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Do you say the same things over and over again to your kids?

Well I do! Mainly because I’m a mum and kids do the same stuff over and over again so I repeat myself, over and over (and over) again.


Here’s my list of ‘Mum Sayings’ that I use ALL THE FREAKING TIME to my three munchkins:

1. I. Said. No!

2. Ummmm…maybe

3. What did I just say?

4. Where are your shoes

5. Hurry up!

6. I’m going to count to 3

7. Who didn’t flush?

8. I don’t care who started it

9. Love you!

10. Please. Get. In. The. Car

11. For the 3rd time, go and brush your teeth

12.Use your manners


14. What is that smell?


16. What do you mean “you don’t like it”?

17. Look at me when I’m talking to you

18. I beg your pardon?

19. What do you mean “it’s due tomorrow?”

20. We’re leaving in 5 minutes…for the love of God, hurry up

21. I also whisper “for fucks sake” to myself a crazy amount of times every day

Do you have any to add?

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Its easy to blame a game like Fortnite

I think it’s pretty easy to blame a game like Fortnite for everything that’s wrong in the world…I also think that it’s pretty bloody ridiculous to do so.

My 10 year old is pretty keen to get Fortnite. We’ve told him that if he saves half the cost of a PS4, we’ll match it and get him a new one (and Fortnite) for Christmas.

Mr 10 has an old Wii and we just don’t see any real hurry in buying a newer, cooler version. I know that once he gets it, the same rules for screen-time will apply to what he has now.

There’s no Netflix/Internet/Wii at all during the week (unless it’s school-related internet) and timed on the weekends. They still get TV time with us around so we can see what they watch.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no raving Screamer on this as I’ve been guilty of letting my kids be slack-jawed when I’ve needed to get things done (I hate admitting that, but we’ve all done it). I know this level of limits probably won’t last forever, but right now it’s still working for us – and for that I’m glad.

I’ve heard about primary schoolers playing games like Fortnite for 4 hours a night. 4 freaking hours! Ummmmm what? And it’s all Fortnite’s fault?

How the hell is a primary school kid allowed on a freaking game for 4 hours a night? How is that even possible? I’m no parenting expert (obviously) but if you allow a kid 4 hours of intensive gaming, surely YOU are the one that’s encouraging shitty behavior?

Bueller, Bueller, Bueller?

I’ve read/seen enough online bitching about Fortnite that it definitely gives me pause. “There’s swearing from players, levels of addiction, actual killing, it’s the spawn of the devil yada yada yada” and yet, with all this moaning, these parents still let their kids play.

I’m so confused.

If it’s really that bad, why don’t you just turn it off, play with them, limit their freaking screen time and kick them outside to play? I even read a story about a child that has missed out on school for the last 2 years due to his level of addiction.

What the actual fuck?

We’ll be letting our kid play the game after Christmas and you can 100% guarantee that i’ll be playing the game with him at times. I grew up playing games like Galaga, Frogger , Pac-Man, Mario Bros (yeah, yeah, I’m old and they’re old) and the pinnies, but I can tell you that I will, in fact, kick his arse all over town…When he’s allowed to play it and he’s not outside kicking his footy

What are your thoughts on games like this?


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Reason #4,196 why parents like to drink booze…

This morning we were all awake “extra early” so we wouldn’t be late for school. Sounds easy right? Was I an idiot for being that that optimistic on a Friday morning? Apparently, I was.



With TWO freaking hours to get ready instead of the normal 50 minutes, I thought we’d smash it. M1 had a soccer gala day locally, M2 had her gala day down the coast and M3 had a ‘normal’ day at school.

Easy Peasy for a normal family Feasy (get it? I’m Fi so ‘Feasy – right? I’m like a poet)

I made the lunches early, the Husband took M2 to school for the soccer bus, M1 got himself ready and M3…well, she just kinda hung around doing cartwheels and gymnastic thing-a-ma-jigs. In the TWO HOURS, we had to get ready, she ate breakfast (one painfully slow mouthful at a time) put on her sports uniform and cleaned her muddy, once white sports shoes in the bathroom sink. YUP.

That was pretty much it.

I spent the entire morning walking around with the nagging “hurry up M3, we need to leave early today” and kept getting “Muuuuuum, I KNOW stop telling me to hurry up” in return.

Mumble mumble farking mumble, split syllable swearing inside my head, mutter farking mutter.

So…with the last warning of “WILL YOU PLEEEEEEEASE HURRY UP M3” she said “OK MUUUM, I’M READY!!!” but was she? Really? If by “I’M READY” it meant her newly washed shoes were on, her teeth were brushed, her lunch box was in her bag and her water bottle was full, well, then no, she wasn’t farking ready.

