Please don’t be mad at me

I’m sorry that I yelled 

I’m sorry for the tantrum and the tears 

I’m still learning; I’ve never been this age before. 

Please be patient with me

I don’t always understand what you want me to do, but I’ll do my best. 

I get tired some days, hungry some days. 

I need to be able to do things by myself, I appreciate your help but I need to be independent too. 

I know you rely on me, I am obsessed with you too. 

I do hear you even though it seems like I’m not listening sometimes

I know you are listening to me even though sometimes it feels like you can’t hear me 

I’m sorry for growling, for scowling 

Please don’t tell me to go away

I’m not going anywhere, anytime soon. You and me, we are a package deal. You, me and the others. 

I’m sorry I frightened you when you didn’t know where I was. I knew where I was! 

The world is so scary!  But we are a team.

Thank you for asking me if I was ok when I looked sad. Thank you for kissing me and saying you missed me when I was away. 

Thank you for loving me. 

As the years go by, our relationship will change as we grow older. 

We’ve never been this age before. 

Please remember that I am doing my best. I know you are doing yours. 

To my child. 

To my mum. 

Thank you xx 


Poos, Wees, Diddles and Bums

Hey, Mum!
Yes, son?




I mean, I get it. For a kid, poos are funny. Farts are flippen hilarious. Even adults find them funny.

I didn’t think I would ever be a mother who would find poop jokes and bum jokes annoying. Let’s be honest – I was the kid who used to sing, “Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the DIDDLE”. I was hilarious.

BoyChild was a relatively late developer in discovering the hilarity that is toilet humour. Bt when he found it, boy did he find it. Everything, literally everything is a toilet joke.

In the car.

I faaaaaaaart
I fart in the caaaaaaaaar

My bum does faaaaaaaaarts

My bum farts in the caaaaaar

At the dinner table.

What was your favourite part of your day, son? 

I did a poop fart in the toilet HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA. Poop fart. Classic.

While visiting an Open Home with potential to buy it.

I do weeeees in the loo I do poooooos in the loo

Weeeeeeees. Poooooooos. Weeeeeeees. Pooooooos.

In my bed.

Good morning, Mum.

Morning darling

I’m going to pee on your face

Please don’t, darling. 

At home.

Hey, Mum! Come quickly to the toilet! I need you please mum QUICKLY!

*rushes to bathroom* What’s the matter? 

I did a poop and it made a big splash HA HA HA HA HA HA HA

And, my all-time favourite. The best of them all. In the supermarket.

*lifts up my top* Mum! Did you do a FART?

*blows raspberrys on my back* You DID you a fart Mum! Poo Mum! Oh mum, that’s a bit rude. Say ‘scuse me, Mum. Gosh Mum. Gross.

Here’s hoping it’s a passing phase. And here’s hoping there is a bit of a lag before BabyGirl discovers farts and bums.

At least when he’s on the computer, he seems to forget about –

Hey, Mum! Guess what’s really funny! There are POOS in comPOOter! COMPOOOOOOTER ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Never mind.




An open letter to my friends


Friendship is weird. You just pick a human you’ve met and you are like, “yep, I like this one” and you just do stuff with them

Dear friend

Thank you.

Thank you, firstly, for being my friend. Sounds lame, I know. But I just feel like it’s not said enough.

I appreciate you. I appreciate you letting me vent to you at 1am when my kids are being jerks. I appreciate you letting me vent to you at 1am when I have PMS and can’t sleep.

I appreciate you letting me vent.

Thank you for agreeing with me when I complain about stupid shit. Thank you for disagreeing with me when I’m complaining about stupid shit and being unreasonable.

To agree with me says you support me, to not be afraid to disagree says that you respect me enough to call me to account.

Thanks for sharing that post on Facebook that you knew I would find hilarious. I did. In fact, I literally lol’d. Thanks for laughing at the picture I put on your Facebook page.

Thanks for acknowledging my birthday. And pretending *wink* that I’m still 21. Thanks for acknowledging my kid’s birthdays as well. It means something to know that my kids are important to you.

Thank you for texting me and asking how my day was. Sometimes the message comes at the right time. The exact moment when I am deflating. It makes my day. Thanks also for telling me about your day. I like to know what you are up to (in a non-stalker kind of way)(kind of).

And now, about you. I think you are amazing. You are a great mother – did you know that? Things get tough, I know. And I don’t always talk to you but just know that I am thinking about you often. I see things that I know your kids would like, I see things that remind me of you, and them. It breaks my heart that I can’t see you and the kids, if I could wish one thing it would be that our kids could live side by side. Granted, not much would get done as you and I would be sitting on the couch drinking coffee wine all day long and semi-supervising our children. But it would be okay because the kids would get on wonderfully. Ha! I laughed at that as well!

