How Dare You WordPress!

So I tagged my last blog post and just before I uploaded it, the suggested tag for my latest piece of writing was… rubbish.

See Exhibit A for visual evidence: View the mid left hand side.

Exhibit A

Screen Shot 2014-01-24 at 10.08.37 AM

The close-up:

Close up

How Rude! Or is WordPress intuitive…

And on an unrelated note, Happy Australia Day people!


What’s the Deal with Teenage Boys


So I have 6 kids, but they are all grown up

and I thank God for that.

I am still scarred from the teen years. I meet young mums down the street, have a chat and a little look at their babies in the prams: “Oh they are so cute! Such a cute little person.” Then I have to bite my tongue because I want to say: “Enjoy them now because all hell is going to break loose when they hit 15 . You can kiss that cute little person goodbye and say hello to the emo, jacked up demon that’ll possess your child during adolescence… have a nice day.”



When my three boys became three teenage boys I didn’t know what hit me. Where did these creatures spawn from and can I take them back & get a refund?

When they were younger and having difficulty with something, I’d say: “Mummy do, Mummy do that for you? ” It was met with an instantaneous, joyous response, matched with palpable adoration in their eyes: “Thank you Mummy! You are the best Mum in the whole wide world!”

“Damn straight, little pooky-bear.”

Now, if they’re having a problem and I offer help – “Mummy do?” I get a lip curl and a snarl just like a mad dog before it mauls a person to death. 

Also you can’t ask them to do anything.

For example: I walk down to the bedroom: “Hey teen number 1” – if I forget their names I call them in the order they were hatched, I mean born. “Teen number 1 can you…”

“Nup, I’m busy.”

“I can see that. You’re laying on your bed, in front of your gamer laptop and your right hand is texting multiple people… Yes, you are positively flat out. I should be helping you.”

“Cheers Mum, can you pick up my washing and fix my bed.”

I have noted your sarcasm and ignored it. So I cross my arms giving him the non-verbal signal of ‘I’m not leaving’.

“Now is not a good time. I’m in the middle of a raid and I’m levelling up.”

“I’m in the middle of real life and my energy is running out.”

This leads to an argument.

“All I’m asking is to take the rubbish out.”

This received a grunt, which I understood as an affirmative in teen boy speak.

But 3 days later the rubbish is still there… putrefying, smelling and oozing something brown.

So I go down to his bedroom again: “Hey, is it too much to ask to take the rubbish out?”

Then I wait for the non-responses and repeat.  You will not kill the desire to communicate with you… or my will to live.

Finally he answers me, “Is it still there?”


“Looks like you’ve answered your own question.”


“The question you posed: Is it too much to ask… looks like it is.”

I ignore his sarcastic work avoidance response and glare at him.

“Mum, your request was ambiguous and open to interpretation. I didn’t understand it, so I didn’t do it.”

“What? Take out the rubbish! What is so hard to understand?”

“Take out the rubbish… what and where was not specified. You need to be specific mum.”

Then we become locked in a battle of wills, which leads to  a massive argument. Hello DEFCON 1. 

This went on for years. Argument after argument over petty things.  We got to the point where I thought he hated me. So I said, Do you hate me?

Get a load of this response:

“Mum… *sigh* *looks really uncomfortable* *screws up face*…  I don’t hate you. I really don’t like saying this, but… I do love you. Errrgh *shudders*. You tell anyone I said that and I’ll fully deny it; then I’ll pound you. Now don’t take this personally, I just don’t want you in my life right now. I definitely don’t want you telling me to do things, especially guide or correct me. Please! I can’t emphasise this enough – if you continue to do this, I will rebel and do the opposite just to make a point to you, so for your sanity and our relationship, get out of my face for a few years. Also, lower your expectations on me helping around the house because it’s not going to happen. Mum, I am having major teen issues, so you can’t expect much from me until I sort them out and it doesn’t look good until mid twenties.”

“And another point, don’t greet me as soon as I walk in the door from high school. It really annoys the hell outta me. Teenage boys do not need that after a hard day at high school, being a guy and all that. Just let me wander off into my room where I can hibernate for several hours. After, I may come out and be ready to verbalise something in the form of annoyed grunt, most likely a demand for food but not real food – the fake kind. So, stock up on corn chips, cheese and microwavable foods. I’m not six! I do not want apples or carrot sticks.”

