.10 things mums want for Valentines Day.

I don't celebrate Valentine's Day. But if I did, theses are the things I most definitely want (need).

1. Sleep. 

Uninterrupted sleep.

Glorious sleep.

Naked sleep.

As long as I want sleep.

Fall asleep wherever the hell I want sleep.

The only possible reasons you could wake me up:

• There is a fire you can't put out yourself. In which case, you can pick me up and carry me out, still sleeping.

• The zombie apocalypse is here, because I have been training my whole life for that.

• We won the lotto.

• Channing Tatum AND Ryan Gosling are at the door. Not one, but both.

2. A full day of sweet FA. I want to sit on my couch with Netflix, copious amounts of food and wine. (Oh and to not gain weight from said food)

Every Mums dream. Not even kidding. 

3. A 'get of jail' card, to be used at ANY TIME.

That, my friend, is worth Gold. You can only use it once, you can use it any time you choose, your husband/partner is forbidden to say no and you can go for as long as you like (not overnight though).  

4. A cleaner for a whole day.

Declutter the house, bleach every surface and have this house smelling (and looking) like a hospital. So the kids can fuck it up again within 4 minutes.

5. Someone else to do a week's worth of washing.

And by washing I mean: washing, drying, folding, hanging, putting away.

Do you know how long that shit takes? And you can ask my husband, it is my most hated task of all time. Washing and drying is on par. Folding, I do 50% of the time and putting away, I literally do it 2% of the time. 

6. A massage.

I do not want to pay for it, I want it from my husband. Not a 5 minute massage that you try and turn into sex massage. Not a half assed massage that you do for 3 minutes then go back to your phone.

I want a half an hour massage. 

7. A bath.

With candles, music, essential oils and no children. I want to sing my lungs out to Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody while bathing, over and over again. I want to do the air guitar solo and maybe have some me time (if ya know what I mean).

8. Diamonds.

Let's be honest. 

9. New kitchenware.

I am not 'mumsy' in the slightest, except for when it comes to kitchenware. You get me any type of cooking utensil or dish and I can be the mumsiest mum you've ever seen. That shit gets me more excited than diamonds.

10. Socks and undies.

Tell me one person who does not love being gifted with something they always have to buy themselves? 

So there you have it men. And women, obviously you don't need to get your men anything because we live in a sexist world where V day is all about the V. 

Get it?

You, me + 3

.they think they know.

Step 1: have children.

Step 2: instantly kick yourself in the face for ever be a judgemental twat towards Mothers.

Why is it that non-parents have the most profound opinions on how to raise my child, or how to be a good mum/house wench? 

Like, really?

You're really gonna give me advice... On parenting, and house wenching?

Oh you keep plants alive.... Well, it's practically the same.

By the way. I can't keep plants alive but my 3 kids have survived. So far.

Do you know how hard it is to vacuum a lounge room while 3 assholes throw cheezels at you? And how long that takes? When you don't have kids to fuck up your lounge room, you really don't appreciate being able to vacuum without picking up 17 socks, ALL the couch cushions and a million ear buds. How easy it used to be for me to vacuum, I miss it. I really took it for granted.

Do you know what I do in the morning before leaving the house? I'm usually the one who doesn't get a shower because everyone else used up the hot water while I'm on Facebook ironing my husbands shirt and making everyone breakfast. I know how easy it was for me, PK (pre-kids) to get up, get myself ready and just leave the fucking house in about 35 minutes. These days, I can't even shovel brekkie into my kids mouths, wash them and dress them in under 1hr 45. 

A comedian by the name of Michael McIntyre knows what I'm talking about.

http://youtu.be/j1cFt2tWsI4

They think they know. Ha. Ha. Ha. If you can't tell, my sarcasm is fierce. 

They think they know how 'easy' it is to keep your house clean, your children well groomed and yourself not smelling like mouldy cheese with salada crackers stuck in your hair and bra. You would think that is easy...... It is not. 

The food in my car could feed the whole of Sydney for a week. The crumbs under my couch could be the dessert and the wine stains on every single one of my shirts could be the night cap.

Having kids is messy, so fucking what! I refuse to stress about the little things.