I hope you aren’t lonely. I know you have other friends around you (none of whom are as amazing as me, of course)(I’m kidding)(kind of) but I worry that you aren’t as happy as you could be. I know you worry that I’m not happy, and I want you to know that I am doing okay. I laughed today over something the kids did, and it made me think of you. I hope you are laughing like a maniac too. Remember that time you laughed and slapped my knee instead of yours? You know it happened.

To my friends – I don’t expect you to answer every message I send you. I won’t be upset if you don’t respond. I know you are busy. Kids make us busy in indescribable ways. I won’t always respond either. And sometimes my answer will be “hddnfbururcbsak” because my kids ninja my phone. But when you need me, I will be there.

I’m an idiot. I have a wacky sense of humour and laugh at goats in trees. And you know that. And you are okay with that. I appreciate you appreciating my weirdness. Because deep down, you are an idiot too. Own it and move on.

Thank you for having my back. For supporting me when I needed it. Thank you for thanking me. I know it sounds silly, and I don’t act for the accolades. But sincere thank yous mean a lot.

Thank you for laughing with me, crying with me. Laughing with me when the only option is to cry. Regardless  whether we see each other daily, weekly, or every three years, when we get together it’s as though we saw each other yesterday, and I cherish that.

I cherish you.

You are an amazing friend, and I count myself lucky to have you in my life. You are a strong, beautiful woman and a fantastic mother. Your kids are damn lucky to have you as their mum. Your husband is flippen lucky to have you as his wife (well, duh).

Each and every one of you.

Thank you for being my friend.

Mrs T xx


Nobody Said It Was Easy

Nobody said it was easy, this parenting gig.

But nobody said it would be this hard.

Nobody told you how tired you would be.

I mean, they talk about newborns not sleeping. But nobody mentions that kids don’t miraculously start sleeping well on their 1st birthday. Some do. But many don’t. Some do, and then stop again when night terrors/bad dreams/toilet training kicks in.

When a child is unwell, they don’t sleep well. When three children are unwell, they don’t sleep well but do so in a seemingly coordinated roster system so that they are never all asleep at the same time.

Which, in part, means that mum and dad don’t sleep.

Nobody talks about how the tiredness goes beyond anything coffee can fix. That you get tired to your very core. Your entire everything is tired.

Nobody tells you that you might not like your child every day. That there will be days when you look at your child and want to scream at them, “GO AWAY! I DO NOT LIKE YOU!”. Nobody tells you that, when pushed to your very limit, you might actually utter those words to your child. And nobody talks of the guilt that sits with you for days, weeks, years.

Nobody tells you the despair you will feel when your child is sick or confused or upset and no body around seems to care. When your child is scared and crying and gets told, “Stop being silly”. And all you want to do is scream “HE’S NOT BEING SILLY. HE IS AFRAID AND NEEDS SUPPORT RIGHT NOW. I. NEED. SUPPORT. RIGHT. NOW”.

Because nobody tells you how isolating parenting can be. How, when your child is throwing the tantrum to end all tantrums, there is no body there who can take the child into their arms and magically calm them down. That you sit there and look around, hoping that this child’s real parent will show up soon and take over the show.

Nobody tells you that there will be times that you just want to cry. And there will be times when all you can do is sit in your car and cry. There will be times when you yell and stomp and scream and then wonder why your kids yell and stomp and scream. And you know that the best thing is to keep calm and collected. But you also realise this as you are yelling and stomping and screaming.

Nobody tells you how magical it feels to stand in the pantry and scoff a chocolate bar. One you don’t have to share.

Nobody tells you how much fucking laundry you will do.


Nobody can describe how it feels when you see your child achieve something. Nobody tells you how much your entire everything, that same everything that is exhausted beyond repair, will melt into a puddle of proud tears when your child gets a certificate at school, or reads you a story, or writes you a book.

Nobody tells you how it feels when you return from a weekend away and the kids scream and holler and clap and exclaim with glee when they see you, running towards you and hugging you in the best of all hugs. Nobody tells you that, less than an hour later, you’ll be missing that time that you went away.

Nobody tells you how much you will laugh. How crazy you will feel. How you will view the world from a different angle.

Nobody says how valuable the important people in your life are. The people who are actually there for you when you need them. The people who you are there for as well. And that these people pop up in unexpected places, and the people you think you can rely on, aren’t always such.


Nobody asks you whether, if given the chance, you would go back and change things. Not have kids. Do things differently.

Because the answer is no. Without hesitation. With 100% certainty. No.