“Another little pointer, if you try to hug me in public again…I will smash you.”

I thanked him for his directness & honesty.

Then we looked at each other and for the first time in a long time we really understood each other. It was a beautiful moment. I felt like I reconnected with my son.

I took all of what he said, processed it and said:

“Yeah… I’m doing none of that. Newsflash, Castro, carrot sticks and apples are not age specific and I will hug your whenever I want. Also, if you try to smash me, I will pin you down and have you begging for your life in 5 seconds. Now take the rubbish out before I disconnect the internet for a week.”

I didn’t say that… boy, do I wish I did. I took the rubbish out & stayed out of his personal space for three years. It worked. We’re all good now. Sometimes taking the spineless, doormat option really works.



What Do Women Really Want In A Man?


No, it’s not Hugh Jackman…

wolverine-skeptical-1920x1080“This can’t be true?” Shh Hugh, it is – you’re not everyones cup of tea.


The answer lies in seeing an unusual sight in the front window of a sex shop in the middle of town. Hang in there guys, because you get the answer at the end of this story: 

On the way to work I pass two sex shops and I usually avert my gaze, but something struck my attention. There was a male mannequin in the front window. He was in tight shorts made of entirely white lace… floral lace, with lots of see-through bits, and right on the um, the erm, the hmm = ‘the region’, there was a big red satin bow – right on his manlies

Now ladies, I can speak for all of us…

we don’t find that attractive.


If my husband strutted out into the bedroom sporting that little number, my first reaction would not be: “Oh my love: I must have you now!” It would be, “Hee hee, I didn’t know you were gay”.

Being attractive to a woman only takes two things:

 Tip #1: Have a shower.

Hey guys, try this wacky idea, have a shower every day. You like the way you smell. You love your manly B.O. and your mates like your B.O.  You stick your armpits up in each others face and laugh and love it – we  don’t. Women think your BO pongs.


Tip #2: This is a killer tip:

 This will make you 10 times more attractive, ready…wear something nice. Fellas, it’s not rocket science. Your cheap $2 dollar rubber flip-flops with your stubby shorts, topped off with a ripped blue singlet – that you affectionately refer to as a ‘wife basher’ (charming) is not attractive. You look like a cross between a hobo and a yobbo. It’s not a good look. It’s just not attractive to women.

 OK, so there are men here saying: I’ve had a shower, several thank you very much, and I have worn something nice and I’m still single. I hear you, O.K. so there is a little more you can do.

I’m going to let you in on the secret

of what women want in a man:

If you follow this simple and easy list, I guarantee you that you’ll have girlfriend at the end of the week…  but you have to do the list, and in this exact combination:

  1. Get a job,
  2. Hold that down a job down,
  3. Drive a car – if you’re still riding around on a bicycle or a scooter, trade it in for a car: luxury model desirable but not essential.
  4. Gain extensive experience in buying flowers, chocolates and diamond rings,
  5. Learn how to cook… French cuisine preferred,
  7. Be responsible, but not boring,
  8. Be funny, but not crude,
  9. Get in touch with your emotions: your  sensitive  side, but don’t become a sap,
  10.  Master the art of mind reading,
  11. Sleep without snoring,
  12. Suddenly love children,
  13. Enjoy the occasional romcom,
  14. In an arguments always say you’re sorry and you’re wrong… even when you’re not,
  15. Fix all leaking taps,
  16. Develop abs but don’t always have the need to show them off. 

See… we’re really not that hard to please.



Turn Back The Boats – Operation Sovereign Borders

I’m an ignorant Australian…

but that’s OK,  because most Aussies are – for example, I asked all my friends (my next door neighbour, the creepy guy that hangs around the shops and my cat) and not one of them knew that we had a second verse to our national anthem.

I read through it and we do have a real problem with the 2nd verse of our anthem: Advance Australia Fair.

