Rock Star Mums Drink Champagne

The V Spa/Vagina Fogging/Ratus/Vag Misting/Vag Fogging Experience

March 30, 2017

So I literally ticked a box for the box today.

I had a VSpa – which is short for Vagina Spa.


There’s other names like vaginal fogging, vag misting, vag steaming, hot boxing (ok, so I made that one up) but the correct word for it is Ratus.

My friend Chris and I walked in nervous and giggling like a pair of hapless virgins on their wedding night.
I perched on the hot box and let the steam/fog/smoke from the hot coals do its work.

All I can say is that I’m pretty sure my vagina now smells like an offering to the Gods combined with a herbal tea.
If you ever get to Bali I’d strongly suggest getting a VSpa.

I mean seriously, we all get massages, facials, waxing, laser, pedicures, manicures and we even spend money getting our couches and ovens steam cleaned…so how about a little love for your vag???
Get it done.

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Serena Williams and pregnancy

April 21, 2017


The. Australian. Open.

Are you freaking kidding me?

I don’t want to toot my own horn or show up Serena…BUT here’s 6 of the awards I won while I was pregnant


Killed it with an award winning 3,222 wees in 9 months.

Had I known that it was the last time I’d go to the toilet by myself I would have probably topped it up to an achievable 4,000 times.


I not only won this award, I cried when I received it.

I cried for any reason; a dropped teaspoon, a smile from a stranger, looking at a Bonds onesie or even just watching The Love Boat during a sleepless night.

I was (and possibly still could be) the best crier. I was so good I should have also picked up an Academy Award for best dramatic Actor.


Hormones are a bust when you’re pregnant and the “I want sex/no I don’t” award went to me. I’m pretty sure there were another 3 million women fighting for the pedestal, but I was the winner – as my poor husband would still attest.

Pregnant partners just don’t understand there’s a 15 minute window each day that you’re a crazy wanton almost whorish sexual being…the other 23 hours and 45 minutes will get you nothing but a stab in the eye from the knife wielding nun you got pregnant.


Probably every pregnant woman should win this award.

I doubted myself on my ability to actually look after the my unborn child. Couldn’t do too much about it except read endless crap baby books. The only problem was all of the advice seemed to be written by helicopter mums who only scared the poop out of you even more.


I suddenly went from vague insinuations in conversation to articulating endlessly about the pros and cons of breastfeeding, vaginas, stitches, hemorrhoids and other topics while talking to random strangers grocery shopping.

Yup. I used to be fearful of advice given and received, but nope…when you’re pregnant, you’re a bank of useless information and you’re happy to share it.


Any stranger walking up and putting their hand on my pregnant belly were treated with the ultimate award winning death stare.

I looked like a cross between Jack Nicholson from One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest and Kathy Bates during the ankle breaking scene in Misery.

Seriously, I should have had MC Hammers “Can’t Touch This” as my theme song.

SO THERE YOU HAVE IT. I’m a 6 times freaking gold medalist in all things non athletic while pregnant.


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Leave my damn 80’s songs alone

April 5, 2017

Yesterday I heard a cover version of Sonia Dada’s ‘You Don’t Treat Me No Good’ and nearly cried.

And no, it wasn’t because of any particular hysterical first boyfriend-drama memory. I nearly cried because hearing a remake of a song from my past just really pisses me off – and I cry when I’m cranky. Or premenstrual. Or hungry. Or sad. Or happy. Or watching ‘Bridges of Madison County”

Re-doing songs with a new artist is like Tom Cruise playing Jack Reacher. Just incredibly wrong and makes me want to have a very long toilet stop.

When I hear a song from my earlier days, I love the minute or two of memories that invade my mind. Good or bad – it always gives you a worthwhile memory jolt. Sonia Dada memories were of friends singing and changing the words on bus trips, days drinking and perhaps a little bit of front-seat pashing. Because I was old enough to be that mature and pash in the front.

Now when I hear new versions of older songs it just taints my memories.