Nobody tells you how much these crazy little critters will suck you in, completely encompassing your heart and soul and mind and body and everything. That same everything.

Nobody said it was going to be easy.

But everyone will tell you it’s worth it.




F*** It

The first time your child swears, you think that surely you misheard. I mean, yes, it was clear. And yes, the context was dead on. But where on earth could my cherub have learned such language?

And then, you giggle. Because although it’s wrong and bad and naughty and all that stuff we say to make ourselves seem like legit, on-the-level parents, it’s still f***ing funny.

BabyGirl picked up a bowl of chips the other day, and realised it was empty.

“Oh, bugger. All the chips are gone” she mumbled.

And then the dog ran through the room. “F*** it, dog, you nearly spilled my drink!”

I don’t swear in front of my children. I certainly don’t say it enough for them to pick it up.

It must be their dad.

Or their preschool.

Oh! Maybe it’s the neighbour.

It’s everyone but me, that’s for damn sure.


I didn’t.


Goddammit, it’s occurred to me that maybe I say f***ing swearwords more than I bloody realise. Bugger it.

Kids. Sponges.

Swearing doesn’t have the stigma it used to, that’s for sure. I distinctly remember my sister telling me, when she was 13 and I was 11, that when I got to high school, I would learn that dick isn’t even a swear word. When she said it, I gasped, whispered, “don’t let mum hear you say that word!” and looked around furiously for mum to appear at the door in a way that Mums tend to do (it’s a sixth sense, you just know when your kids are misbehaving). My uber cool, 13 year old sister rolled her eyes at me. Children.

And then I went to high school and, well, I’ll be damned. Dick wasn’t a swear word.

And today, I say the occasional “shit” or “feck” in front of my mum, and she doesn’t seem too phased by it.

But that’s enough about me – back to my darling children.

I don’t know who taught them to swear, but shit, when I find that person, I will give them the Mum Glare to end all Mum Glares.

Because it’s not me, that’s for f***ing certain.

*shines parenting halo*





The Birds & The Bees

“Mummy? Where do babies come from?”

Honestly, the first time Princess asked me this question, I lost the plot. I have always had an open and honest approach to parenting, and always vowed that I would answer questions with accuracy and the correct terms. Don’t get me wrong – I, of course, would keep it age-appropriate and divulge information on a very much need-to-know basis.

And so, when I was asked, “Mummy? Where do babies come from?”, I disappointed myself by losing the plot in a fit of giggles. Literally.

The conversation went like this:

Mummy? Where do babies come from?

He he he he he. *chortle* well you see there is a man and he *giggle* and the lady *tee hee hee* and then *snigger* and *blush*.

I know. I’m shaking my head at myself. Honestly, Mrs T.

Anyway, I think we got there, and I think Princess has enough information to satisfy her curiosity. Which, by the way, is very little information indeed. A man has sperm, a lady has eggs (but not the kind you have for tea)(and much smaller) and the sperm mixes with the egg to make a baby that grows in Mummy’s tummy. Boom. Baby.

BoyChild has never asked and, to be honest, I don’t know if he ever will. He has his “diddle” and his sisters have “bagymas” and that’s about as far as his fascination/curiosity goes. He’s far more interested with Minecraft.

When I was a child (precocious second child of four), I don’t remember there ever being a time when I didn’t know about The Birds and the Bees. My mum has no clue how I ever found out, and was horrified to hear 4-year-old me explaining to my 6-year-old sister how “men park their limos into ladies garages” and “men put their snakes into ladies bushes”.

I can’t even. My poor mother.

And that brings us to a pleasant Wintery evening a few nights back. The older two kids were in bed and Mr T was away on business. I was pottering around the kitchen while BabyGirl played happily in the living room.

“Mumma!” she called to me. “Mumma! Come see Anna (from Frozen) give da man a ’tiss”

I just. I can’t even.


Action Man!

Now, I don’t know about you, but that looks like more than a ’tiss to me. A front bottom ’tiss, perhaps.

I won’t lie. I laughed. I left the room and laughed and laughed and cried and wiped my eyes and took the photo and sent it to my husband and a friend and then my sister and I laughed and I cried and I laughed some more. Then I took a breather and started all over again.

Smooth parenting there, Mrs T. Top notch.

And then, holy heck, the commentary.

“Oh hello Anna, you are my best fwend”

“I know that but I bery, bery tired”

I die.

I am 99.8% confident that BabyGirl has not witnessed this occuring in real life. And I am certain that it was completely innocent play. And I am 600% glad that her older sister was not around when it happened. And I am 1,000,000% sure that I probably shouldn’t have laughed so hard.