So…I kept pestering her to do her teeth while muttering incoherent swearwords and helping her so we could FINALLY leave the house. Once we were in the car, I actually felt like I was the arsehole for hurrying her up and nagging. How is that even possible that I felt like the stressed out bad guy?

Then a girlfriend rang and said “hey darl, would you mind picking up my kid as my car won’t start and it’s been one of those mornings” I love that sense of comfort that I’m not the only Mum out there that doesn’t belong in the Insta-perfect world.

Does anybody else struggle to get their kids out of the house on a school morning?



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I make some pretty dopey decisions at times.

Like speaking to people after drinking, thinking I’ll get the kids to school on time or when I go to the supermarket to buy just “a couple of things” and optimistically refuse to grab a shopping trolley.

“She’ll be right” I’ll think to myself, “I only need a couple of things and won’t need a trolley” 😬 So I arrogantly prance around with my Go-Go Gadget arms, grab the “2” things I need and then stupidly go “ooooh, looky here…weetbix is on sale, ummmm…I could definitively use some more detergent, ahhhhhh I need butter/toilet paper/milk/and….hmmmmm, ooooh the kids like those…oh, hang on…oooh, yup, I’d better grab some of those too”

Nek minute…

I look like a drunk toddler with an armful of toys dropping one fucking thing after another. Yup, I’m determined to make it to the counter without a trolley (or even a basket) because that would clearly be a waste of my time. So I just continue to walk around dropping things while pretending the milk and frozen peas aren’t cold enough to make me lose feeling in my left arm.


I finally give up and walk back to the front of the store like I’m on a trampy walk of shame (you know, where you’re a bit flustered and mortified you’ve been caught in public this way) and have to ask if I can go out and get a trolley.

Double FFS

To be fair, if Woolworths and Coles could get it together and leave random trolleys in the middle of stores for hapless shoppers like me, none of this ridiculousness would happen.

Am I right?

Fi xx


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Do you know what a FUPA is?

Beyoncé had total control of the September issue of Vogue and at first, I was all like “Mehhhh…who cares?” until I heard she talked about her FUPA.

“FUPA? What the hell is a FUPA?” I thought. Was it the French competitor to that health insurance company, Bupa?

Ahhhhh, no Fiona, you bloody idiot, it’s nothing remotely resembling healthcare.

After some investigation, I discovered two different versions of the acronym but both had the same meaning. The version I prefer as the explanation is that FUPA is the “FAT UNDER PUSSY (OR PENIS) AREA” and the more formal version (for posh folk unlike me) is that FUPA is the “FAT UPPER PUBIC AREA”

Coolio, it has a name other than ‘fatty box’ and I love that I now know a new term for it.

I actually thought that area was where us women put on weight (out of consideration of course, ’cause that’s how we all roll) so their husbands/partners/lovers had somewhere to rest their head when they….ummmmmm… know…..when they’re being considerate and giving us some intimate action

Ahem….cough cough, moving on.

So anywho, Beyoncé has blown up the internet by simply saying

“But right now, my little FUPA and I feel like we are meant to be”

Yup. That’s it. Blown up the fucking internet because everyone is so pumped that Beyoncé has had kids and (like pretty much all women in the world) now has a little pouch for Jay-Z to rest his head on when he’s serving his Boss

Good on you Beyoncé for keeping it real. Love your work and I do genuinely love that she’s sharing some positive body messages to people…yada yada yada…

Saying that though, I really just want to add some other words to everyone’s armory, ’cause I love learning new words. I mean how cool is it that I can now throw “FUPA” out into the world with some regularity.? Cool as fuck right?

So now it’s my turn to have a crack (pardon me) at writing out some interesting words that everyday women call their bits: GUNT, DROOPY MILK PUPPIES., BROKEN FOOFA, CHUBBY BOX, THE FRETTING QUOKKA, HAIRY HARMONICA, FAT FLAP and my old fave, the DIMPLED ARSE

And I’m done. Why don’t you blow the bastard internet up with them too hey?


Fi xx

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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 about 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 “farrrrk you” to them all while running 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 wildly unwarranted. I don’t really even sweat the big stuff – the big stuff I can take care of easily with my stress levels intact. 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. Yup.

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 without piddling himself.

I’ve resented my kids for never sleeping in. For the love of God small insomniac children, just sleep-in for one fucking day so that Mummy 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. Liars Liars pants on ummmm, ‘fires’

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, can it?

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 heartbeat.

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?

Fi xx

Adam Levine (haaaahaaaaaaa)

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When I Look Back On Mum Photos

This is still one of my favorite photos.

I was dead tired, had just popped my boob out of M3’s ALWAYS hungry mouth, I was wearing a breastfeeding singlet, a pair of granny undies, a fuzzy dressing gown (like I was in an episode of Coronation Street).