You see, my kids want to have fun. They want to run around on the sand for hours then go home, empty out pockets full of sand, eat ice blocks with their sticky fingers and enjoy life. You know why? Because THEY ARE KIDS. We only have 24 hours in a day, we are not super women and if we try to be, we burn out. So please stop pressuring us.

Don't be a judgmental twat. I enjoy my life and my kids. Yes, I wish it was A LOT cleaner but my children are going to look back on life and remember how much they were assholes fun we had at the beach, not how our house smelled like disinfectant everyday. Although that would be nice...

Be a free spirit and love every second with your kids. 

And non-parents; please, no more advice. ✌🏼️

.how to out-asshole your child.

I'm 90% sure that I have the biggest asshole as a kid. But, I know I'm not alone finding joy in out-assholing my children. 

My favourite moment of this year (and probably of my life), is when another parent heard me whisper 'fuck off' under my breath before I answered my child. We had a brief moment of locked eyes and I didn't know if she wanted to fight me, until she smirked at me. I then held up my coffee (vodka) in a cheers motion. 

I know I'm not alone.

For example: 

This

Is

Flour.... 

FLOUR! This mum is a fucking legend and I like her. I literally lol'd at this photo for a good 5 minutes. I know that her kid is being an intentional asshole lately so instead of always yelling, she was smart and out-assholed him. 

Mum 1 - toddler - minus 1

And this time. 

My little asshole thought it was funny to climb up the window, before he realised he didn't know how to get down (insert sniggering here)

 

Naturally, I was an asshole and laughed while I took a photo of him suffering #assholeparents

I've said it many times, parenting is hard work. Yes, it's fun and rewarding and kids are greaattt bla bla bla, it's fucking hard. My son has given me concussion, a black eye etc... It's tough. And you know why? Because it's unrewarding, unless you out-asshole them.

My son reached for wasabi peas the other day. I smiled, waited and watched. My friend tried to stop him, I said 'no, let him try it'. I must admit, he was extra assholey that day. Needless to say, he learned his lesson..

Me: 1 - son: 0

#outassholed

I spent majority of 2014 drunk. I have a lot of anxiety built up over the years. No, I'm not proud of it and yes I was self medicating.... But, this year instead of self-medicating, I am going to be smart and continually out-asshole my children. 

My new favourite activity is doing a dance when I say 'no' to something... It's usually a tap dance, or sometimes I do Madonna style, whatever; it's fun!

I know kids are unintentional assholes because they're kids and they don't know any better..... It's still fun to out-asshole them 

.today, i decided not to care.

Today, like every other glorious day, I took my kids to the beach. As I sunscreened their already sun-kissed cheeks, I prepare to sunscreen myself. All the other mums at the beach are toned and fabulous; I feel a little less fabulous because I wobble when I walk. 

But today, I decided not to care.

I flung my dress off with sass (and frustration because I had to get in the water and rescue the surf board).

Today, I decided to play and run with my children instead of self consciously sitting like a potato on my towel. Today, I swam in the water and frolicked on the sand like a lively potato.

Today, I decided that I am strong, not skinny; and I don't care if anyone thinks otherwise. I have moved up to 'men's weights' at the gym and I have never felt so fucking great. I have 'mum-boobs' but to my kids, they're just boobs, boobies, tits. They know no different and if I teach them it doesn't matter, they'll learn to love themselves quicker than I ever did. I am imperfect but I am perfect to my kids. 

I grew and carried 3 children inside my body; my strong, stretched, marked, fucking fabulous body. And I am proud. My stretch marks show the brutal strain my body took and I am strong because I survived. Mentally and physically. 

Today, I decided not to care about my weight but rather how I feel as a Mum, as a Wife and as a person. And I feel fucking fabulous. So I will remain fabulous. 

Today, I decided not to care about the washing piled floor to ceiling in my living room. I decided to play with my kids at the beach for 4 hours then came home and played barbie dolls while my girls laughed at the voices I gave the barbies. 

Today, I decided that I am happy and can remain happy, because my children are healthy, I am healthy (and fucking fabulous) and my family and friends are all I need.

Today, I gave less fucks..... And I enjoyed myself 

.dear diary.