Like last year when Tracy Chapman’s ‘Fast Car’ was completely and utterly assaulted. “Wow” said my youngsters, laying credit to some trashy singer who couldn’t hope to compete with the angst-ridden Tracy. “Ooooooh, I really love that new song”.

So, I played M1, M2 and M3 the original Tracy version and they all preferred the new version.

HEART. BROKEN. I decided not to feed them for a week as punishment.

Only joking. It was like 3 days, max.


Don’t get me started on other songs and singers i’ve loved. Bonnie Tyler? Don’t touch her. Prince? Don’t even think about it. Toni Basil, anything by The Police, Bruce Springsteen, 1927, Simple Minds, Cyndi Lauper, Tears for Fears, Talking Heads, Bon Jovi (I have friends that would literally kill a singer for touching Jon’s music) Rick Springfield, WHAM! Irene Cara, Laura Branigan, Sheen Easton (please don’t ever redo ‘Strut’, I would seriously cry) Kenny and Dolly, Johnny Cash, ….I mean seriously, the list just goes on and on….and on and on.

So please, radio producers, announcers, programmers, recording labels etc….Please don’t assault my ears with anymore remakes.

Please just pay someone to write new crappy songs that my kids will treasure and be protective of when they’re adult enough to cherish their memories.

So in other words, please just leave Sonia Dada and the like the faaark alone.

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Are you a school stunt mum?

May 9, 2017

Are you a school ‘stunt’ mum?

Evel Knievel Jr eat your heart out.

I thought I was a pretty ok/average/kinda goodish stunt school mum.

I mean aside from the whole:

– late school drop offs
– late school pick ups
– my poor braiding skills
– failure to return school notes
– taking holidays during school time
– P&C avoidance tactics
– Absence from school fetes

At least that’s what I thought until today.

I just found out that one of my school mum friends bought 8 school staff members (teachers and the front office ladies) Easter egg tea towels.

For reals. No jokes. It’s not even the start of a joke.

WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL IS THAT ABOUT? (Pardon me if you’re a Catholic School teacher from my kids’ school).

I understand the whole “It’s Christmas, you’ve had my kids annoy the crap out of you for a year and this is me apologising” gift, but EASTER as well?


I didn’t even realise that was a thing. Am I the only loser mum who doesn’t buy gifts for teachers at Easter?

I’m fairly sure I’m not alone, but I kinda feel like my girlfriend now belongs in the Gifted and Talented Stunt Mum category – a category I will surely never fit into. Damn it. I need to work on becoming one of these Stunt Mums.

Maybe I need to search for someone who looks like me, cares more than me so she can become my Stunt Mum double.

Any takers? I’m serious.

All I can say is that I’m lucky our school doesn’t do Easter hat parades, cause no doubt I’d be pretty crap at that too.

NB: Please note that Stunt Mums is not intended as rhyming slang… get your head out of your undies 😘😘

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Family reunions and love

April 19, 2017

We went to a reunion over the Easter weekend for Adam’s side of the Family.

“Oooooh” you say, 200 members of your husband’s family and we didn’t hear your name in any police reports on the news? I’m happy to report that ‘The’ Husband’s extended family are a fantastical bunch of diverse characters who all get together every few years to celebrate all that is family.

And to be honest, all that is family is quite simply ‘love’

I know you may have done a little vomit in your mouth when you read that, but honestly – love, was actually all around (and yes, I pilfered that from Love Actually as they’re making a fifteen minute sequel and i’m excited) the entire weekend.

There were different types of love witnessed, but the one that stood out the most was the love felt for his Grandparents. We call them the GG’s as they are our children’s Great Grandparents. At the family church service, this couple – wonderfully named Jack and Marge – renewed their wedding vows in front of their entire family.

Jack and Marge had four kids, who in turn had 11 kids, who in turn have…ummmm….lots (as we’re all good breeders apparently) and a majority were there to witness this gorgeous event. Uncle John and cousins Lilly and Taylor sang Hallelujah – just to ensure a future sponsorship by Kleenex tissues, our daughter Memphis and her cousin Summer walked the aisle to give Jack and Marge flowers and that was it…I was completely and utterly done. I was so done, i looked like a stoned panda bear with massive mascara issues mourning the loss of food.

