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BOOBS: Before & After Kids

Pic 1: your boobs before kids
Pic 2: your boobs after having kids 😂😂😂



A few years ago I stood naked in front of the mirror forlornly holding my boobs.

You know when after you have kids and you just stand there lifting them up and letting them drop to see how far they’ve fallen?


I turned to the husband and said

“Remember when my boobs were all perky and awesome?”

He responded with

“They weren’t that perky”

Whiplash turn from me.

“What. The. Actual fuck did you just say to me?”

Haaa the poor dopey bastard didn’t want to upset me by agreeing so thought he was being “nice”

Should have seen how nice he felt later when these droopy fun bags kept right away from him as punishment 🖕😂


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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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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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Parent sex and getting caught

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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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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