Dear diary,

Today I cleaned the house from bottom to top. But while I was cleaning the top, the kids trashed the bottom; and while I was cleaning the bottom, they trashed the top. FML. I've heard the saying 'cleaning with kids in the house is like brushing your teeth while eating Oreos' but I think for my kids, it should be 'cleaning your house with kids is like brushing your teeth, while drinking black coffee, while eating Oreos, on steroids'

I am so blessed to be a Mum, to be able to carry babies; bla bla bla. My kids fucking suck! I took them to the beach 4 days in a row last week, we had so much fun, I did no inch of housework. And now I'm suffering. Why do kids need entertaining? And why did I have 3?

Dear diary,

When I text my husband today he could tell the house was chaos. I knew I sounded too desperate. Dammit!! Why can't I play it cool like 'hey babe, dinner is at 7:30 kiss kiss' but instead I write 'fucking come home, I just got shat on, there's bananas mushed into our sheets and I haven't showered in daysssss'

Why can't I play it cool?

Dear diary,

Kids are well behaved today. Nothing to bitch about. 

Oh wait, I had the runs.... It was shit. Ha! Get it? Get it!!! Of course you do. You get me (and never talk back).

Dear diary,

I had to tell my son to get his penis out of his breakfast today *sigh* you'd think I'd never have to say that, right? I say it more than 'hello'. I also had to tell my daughter to get her butt out the air while we had visitors.

Dear diary,

I've had a terrible day. Husband works long hours, kids cry for him, I feel disgusting and have a million things to do before bed.... Ignoring everything for a glass of red and few eps of Sex and the City. Oh Carrie, you are my girl crush.

Dear diary,

I need new clothes. I need money. I need a job. Why is child care like a million dollars a day? I think my husband needs a cheaper hobby. 

Dear diary,

Today has been a massive struggle between bikini body and pizza; pizza always wins. WHY CAN'T PIZZA BE HEALTHY??? Why is pepperoni and cheese so fucking delicious? Anyway, kids are nude, as usual; how do parents keep their kids dressed? Did I miss that part at antenatal classes? I just can't figure it out...

Dear diary,

I still don't feel like an adult. How the hell do I have 3 small humans that I'm supposed to care for? I just want 2 minute noodles for dinner and wear pj's all day! Who let me adult? Maybe I'll feel more adult in my 30's...? Hahaha just kidding, adulting sounds stupid... I'm never gonna grow up.

Dear diary,

I'm stuck wrapping stupid presents for my stupid children who will be so ungrateful on Christmas morning anyway. At least I have my champagne and Mariah to get me through... Husband is out at staff party, not that he would help. I keep cutting the stupid paper too small, help me. Can I just wrap a bow around everything? Or just keep them in their plastic bags? How do people do this? I hate it. Too hard basket.

Dear diary,

I gave up on Christmas present wrapping and I have resorted to Mariah Carey Christmas carols karaoke. I apologise to anyone on my snap chat. I'm sure my kids will understand when they themselves become parents why I was such a shit one. God, love them... 

When they sleep.

Merry Christmas ya filthy animal...

And a happy new year.

You, me + 3

.the perfect housewife.

Look at my perfect child. I am so perfect.

Look at me and how perfect I am. I vacuumed AND *mopped today, so I thought I'd post a pic on Insta to show what a perfect fucking housewife I am.

*by mopped, I obviously mean that I used baby wipes to clean a few weeks worth of spills.

I broke my foot 3 weeks ago and this is the first week I've been able to do housework without having a throbbing kankle. In other words; our house has been beyond pig sty status, for 3 weeks. 

In that 3 weeks and not being able to keep on top of things, I have had a lot of time to think.....

I wish I could be the perfect housewife, but I'm not. I wish I could have my house spotless every second of every day, but I can't. I wish I could go ONE DAY WITHOUT YELLING, but I can't. I wish, I wish, I wish.

But honestly, who cares? I spend so much time in my own head, trying to be 'perfect' that I forgot that everyone's idea of 'perfect' is different. And the only person who I want to please in life, is my husband (am I right, ladies?? *wink wink*). And he thinks I'm perfect. Messy house and all. Broken ankle and all. Big booty and all. He does love the big booty....

I have a 'perfect' marriage and we need to change not one thing. We love ripping on each other on Facebook and in some sick and twisted way, that's our way of showing love. It's not everyone's cup of tea, but it's ours (with a little whiskey). 

