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

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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Gwyneth and the Vag Spa

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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Legwarmers, alcohol and dancing

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

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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The Super Crap Craft Mum and School

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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Top 10 reasons Why I Go Schizoid as a Parent….

Top 10 reasons Why I Go Schizoid as a Parent.

1. Kids Fighting.
It. Really. Pisses. Me. Off. My kids will fight over anything. My favourite lately is which person’s pop offs are the smelliest. Seriously? You all smell bad. Move on.

2. The poop in the toilet with no toilet paper.
I don’t know why or how as none of my kids are ever fly blown, but how does that happen? Apparently the guilty party is the mystical Poop Fairy who broke in, pooped, didn’t wipe their bum and mysteriously disappeared again. Poop Fairy is an a-hole.

3. Making dinner and putting it on the table to be met with a chorus of “I don’t like that”
Love it. Head spins with excitement every time that happens.

4. Supermarkets and their freaking eye level crap food for kids.
Anything decent is either too low or too high while everything that will make my kids act like ADD kids on smack is right at their eye line. I love saying no 453 times while I’m trying to buy the basics. Well played Cadburys… well played.

5. Boogers.
Anywhere and on anything. Now I know that if God didn’t want kids to pick their noses he wouldn’t have made their fingers fit so perfectly, but kill me now. Snot creeps me out.

6. Public Toilets at Rest Stops.
I get especially excited when we go on long trips and someone has to go to the toilet right when we’re near a rest stop. My kids are at an age where I have to go in, but dry retching while your kids are having a wee in a pit toilet is not how I like to start a holiday.

7. Waking Up at 3 in the morning to find a kid an inch away from your face staring at you.
This doesn’t really make me go schizoid it literally just makes me want to do a little wee in my pants. I’ve seen the movie The Omen when I was young and it still freaks me the crap out.

8. Backchat.
If you want to see me flip my lid, just keep the back chat happening. Smoke will literally come out of my ears and a little balloon will appear above my head with F-Bombs written a thousand times over.

9. Judgemental A-holes
You know who you are. You’re the one that looks at my kids when they dress themselves in a pink tutu, a fire-man’s hat, gum boots, bad hair and a Broncos jersey or when you catch me flipping my kids the bird behind their back. Whatev’s you perfect wannabe, I’ve seen your kids be little bastards and I don’t judge you for it. I only judge you for being an a-hole.

10. Hearing “muuuuuuuuuuuuummmmmmmmm” 10 minutes after lights out when I’ve just poured a wine. ‘nuff said really.