Agnostic Catholic

My eldest son is merely eight and he has already come to the opinion, with very little guidance from myself, that he flatly refuses to believe in God, Jesus or the teachings of the holy bible. Sacrilege, I hear you cry, what awful parents, how dare they subject their son to such morality lows. In my defense, he has come to this opinion, all on his own, I will not lie that I am not on the same page as he (but yes I am ) but my approach is softer and appreciative of a persons right to believe in whatever the fuck they want. As long as you do not judge another for not accepting or following that belief. We all have the ability and right to make our own choices. This is where my parenting begins with K1’s religious education. No matter WHAT he believes, he must never demean another persons right to chose and to have an opinion. As he has called his brother an idiot for thinking that we will go to hell if we do not believe in Jesus, to quote his words, “Jesus does not exist and neither does hell, that is just stupid”! We have worked hard on tempering this attitude and harsh delivery of his belief 🙂

K1 is head strong, willful, pig headed, intelligent, he also sits on the autistic spectrum, so he struggles with areas that are grey. The world is black or white., God or no God. He believes in science, planets, evolution, Darwin, dinosaurs, he also believes that the earth is his guidance, nature his energy source, what he must believe in and nurture, kindness is his road to enlightenment and rocks are mystical and sacred. He always carries a semi precious rock in his pocket or bag, to hold, to manipulate or peek at, to wonder at.

So imagine my surprise when he agreed to go to church with his best friend, who is catholic. He had to sit in church, through the sermon in silence, for a FULL hour. Not a peep did he make. I am pleased he went, it is important for him to understand how others believe and for him to be able to make an informative decision on where he wants to sit (if ever) on the belief spectrum. It was kind of my friend to share this family experience with him (she said he was a very good boy, I was slightly panicking that he would announce that they were all fucking dumb and god never existed). But he stayed silent, he listened and he appreciated. When I asked him how it was? He said “I kinda liked it, it was nice and quiet and we listened to music”, “do you believe now”? I asked, “no”, he said, “but I enjoyed listening”. he even said he would go back. I was so proud of him, he chose for the love of his friend, to respect and share this experience with him, he realized it made his friend feel accepted and respected and that although their religious differences, it meant no divide, or hate or heart break.

Then they went and played Lego, a whole new religion.


Penis Party

As a mother of boys I am surrounded by my fair share of penises, no big deal. Also, through my informative youth I became quite accustomed to and up close and personal to enough penises, to know the general biology and structure of the “willie, cock, third leg, brain, the old man, weinus” hanging proudly between each mans thighs.

However, since having my boys, my nonchalance of this appendage has changed to confusion, fear and wonderment. My first major penis decision was to keep them all intact and not circumcised. No one is chopping my kids bell end off and definitely not because I am told to or for any cosmetic reasons. My second rite of passage was to clean that ‘little bean’ daily for them until they were of an age to take this on for themselves, I am kind of relieved when this happens, as you never know how much urine is wrapped round those things when they are young, bleuch. Thirdly I have to make sure that the skin pulls back nicely exposing their tiny little purple ends, I discover I am squeamish about this and I was even kindly showed by the pediatrician how to do it. Now this I find terrifying, surely that stretching of skin is not physically possible. Apparently it really is, as my kids like to show me daily in the bath, the little beasts that they are.

Watching my boys get acquainted to their “best friend” to say the least has been interesting and entertaining. The fact that the are always, playing with it, pulling it so far out of their bodies it twangs back and making it disappear between their legs and shouting “I’m a girl, look at me Mama, I’m a girl” and then laughing hysterically, I truly cannot believe that does not cause excruciating pain, they all ensure me it does not, as they windmill that thing at me, waggling it like a fish out of water.

Obviously it is an amazing thing, it has its own cooling system for its baby making tadpoles and it likes to stand to attention at inappropriate moments as it practices for when it is a big boy. Many a time I have had to push that thing down, to attempt to get a diaper over it, whilst screaming at my husband “are you SURE this does not hurt them?” He bellows back “NO”

This is clearly only the start of my penis odyssey and I am sure these little guys will throw a few curve “balls” 🙂 at me along the way. I am hoping this is not a teenage pregnancy or an STD. But until then I will continue to help them on their penis perfecting journey and realize that their brains really should stay within their heads.


Mama Mia – Mi

So last weekend was my belated 40th celebratory “Mamas on the loose” weekend in Miami.

This marked my first all girls weekend, NO kids, NO husband, No responsibilities. There was NO cleaning up after everyone, NO cooking dinners that small child like noses turn up to, NO kid piss, shit or snot clear up. Plus, I left the Air B n B for the full 48 Hrs we were there, with my grown up clothes on, that I cannot wear as I usually have some dirty snot sheen or grubby hand print on me somewhere and….. wait for it …… OMG I actually wore mascara and blusher for two whole days, as I had time to apply, clean off and wow reapply the following day. Can you actual imagine that for a moment? From the cocoon of mother I emerged as a fully grown “Me” not K1 / 2 and 3s mum or the darling husbands wife, but fuck me, I was actually me, the full technicolor version, with matching bra and knickers.