70 YEARS of marriage and they’re still going strong. I was overwhelmed with emotions witnessing this momentous event; I was happy that our family had such an enduring relationship to look up to, I was proud that our kids got to witness their Great Grandparents renew their wedding vows, i was sad that this was perhaps one of the last great memories we would have of this beautiful couple and lastly I was tearful because i’m just a crazy hormonal woman since having kids.

All I needed was for someone to break out the Love is All Around song from Love Actually and I would have been on the floor in the foetal position.

Apparently enduring love in a marriage is bloody hard work but it’s worth it in the end. I can’t help but think that if more people could witness an event like this, perhaps more would fight to remain together.

So here’s to you Jack and Marge. xxx

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Gwyneth and the Vag Spa

March 1, 2017

We go to Bali on Sunday and I can’t freaking wait.

It’s not only that the kids have been counting down EACH AND EVERY DAY for the last 100 days…

I’m looking forward to someone else doing my housework, drinking copious amounts of cocktails, kids club, Waterbom park, massages and thanks to my hairdresser, the discovery of a V Spa.

Yup…there is such a thing. If you don’t believe me, google the bastard.

Oh yes, the lovely Casey at D’luxe Hair told me about it while running her fingers through my (straight) hair. Nothing awkward, but the conversation took a steep decline into all things V’Spa. She was even nice enough to send me some information on the topic for my upcoming adventure

Since then I have discussed V Spa’s with about 10 women and each and every one of them would get it done. Apparently Gwyneth Paltrow calls it ‘steaming her vagina’ and swears by it. Mind you, this is coming from the woman who said she was ‘consciously uncoupling’ from her Husband, the great Chris Martin from Coldplay.

Seriously…consciously uncoupling? WTAF does that even mean?
Couldn’t she have just said “we’ve split up, and now I’m off to get my vagina steam cleaned?”

So…in about 6 days, I’m going to find one of these places and GET. IT. DONE.

Apparently the ‘Vaginal fogging’ at a V Spa can have many benefits…and I’m sure one of them will be a husband standing at the door wagging his tail like a curious puppy dog.

If you had the opportunity, would you get it done?

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Rock Star Mums Drink Champagne

Legwarmers, alcohol and dancing

February 20, 2017

So I’m just going to own up to it right now…alcohol, music and I shouldn’t really hang out.

At 1am on Saturday morning the thought occurred to me that I should keep legwarmers in my handbag for emergencies.

Legwarmers you ask?

Was it cold?

Was I trying to reintroduce a new fashion trend?

The truth is, some inebriated girfriends and I were listening (and singing rather loudly) to music from our younger days.


We started talking soundtracks and songs from Fame, Dirty Dancing, Greatest American Hero (looooooved that song) Footloose and then the song Maniac from Flashdance came on.

Naturally after five vodkas, 2 champagnes, 2 cocktails, a glass of wine and a bucket of Baileys, I figured I should re-enact the whole scene.

And re-enact I did…

My legs were pumping up and down and my imaginary black long curly hair was held in place by my imaginary fabulous head band. My legs were magically clean shaven for the close up and my belly was in an imaginary six pack state, while I was moving completely and utterly in rhythm to Michael Sembello’s voice and awesome beats.

Ok, so the rhythm and the awesome beats are maybe a stretch, but in my mind I danced my arse off like it was 1983.

The song finished and I went back to being a mid forties out of shape, non Jennifer Beals dancing, blonde, drunk, uncoordinated, and incredibly happy woman.

Contrary to popular belief the fun police don’t visit you in the maternity ward to give you a life ban when you have a kid.

So whenever you’re feeling a little too mumsy, grab some girlfriends, some cocktails, some naff 80’s tunes and start shaking your booty.

Just like me, you too can go back to being an honest to God Pop Star who can dance her arse off

Bring back the leggings I say.

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The Jane Fonda exercise strategy

February 16, 2017

I’ve been exercising quite a lot lately in a bid to stop my children asking if I’m pregnant.