Everyone has their differences. Some women have spotless homes, then there's me. Some days (today) my kids leave the house without t-shirts and shoes, and I literally open up a box full of zero fucks; I do not care. My car is messy; I do not care. I clean it out once a week but in the meantime, zero fucks given. 

                Thanks Bill. You get it...

I used to have a fabulously clean house, until I had a third child, who never slept. The fucks went out the window the same time his sleep patterns did... I still love a clean environment and nothing makes my nostrils happier than the smell of bleach and disinfectant; but I hate tidying up toys/clothes/shoes. It kills my soul, so I don't do it. 

In a nutshell, I love a clean house, don't give a fuck about a tidy house. 

How can we be the 'perfect housewife' when there are only 24 hours in a day....?

Firstly, we need our beauty sleep. No one wants a haggard wife. 7-8 hours gone. 

Secondly, do you actually know how long it takes to get 3 (4 including the husband) kids ready in the morning? A long fucking time, all right?

Thirdly, I don't even remember the last time I showered. I can't shower while my youngest is awake because the last time I did that, he smothered himself in my favourite (and expensive) red lipstick. I refuse to make the same mistake. 

                        Like, what? 

How can I be so perfect when I have no time for myself?

Please teach me oh wise ones, how do I become so perfect?

Actually, I AM the perfect housewife for my husband. Because no one else matters

You, me + 3

How I escaped religion.

​How I escaped religion and became a better human.

 

I want to start this post by stating that I was never involved in a cult. Religion can come across very cult-like but by no means was it. ‘Escaping religion’ makes it sounds like I was part of something where we drank blood, pierced our nipples and sacrificed our livestock so that we may please the higher power. This is not true, but it does sound kind of fun.

 

I grew up in a religious household, and much to my parents demise, am not religious in the slightest. *Cue gasps and snickering*

 

So.... Where does science come into religion???

From a very young age, I was so curious about other religions. I didn’t want to follow them, I was just curious as to why we should follow one God, when we could have an option as to which one we could choose. I suppose it's kind of similar to Tinder. My parents literally looked at me like I had cut my toes off. Like, WHAT? You want to know things; about other Gods, about other religions? There are no other Gods… NOW GO PRAY!

 

From 8am to 1pm; then again from 5:30pm to 8:30pmwe went to church; every. Damn. Sunday.
Do you know what I do every Sunday now? Sweet FA. I enjoy it and I'm still a good person, right? Of course I'm a good person, I don't need to go to church to tell me that, to 'help' me be kind. It costs $0 to be kind; it feels great and it makes people smile. Shouldn't THAT be the message we need to get out? To be kind...?

When I was a kid, I am ashamed to say that I was brainwashed into thinking that homosexuality was wrong. I want to go back in time and literally punch myself in the face for being so judgemental. At the time, I thought my parents might hate me for thinking so differently to them. I was scared to have a different opinion and that I might be sent ‘straight to hell’ if I even entertained a different thought. By the way, how cruel is that? To tell a child they will forever burn in a place where they will never see their family, for all eternity. Burn. All eternity. Forever.

Sounds lovely, doesn’t it?

It fucks with your brain, it almost does sound cult like. I was scared to let anyone know how much I enjoyed swearing, in fear they would not accept me (or that I would in fact BURN FOREVER IN THE PITS OF HELL). Do you hear how stupid that sounds? I was afraid of being judged and you know why? Because Christians are judgemental. Ever heard of Westboro Baptist? The most judgemental humans on this planet. And if we always live in fear of not being accepted, then how will people find out how incredibly awesome you are? Where would Lady Gaga be? Freddie Mercury would never have been in the public eye and Bohemian Rhapsody would NEVER be here. What would be my karaoke go to then, huh? 

Even now, trying to write this post; I find it difficult because I'm so pissed off with how I used to think when I was heavily involved in church. You don't have to be religious to be kind; you don't have to be religious to make people smile; you don't have to be religious to create music. Do what is inside of you and do what makes you happy. Don't try and please 'God' but suffer yourself in the meantime. Nobody judges you for being true to who you are. And if they do, they are the asshole, not you. 

So, how did I escape? Easy.... I decided to be myself, not care what anyone else thought, became the kind of person I always knew I was and lived an easier existence... It only took me 29 years, but I finally accepted myself.


You're a good person. You don't need 'God' to tell you that.