This is how it goes…  

“Beneath our radiant southern cross, we’ll toil with hearts and hands… (I don’t have a problem with this verse. Us, Aussies are good workers.. in between the times we’re slackin off, chuckin sickies and generally bludging.) …to make this Commonwealth of ours,

Renown through all the lands,

For those who come across the seas,

We’ve boundless land to share…

OK! Hold it there…

Boundless land to share??? Boundless land – yes, to share  – Nooo! No… not me personally: I’m all let’s get multicultural.  It’s our government with their, “Stop the boats & Operation Sovereign Borders” stuff that is the prob.


We need to be more honest… we need to change this part of the second verse.

I suggest we change it to:


Beneath our radiant southern cross, we’ll toil with hearts and hands, to make this Commonwealth of ours,

Renown through all the lands,

For those who come across the seas,

We’ve boundless land to share…  NO WE DON’T!

We’ll lock you in a detention centre and leave you to rot there,

So don’t arrive on our shores in a leaky makeshift boat… because our government hasn’t worked out if they’re sending you to Nauru, Manus island or PNG… but if you’re white, & rich and you’ve come by plane then… Advance Australia fair.

It doesn’t have the same rhyming scheme, but you get the message. Peace Out Bro.








Toddler Poo Psychology

This is a true story:



My brother and his three little ones visited me. So I had four kids to entertain, so I cranked out a marathon game of Monopoly. Towards the middle of the game, the 3 year old just let one go. And it made my eyes water.

“I’m Australian but I do suffer from English sensibilities: “Oh dear! In this house we take our foofies outside. Now, Aunty Mel can’t breathe. Dear God.”

My brother came out with a typical Australian response: “Bonza little buddy. You cracked one off just like daddy does. Take note boys. That’s how you drop a good one.”



Then the 3 year old announced, “I need to go the toilet.” No kidding.

“Go, you are permitted to go, and take that heinous smell with you.”


He toddles off to the toilet… the smell still lingering in the air. Now, he was in that toilet for a very long time. You know when you get that nagging feeling that something’s not right. I”ll check on him.


I walk to the toilet. I walk to what used to be my toilet and it’s covered in poo.

 There is POO everywhere!

The toilet bowl is slathered in excrement, right up to the lid. The walls are slathered in brown and there are mushy poo-plops leading up to the toilet in a Hansel and Gretel type trail, that leads to… to what can only be described as Mr Hankey and his entire family’s murder scene.




To work this out, I need to get into the head of a 3 year old and work out the toddler psychology. OK, I’m 3. I’m just toilet trained and I haven’t quite nailed it yet. I need to go, I really do, but I’m playing an epic game of monopoly, and if my brother buys Old Kent Road, I’ll be spewing.


I’m having fun, I’m not going to interrupt the fun for a poo. Three year old priorities: 1: Fun, 2:Poo. So I’m having fun and I feel the urge – I ignore it. I’m having fun, surely the poo can wait. I enjoy a few more rounds, oh there’s that poo… I really need to go to the toilet… I’ll hold on. I keep playing and I forget about it, and then it comes out.


Oh dear, it’s in my pants. So I’m three and now I have a poo in my pants. What do I do? Now, I better  go to the toilet. As I’m walking towards the toilet a little poo-plop works its way down and rolls out onto the floor. Oh dear, I’ll pick it up and put it in the toilet, even a 3 year old can use that simple logic… but 3 year olds don’t have a delicate way of picking things up.  So I grab it. And mush it between my fingers. Now I’m experiencing poo mush hands.

I put my hands on head and face: “What do I do now!” and run my hands through my hair.

Kids Get Dirty At Michigan Town's Annual "Mud Day"


Then another poo-plop rolls out.

You have to remember I’m three. I can’t deal with all this… so I’ll pull my daks off and play with it all for a while.  Then, I wipe my pooey hands on the toilet and up the walls. I wipe my hands on every available clean surface. Nearly cleaned. Oh…  toilet paper… what’s that for again? *shrugs shoulders*. I’m done. 

What do I do now? I’m nearly poo free. I’ll cruise back with my pooey feet across the white carpet and put my poo-plop hands onto the chair and rejoin the monopoly game… and hope no one notices.



It took me an hour to clean & disinfect my toilet. It took me 5 hours to work out the psychology behind it. That is 6 hours of my life I will never get back.