My other two were vying for attention and I remember wanting to put my husband’s testicles in a vice for taking a photo when I thought I looked like shit.

What an idiot I was.

All I see now is an incredibly tired woman who was – and indeed still is – hopelessly and utterly in love with her family. What an incredibly beautiful moment in time to remind me ❤️

I truly wish I’d let the Husband take 100’s more like it.



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I saw this last night and absolutely loved the hell out of it.

I’ve been guilty of having friends that are bad for me and I’m pretty sure I’m not alone.

I call them Dream-stealers; you can be feeling great about yourself one minute, have a conversation with them the next and then somehow you end up feeling like someone has taken a big wet icky dump on your good mood.

You feel bad and you have no idea why.

I’m pretty sure we keep toxic friends around because we’re just too scared to let them go. Maybe they’ve been in your life for so long that it’s more of a bad habit or you feel it’s a numbers game and still want to be a popular kid.

It does seem kinda crazy to keep people – especially other Mums – around that make you feel inadequate. Whether it be the subtle digs for your parenting skills, your house, job, weight, relationship, they think you’re not funny enough or they simply make you feel like you’re not fucking good enough. It seems crazy to keep that sort of rubbish around doesn’t it?

Shouldn’t we just surround ourselves with people that are good for the soul? Indeed as an actual freaking adult, isn’t that something we deserve?

I would suggest grabbing a great big broomstick and sweeping the rubbish out of your friendship closet. Just keep the ones that are honest, reliable, drop the f-bombs in good fun and drink bubbles with you. The ones that have your back no matter what and will actually call you a twatwaffle to your face 😂

It can hurt like a bastard to have a friend cleanse, but sometimes we just need to ‘shake it off’ (thanks Taylor Swift for making me sing your frigging song now)

‘Cause you know what? Aside from a loving family, some great friends and bubbles in the fridge…what else do you really need in this life?



(Faaaaaaaaaark, I can’t stop!
“And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate
Baby, I’m just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake”

Taylor Swift stop writing freaking catchy get in your head tunes) ❤️


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Men VS Women: Shopping

Men VS Women: Shopping

My husband shopping for groceries without the kids:

Walks in ,  buys 12 things.

Walks out.


Me shopping for groceries without the kids:

“ooooh, I might just pop into Kmart before I go grocery shopping and look around”

Fills shopping trolley and spends $98.55 on things that I convinced myself we needed.

New framed print for miss 8? Don’t mind if I. A new pillow for
Miss 6 that is glittery and changes colour when you rub it? Ummmmmmm, yes.

I meander my way to the car eyeing off make-up I don’t need, smelling candles I won’t buy and staring at bikinis my lard arse no longer fits into.

I drop the first trolley at the car while shaking my head to three people in cars waiting for my car park. The first two drivers are male and get cranky, and the third driver is female and just nods understandably when I mouth “I’m going back in” and drives off with a smile and a wave.

I head back in with an empty trolley and head directly to Woolies as I’ve been gone for an hour.

I start in the fruit and veg section while trying to remember the price of strawberries and blueberries at the fruit market I just walked past. Stand there for two minutes straining my hopeless memory… mmmmmm.

Keep going and fill the trolley with the 23 items the husband missed, while adding 18 that weren’t on my list ( they were on sale, how could I not???) I line up for checkout and read the back 4 pages of a gossip mag – I didn’t realise Kim Kardashian’s arse was that big now (its fake yeah?) and get bill shock at the receipt.

Duck into fruit and veg shop to buy the strawberries, blueberries and then the carrots and sweet potato I forgot.

And eggs.

And raspberries as they’re on sale and I hate buying them at $2,189 a punnett.

Make it outside and realise I don’t have any wine at home. Duck into a shop of wine dreams (aka Liquorland) and pick up two bottles of chardonnay. Ring husband and ask if he needs beer. On my way to beer cool room notice that Brown Brothers Prosecco is on sale. “Oooooh, I should really buy that too”

Little conscientious money saver I am.

Get to counter with trolley and see the ‘spend $30 and you can have any of these for $10 sign’

“Oooh, I might try these thingy and something Ciders too please”

Bargains galore.

I finally make it out to the car and see a car with a female driver waiting for my car park. I mouth “won’t be long” and point to my trolley. She winds down her window and says

“Take your time, I’m shopping without my kids so I’m in no hurry”

Make it home, throw receipts in the bin and make dinner.

Life is good.


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Subtle Hints From The Husband

My stupid back has been out for two weeks now so the spunky Husband has really stepped up his game.

He’s been a complete freaking champion: making dinners, shopping, keeping the kids entertained, cleaning… he’s been a non-stop hardworking lovin’ ‘n carin’ parenting machine.


Nek minute…he leaves little hints around the house about what he’s looking forward to when I get better.


It’s his version of a get well soon card 😂


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