We did really weird things together, like talked to each other for a whole 10 minutes without a whiny voice interrupting, or being rammed in the stomach by a 2 year old head mid sentence. I ACTUALLY lay by the pool for 4 Hrs (yup you so read that right, a whole 4 hours) and READ A MAGAZINE and slept!?! WOAH so fucking crazy, us gals went mad for it. I not once asked for the children’s menu or a high chair, I did not carry wipes, binkies or a spare set of clothes.

We danced until 1 am and did not have to wake at 6 am. I could actually look at things, browse in shops, admire art and not miss a thing, because I did not have to consistently keep my head down to break up fights and count that my kids are by my side, muttering 123, 123, 123 as I counted them and recounted every other step.

It was like real, grown up, proper adulting.  Imagine that!



My hurricane virginity was popped by the goddess of war, Irma. She (sorry to my husband , He told me she was an “IT”) . But sod that, she was all female, she was strong, forceful, relentless, stubborn, temperamental and unforgiving. All the things a mother would be protecting her children, her babies. Fighting for her child, Earth . Ripping apart pestilence and reminding us mere humans, to not fuck with our planet, as she can rip us limb from limb in a heartbeat.

I officially have not experienced pure fear, before Irma, where I was so terrified for the safety and lives of my children, where the choices I made, would impact their lives directly and one false move by me as a parent, could damage them beyond repair. I was confused, disorientated, I wanted to vomit and shake and  curl in to the fetus position and only to uncurl when this was all over.

I actually blame most of this on the extensive and at times scare mongering media, the inundation of good will opinions of people not living here or who decided to evacuate early. It was a barrage of leave, get out, sending article after article, of things I had already read from the local News I was following. It just increased the panic 10 fold and each time I said thank you and each time I secretly wanted to just say please fuck off and enjoy your safe place and leave me to prepare. I know they were being kind, but man it was time consuming and mentally tiring.

And prepare we did, generator, gas, food, water, safe place, securing the house, washing all our clothes, shutting everything down, packing valuables and documents in ziplock bags, filling the freezer with zip lock bags of water, packing torches, batteries, sleeping bags, kid essentials, money… it was immense, scary, and overwhelming. 

Why did we stay? So many reasons, first  she was hitting the east coast and then switched, my husband is Chief Operations Officer for his company and needs to keep the office informed, secured and then operating again, we did not want to leave our home, we did not know how long it would be before we could get back home if we left, we wanted to be able to stay and help others in need, we did not want to get stuck on the I75 with no gas. There were so many factors and it was a heart wrenching and much debated decision, especially as we have 3 small boys.  

Decisions to stay or go are very personal and should never be frowned upon, I totally know why people left, she was a cat 5 Bitch called Irma, but it was amazing to experience her and to be reminded how fucking insignificant we really are.

Yes the aftermath is tiring and hot and it sucks, but we are able to work on our poor battered home and so  many people have been immensely kind. People out the blue, texting and offering help, AC, showers, washing, meals and a hug.

It’s been a wild ride, one we are still on as a family and one that has taught us so much already. And if you asked me if I would stay again, the answer would be yes. 

I’m that damn crazy 😄❤️


I am sure when my boys were born this was with the help of a daddy? He was and is very present, he changed them, played with them, bathed them, read to the them. He still does all of the above.

So how is it they do not know his name… The following is all said in a loud sing song/shout voice! “Mummmmmmmyyyyyyy I done poo poo, mummy I need water, mummy I’m hungry, mummy can you find my…. (fill in here as necessary)  This is all fine and dandy, but when I am in the middle of eating, showering, using the bathroom (oh to shit in peace and alone), they will physically, walk past, over, through and around daddy sitting RIGHT there !?! Like he is right  in the line of fire to get to me. I’m not sure if daddy has this amazing miracle invisible cloak on or is so quiet no one registers his existence. But damn I need some. Even when I say, go and ask daddy, they weirdly always manage to find their way back to me.

Shit, daddy is bigger, stronger, faster and smarter than I, surely a far better choice for help. It would be so lovely to make and drink a coffee in peace… one day and then that’s the day I’ll want it all back, the noise and chaos and fights and love …. 

Remember boys, daddy rocks mummy sucks 😂👍


When my solemn 5 year old K2 asks me “Why do you have a “China”?” 

I stop washing the floor and squint at him. “Um, I don’t understand, China?” 

To which he flourishes his arm, thrusts it forward and points at my short, clad groin region. Ahhhh my vagina I grin. 