I mean look,’s pretty cute when you’re pregnant and your kids rub your belly. Loved it, wanted it and might have even thought it was great WHEN I WAS ACTUALLY FREAKING PREGNANT!

But get your 5 year old rubbing your pud now asking about babies? That shit makes me want to go all Jane Fonda leotard crazy and start doing burpees all over the place

So….i’m swimming, going to the gym, cycling and eating cardboard for breakfast lunch and dinner. And when I say cardboard, I mean really healthy bok choy, fish proteiny salady thingy things that I should have been eating FOREVER

I’ve been having so many green vegies that the Incredible Hulk is asking for a colour change, my bum makes these new trumpeting sounds on odd occasions and my scales are no longer flipping me the bird whenever I approach.

All this and I’m two weeks in.

I start with a personal trainer tomorrow and he seems really nice. I’ll have to control my horrendous case of ‘tourettes during exercise’ and try and only manage a few “F$%^ YOU!” grunts. I know life will get better in a few months when my body isn’t so shocked but in the interim, please only address me now as “Grunting Tourettes Woman”

Mr Fitness Trainer better not tell me to give up alcohol.

Nope, not gonna happen.

If he tells me to, I’ll start crying and then I’ll be the red faced, slightly overweight emotional wreck of a client he’ll forever be nervous around.

To be honest, if I don’t get a couple of wines or vodkas into me each week I’m just not a nice person. So I actually see alcohol as a community service in my life.

My Trainer with the massive arms is also going to take my measurements tomorrow. Ohhhhhhhhhh shizen!!! That’ll make me uncomfortable and nervous…so I’m pooping myself as I have a tendancy to say stupid things when I’m feeling that way.

I imagine I’ll giggle and say something ridiculous like

“oooooh, is that a really large tape measure or are you just happy to see me?”

Not funny and incredibly awkward. In fact it will only me make me inwardly groan and then i’ll be scared i’ll do a nervous bok choy /green vegetable pop off.

It’s like when I had a rectal exam in Hawaii I asked the Doctor if he could at least buy me a drink first. See…slightly funny, but again really just awkward when others don’t share your nervous humour about bums and gloves.

So….i’ll just go along tomorrow morning with an open mind and hopefully a closed mouth. I’ll try really hard to not offend the man trying to help me work my medium sized arse off.

And then i’ll go home and maybe have a voddie

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Rock Star Mums Drink Champagne

The Super Crap Craft Mum and School

February 7, 2017

I’m just not a crafty-type mum.

In fact I am a completely remedial, back of the bus, forever on the friendship chair type parent when it comes to craft.

I envy those mums who can do crafty things like paint masterpieces with their kids, make little hair bow-things, decorate their kids’ rooms with lovely handcrafted thingys and do DIY design projects with a freaking toilet roll.

Smug Bastards.

Over the last 9 years I’ve mangled menial craft jobs with my kids. Even things like;

Colouring in

Randomly cutting out images and stick them to bits of blank paper

Colouring in people’s eyes in photos (apparently I’m bringing up sociopaths)

Stuck leaves, sand, bugs and twigs on cardboard (don’t ask why)

Tissue paper stuffy stuff

Basic Mr Maker craft

It’s not that I don’t try and do it – I do – and the M’s even love me for my ineptitude. The sad truth is that I’m just Super Crap Craft Mum.

Top of the long list in the “Fiona’s Super Crap Craft Mum Club” is CONTACT. That horrible stuff is my own personal enemy of the state. It’s insanely annoying that 6.5 weeks after the nightmare of Christmas wrapping that my kids are bringing home freaking exercise books to be ‘contacted’.

Ho freaking Ho Ho Ho for the 2017 school year.

If I was Malcolm Turnbull, I’d ban that crap from ever entering the country. I’d get all those secret squirrel Ninja Border Patrol people scanning containers and burning every single roll of contact they come into ummmm, ‘contact’ with.

This morning’s effort was worse than last year and not just because I made the Husband do it last year. I had the first 6 books with a combination of clear and ‘free choice’ contact to do. Coffee was done, scissors in hand and that sticky flycatching evil paper was everywhere.

