. Adam was standing, I nearly fell off the couch and the breathless giggles from the kids is something I’ll never forget

When Mack – we don’t even need to say his surname now he won the first Gold – stood up on the podium to receive his medal we were ready for the national anthem. Memphis nearly had a heart attack at the start as she couldn’t believe the Australian Anthem is the same as her school song (I’m grateful she’s gorgeous!) We all belt out the song and feel ridiculously proud and emotional to be Australian. Exhausted, we get ready to watch the next race.

It’s an emotional tsunami as a parent to witness your kids watching the Olympics. To look at the Olympics through their eyes has made the event even more special; I believe they’re learning inspiration and joy simply from watching the world come together to celebrate. They’re seeing the beauty in people from all nations, they learn that hard work and commitment is rewarded, that not everyone can win but if you give it your absolute damn best it’s amazing – and most importantly – they learn the best thing a kid can learn; and that’s pride. Pride in yourself and pride in your country.

And as a parent, I’m as proud as proud can be.

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Talking on the phone

Talking on the phone is incredibly difficult when you have kids.

As a contractor I work from home 90% of the time. Of course this gives me the flexibility of doing school drop off and pick up so I do acknowledge I am blessed to be able to do so. That said, clients don’t give two proverbial poo’s that I have spawn so I need to keep them quiet when I’m on the phone…and that simple proposition is incredibly difficult.

I’ve trained my kids with the “What do we do when Mum’s on the phone?” question and the answer by all three is “we keep quiet”. When they answer that question in triplicate I foolishly believe them and invariably answer the call. This always turns into a stressful situation – trying to focus on my client’s needs while covering the speaker with my hand to ‘shssssssssh’ my kids. The quiet only ever lasts for 5 seconds and then the farcical stage whispering starts;

”Muuuuuum, Molly/Mac/Memphis just stuck her tongue out at me, Muuuuuuuuuum, I’m being quiet but can we go to the park when you stop talking? Muuuum, can i have some fruit please? Have a treat? ooooooh, she did a pop off YUCK I’m dying etc…”

Honestly, their version of stage whispering is like Donald Trump speaking – at once both ridiculous and anger inducing.

I have friends that hide in pantry cupboards, put their heads out of car windows (car parked obviously, we’re not law breakers) apply gaffa tape , bribe, make crazy facial expressions, lock kids inside the house while they’re standing in the rain, cajole, fake sickness and threaten just to be able to talk on a damned phone.

There’s an enormous difference when you’re talking to other parents on the phone. It’s perfectly acceptable to have a sentence interspersed with;

“STOP IT!

NO!

BE QUIET – MUM’S ON THE PHONE!

WIPE YOUR BUM/FLUSH THE TOILET/WASH YOUR HANDS

ALRIGHT, THAT’S IT – NO PLAYDATE/TREAT/FOOTBALL/GYMNASTICS/IPAD/BREATHING FOR THE NEXT WEEK!”

You can say all of this while maintaining a meaningful conversation about wine and your constant almost desperate need for it…especially when you’re on the phone.