But, kids. They have this awesome innocence about them – she was playing a game and, I like to think, happened upon a scenario that mimicked adult behaviour, not deliberately but rather by accident. And, I like to think, by not telling her it was naughty or yukky, she left that game thinking of it no differently than if she were sitting the dolls in the toy car, hooning around the kitchen with two My Little Ponys in the back.

I can chalk this up on my list of Parenting: Expectation v. Reality. Not how I thought I would react, but not entirely, completely terrible. I hope.

And now, I brace myself for the day BabyGirl starts explaining to her big sister about men and their limousines …




Take a Freakin Break

Hey, ladies?

Yes, you! The mum with three kids hanging off her. And you over there, that mum with five kids who are sick this holidays. And, of course, you with the one kid too.

All of you. All you mums who are tired and exhausted and nearing the brink of total, catastrophic meltdown.

Yea, you know who I’m talking about.

It’s time. It’s time to stop what you are doing, walk away from the laundry. Put away that vacuum cleaner. Put down the saucepan (and make sure to switch off the oven too, because fire).

Mum Guilt. Post Natal Depletion. Toddler Drain. The Mad Army Of Little People That I Made.

We hear about it all the time, so we know it’s a thing.

But that doesn’t mean that it has to be a thing.

I mean, let’s be honest here, ladies. Can I be real for a minute? Yes?

The guilt will always be there. I’m no fool. I know such things.

But, here’s my point in this splotchy and random rant today.

We, the Mothers of the World, need to TAKE A FREAKIN BREAK. And, even more so, we need to do it and NOT GIVE A CRAP NOR APOLOGISE ABOUT IT.

I know, it’s hard. I am probably the most guilty of all the guilty people when it comes to never switching off, and putting the kids (and the husband) (and the dog) (and the neighbourhood cat) above myself and my needs. I get something ridiculous like 4 hours sleep per night, and a lot of that is spent having weird dreams about my kids and husband and cheese. I juggle 600,000,001 things per day, none of which are self serving.

So, I get it.

But – NO.

When you fly in an plane, and you sit in your seat and get ready for that all-important safety message, what does the flight attendant say?

Other than “Count the rows to the exit, the nearest exit may be behind you”??

“If oxygen masks should fall during the flight, please make sure yours is on before assisting others”.

And now, a show of hands please – how many of you Mothers out there (and parents in general, tbh) would put your own mask on before you put one on your child?


But you have to, because that’s what they said.

Today, I lay down a challenge for all the Mums of the aforementioned list.

Let’s start small. Once, just ONCE this week, I would love for you all to apply this to everyday life. Not the oxygen masks bit, smarty pants. Unless you are on an aircraft and the oxygen masks do happen to fall, in which case, shit, do your thang!

But no, I’m talking about applying it to our everyday, chaotic messes that we call daily life.

I want you to take a moment to PUT YOURSELF FIRST.

Tell your husband, the kids are here, they are fine, I’m going out for tea. And gather your faves, your squad, your besties and go out for dinner. Or get together for a stitch and bitch. Or go to the movies alone. Anything that is 100%, entirely for YOU. You, you strange beautiful woman.

Men don’t get the same guilt we do. I don’t know why. But they don’t.

The thing is, what good are you, as a mother, as a wife, as a person, if you have reached a stage of blowout? What good are you to yourself if you are too tired to think, too tired to exist?

What good are you if your health starts to suffer while your kids thrive?

This is something I have learned the hard way this past month. And I’m still learning. And I don’t have the answers. But what I do have, is a plan. A plan to take time for me.

My life is so damn busy, I’m effectively working three jobs while raising three kids. I have reached the point where my health is suffering dangerously. So something HAD TO CHANGE.

I’ve started small. Scheduling in “me time” in my week. Extending my daughter’s preschool hours so I can have an extra hour to focus on me. And not feeling BAD ABOUT IT. And, even more so, not scheduling anything into that time! I also treat exercise like an errand. I “book” it in on my calendar, so there are no excuses.

I read. I have a book and I am forcing myself to take the time to read it. Even if it’s while I sit on the loo, it’s reading something that has more than six words per page.

I take showers and I *gasp* lock the door. Or sing so loudly I can’t hear the kids yelling at me from the other side of the glass shower door.

I am learning to unapologetically put myself first occasionally. Because I had to. Because I was a fast sinking ship and I needed to make a change quickly.


So there it is. I reiterate, I am setting the challenge for all y’all. Take some time for YOU. Make the time. Don’t feel bad about it. DO IT.

Because your kids need you. Your husband needs you. Your family and friends need you. YOU NEED YOU.

I need you.