Now I was not in the correct frame of mind to divulge and reveal the nitty gritty nature and mechanics of the “China” vs the “weinus” (Kids choice of penis word). So I come out with the lazy, get out of jail parenting explanation. “Because I am a girl.” He stares again, seems ready to accept, goes to walk away and stops. He looks at me and says “Why?” Oh shit, here we go. Do I do skim over details and give him the pretty, cute explanation or the scientific version. I decide on scientific and hope it answers all questions here and now and for the foreseeable future.

Here goes…. “Well, the “China”(vagina) …..”


When Kid 3 (age 2.5 years) is terrified of thunder and you live in the lightening capitol of America – you make up songs, to ease his fears and tears.

Thunder, thunder you’re so loud, 

Thunder, thunder Pom Pom Pow. (this is how he describes the noise of thunder) 

Thunder, thunder shhhh be quiet,

Thunder, thunder please be silent….

Use at will… –  you are welcome 🙂




Some days I cannot cope with my children. I drown in the cacophony of  yells of happiness and shouts of bickering. Three, boisterous boys talking over me. Never listening, just  shouting. Staking a claim to their right to be here. Each fighting for the love I give readily and freely, equally and fiercely to them all. 

My head aches, my brain is crushed, coping with my own anxieties. Craving their understanding and love in return. Bequeathing me a gift of silence, a moment of tranquility. I too become a needy child, but I must be the adult I sometimes do not want to be.

I often fail them at this point and I fall into the shouts and release of noise that streams from my mouth, reprimanding, controlling them with my yells and repeatedly falling in to the abyss of my own frustrations. 

Love brings me back, love rescues me, love restores our peace. 

My kids are me, they love me, they teach me, as I must guide them.

Restoring sanity. 

It’s no use crying over “spilt” apple juice.

Every day I run the gauntlet of either being a complete and utter shit show or sporadically I can be freaking awesome, when all those planned, little moments, fall exactly in to place.

Each day I run and run and run at full speed and pretty much achieving “f” all in the grand scheme of my ridiculous, human aspirations and desires. Hair brushed – still looks a mess, kids all out the door to school – only 2 out of the 3 will have underwear on or have brushed their teeth, sweep the floor –  but it doesn’t reach the trash, washing done – but gets folded in 2 days time, put washing away, – well you might as well just put the clothes on as there are none left in your drawer; and so the hamster wheels turns and turns, relentless in its progress and never, ever stopping.

Today officially was a shit show.

8.00 am – kids to school – forget snacks and diapers for kid 3 – drive home, mild blaspheme.

8.35 am – leave again – off to swimming. I smile.

9 am – I swim, pick up K3 from childcare and he has pissed his pants (they are weirdly not allowed to change him in the child watch – bloody sucks) now I have urine all over my hands and washed for 50 Th time, I sigh.

10 am- K3 swimming lesson – kid screams a full 20 minutes in the pool, I hide.

10.30 am – my favourite sunglasses break as I chase crazy, escaping kid around the pool edge. I mutter.

11 am – coffee balanced in hand and croissant in kids mouth we brave Costco by singing the whole way round – head down, battle stance, lets do this. I run.

11.50 am – pick up kid 2 from school, K3 falls asleep in car, now I have to transfer him to bed, get out Costco shop and feed K2 lunch, I run.

12 noon – K3 in bed, K2 washing hands, me, I am being buried under a deluge of snack boxes as I pull open the trunk and they proceed to tumble all over the drive way, cooked chicken is ejected and explodes out of its bag and I am covered in meat juice. I swear repeatedly. “Hey, no swearing until you can drive, I warn kid 2”.

12.03 pm – lug shopping into the house and a 2 gallon apple juice falls to the floor. Balancing boxes I pick up the sturdy looking bottle, like a ninja in training. Only to realize its cracked and leaking, all over me, the floor and I now have this wonderful mixture of chicken, apple juice aroma emitting from my personage.

12.05 pm – desperately trying to decant at speed, juice in to drinking bottles and in among the over flowing sink of the morning dishes, I had not managed to clear up yet,  I knock a 32 oz filled bottle of rescued apple juice all over the counter. I stretch my arm out quickly to rescue it, I proceed to whack over the drinking glasses next to it and propel them clattering and smashing all over the oven…. I’M SOOOOO DONE!

12.08 pm  – I stand upright, I scream, I shout “fucking hell” as loud as I can, I bury my wretched face in to my gloriously sticky, chicken, apple hands and I sob and sob and sob. Wailing “I cannot do this, I just cannot keep up”. Like an absolute lunatic. 🙂

I am clearly prone to being a little dramatic, plus I think I scared the shit out of kid 2 with my emotional display. Seeing his wide eyes looking at me and the juice pooling on the floor, ready for an ant pool party. I begin to pull the frazzled strings of my mind back together and sit on the floor to breathe. I hug my little guy hard and we laugh at crazy mama. “Time for lunch”, I say!

There is no use crying over spilt apple juice……