My five year old M3 had to come and help me separate the contact from the paper, M2 just wanted to play with the off cuts, and M1 just sat there giving helpful hints.

I offered to leave the contact until the husband came home tonight but all three piped up, “No mum, you’re doing a great job”. I now know what it’s like to be a child – you know you’ve done a crap job but your parents look at you with complete adoration and lie with an “Oh my goodness, that’s amazing!” Bless ’em.

I’ve even wrapped presents for kids’ birthday parties and then said my youngest had wrapped it just to save myself embarrassment. I’m far too old to be publicly designated to the back of the craft bus.

So…I managed 5 out of the 6 books, and each of them was a spectacular train wreck. There’s so many wrinkles and bubbles they look like a Shar Pei dog got it’s face caught on the back.

The M’s gave me an adoring ‘well done’ kiss and packed their books for school.

They’ll make phenomenal parents one day – at least when they eventually leave the convent/monastery and find suitable mother-approved partners

I have many amazing gifts, but clearly crafting is just not one of them….and that’s okay.


Super Crap Craft Mum x

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Christmas and the bloody Target shopping Trolley

December 21, 2016

Can I just say, Mary and her son have a whole frigging bunch to answer for.

Shopping trolleys would potentially be the first thing I’d have a stern chat to Mary about. Honestly, I bet during her pregnancy she didn’t think, “Ooooh, I wonder how many women will be driven bat-shit crazy looking for Target shopping trolleys five days prior to my son’s birthday?”.

Nope. Not even a thought was it?

Mary, I hate to say it, but Jesus Paul Mary and Joseph, you should have seen the kerfuffle over freaking shopping trolley’s today.

I went a little schizoid at Target when they offered me one of those baskets that have wheels on it. Yeah… no trolleys so a glorified miniature wheelbarrow will do.


Do you think the $49 freaking 40kg dart board and all the other useless crap I’ll buy – on my way to said dart board – will fit into that two-wheeled ankle death trap?

I don’t think so.

I want one of those shiny red lightweight Target (slightly smaller than Kmart) super-easy to manage trolleys.

And I’m sorry, but the whole “if you just wait for 15 minutes or so, our 80 year old trolley boys are getting the trolley’s right now” just doesn’t cut it with me.

A possessed Christmas-shopping mother does not wait at the front of Target, randomly picking up nicely wrapped chocolate boxes waiting for the trolley dude.

Mmmm… what to do? I eye the trolley-pushing shoppers and instantly feel red mist clouding my eyes. There’s a mother with a 10 year-old kid in their trolley.


Jesus F’ing Christ – sorry Mary, I’m sure F’ing wasn’t really his middle name…


Here’s a free tip….if you’re child is out of nappies, off the boob and talking in sentences, get them the hell out of that Target trolley.

I see a lady with a watermelon in a TROLLEY.


Red mist and a feeling of wanting to go all Yum Cha on her engulfs me.

Get the watermelon the hell out and put some Target crap in there. Don’t be walking around with a pretend baby that’s a fucking watermelon, woman! Go all Jennifer Grey/Dirty Dancing and carry that puppy around with you like a normal person.

Next on my list. Old People.

I’m really sorry, but a trolley is not a walking frame. I know it’s much easier than a zimmer, but seriously, it’s five days before Christmas, my kids are on a play date and I have literally three hours to do all my Santa stuff. Give a woman a break and use the f’ing zimmer as God intended and give your damn trolley to me.

I now decide to take a leap of faith and go out to the car park in search of a trolley.

Red mist again attacks my vision when I see the trolley bloke out there in a cloud of ciggy smoke.

I then start to hyperventilate when I see the 412 Target trolleys sitting neatly like bored Port Kembla hookers on a Monday night waiting for their next John.

I wonder if they still even call them John’s, or should I stop watching old Law and Order SVU episodes?

For some irrational reason I race a 90 year old to the first one, stick my handbag in the front and go back in to start my pressie shopping.

That trolley came to the car to unload with me three times, the toilet twice (I’ve had three kids press on my bladder) and I even caressed her a few times for being so loyal.

Ho Ho Ho indeed.

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