Category Archives: Opinion

Motherly musings



Mother’s Day seems to be one of those celebrations you love or hate. Personally, I love it, because my kids make an effort, I do nothing, and adhere to my “I make the rules for Mother’s Day” rule!

Today meant breakfast out at a cafe of my choice, and then a competition of Uno which resulted in yelling and general profanity, resulting in my brother winning and pissing off my daughter until she won a hand, and order was restored.

For many people Mother’s Day is painful. Perhaps you didn’t have children. Perhaps you were raised by a shitty mother. Perhaps you are a shitty mother. I get it.  Mother’s Day isn’t for everyone.

Mothering isn’t easy but then neither is brain surgery. Mothering isn’t always rewarding, but then neither is being a paramedic. In my opinion, mothering is just another job where it is vital you don’t mess it up as there are human lives in the balance. It’s  just another part of who you are but it’s not everything. I am happy that I had kids, but I also think I would find happiness in being childless. My life is good with and without children.

It’s just another part of who you are but not everything. I am happy that I had kids, but I also think I would find happiness in being childless. My life is good with or without children.

I think it’s vital to have a life outside your life as a parent. It changes the way your children look at you. Respected, admired and being a decent role model are all good things to be.

Sometimes I look at women who make their whole existence being a parent and I worry for them. What happens when their children leave home? What will they do? What do they put their energy into? Because children leave.

First, they leave emotionally and then they leave physically and there’s not a damn thing you should do about it and nor should you. That’s your job. Show them the ropes, then wipe their faces, and smooth down their hair and send them on their way.

Two close friends of my children both reached out and said thank you to me today. For being there for them more than their own mothers who didn’t know how to deal with what was happening in their children’s lives during a shitty time.  For listening, for getting them through the worst times of their life. I accepted their thanks but reminded them that their mothers are human. They did the best they could with what they had at the time. Not all mothers can deal with dirty subjects like suicide, and abuse. But then I’ve never waded in the shallows of life. I like my waters dark and deep, where I make friends with the sharks and listen to the whale songs on Spotify.

But God knows I’ve failed as much as I’ve succeeded in parenting, as I have in everything in my life.

I like being a mother to my kids. I like being a writer. I like being a sister. I like being a friend, a daughter, and a shit stirrer. I like being me. No role takes precedence over another. I just make a fuss of Mother’s Day so I don’t have to unpack the dishwasher. Why? Because above all else, I’m a lazy bitch!

Happy lazy bitch day. xx





Sacred Horror

When my eldest kid was in her second year of high school, she studied the horror genre in her English class. They were asked to write their own horror story and many of them, as was to be expected, wrote themselves as the victim, usually stuck upstairs with a noise coming from the kitchen or some such horror trope.

All except my kid,  who wrote her story in the third person and then let us into the dark cesspool of her imagination.

She bypassed the word limit three times, unable to stop her hypergraphic and lurid horror story of a priest in a small Irish village who was sexually abusing children, and then boiling up their bodies and bones to make soap for the poor villagers.

Then the villagers learned of the priest’s nefarious activities, and they placed him on a Judas chair, which for those not familiar with their medieval torture tools, was a contraption where the person would be placed on top of a pyramid-like seat. The victim’s feet were tied to each other in a way that moving one leg would force the other to move as well – increasing pain.







The triangular-shaped end of thes eat was inserted in the victim’s anus or vagina. This torture could last, depending on some factors anywhere from a few hours to complete days.

So yes, my sweet kid wrote this when she was 13-years-old, wearing her pretty dark hair in a red ribbon, and not long after, her teacher rang me to say he thought she needed counseling.

After asking her about the story, she told me she had read an article about catholic priests who had abused children, and figured that the Judas Chair, which she had seen in a BBC murder mystery was the only answer to stop curb and stop the rapes.

I told the school of her calm and clear answer, and they agreed that she didn’t need counseling, in fact, perhaps she should be working as a judge to those priests before the court.

Right now in Melbourne, the Royal Commission into Child Sexual Abuse is investigating how the Catholic Church and other organisations dealt with abuse victims and  abuse allegations over the past decades.

The Church’s history has involved crimes, cover-ups, failures of leadership and a careless disregard for some of the most defenseless members of our community, children.

The stories that have emerged are heartbreaking and unforgivable, and now Cardinal George Pell is blaming ill health for his reason not to leave the Vatican, where he now works for the Pope. He has been ordered back to give evidence in Australia about his role in the cover-ups when he was a priest in Ballarat and the  Archbishop of Melbourne.

I recently had a fascinating conversation with an incredibly smart Jewish woman, who told me that country of England soared ahead when English Reformation happened and Queen Elizabeth I of England allowed the clergy to  marry. Why? Because their children became educated, and education is the key for building a better society.

By keeping the masses unable to read, or write, they have less power in which to ask why things are the way they are, and they are easier to control when they are poor.

But when the masses can read and write, they can create opportunity, and they can pull themselves out of poverty, and the more educated society is, the more it surges ahead.

After the reformation, England was taking over the world with ships, and explorers, and machines and the industrial revolution. Why? Because the priests, the leaders of the community were having children who were taught to read, and question and ask why instead of being kept ignorant and poor, and as a chattel of the church.

Some amazing thinkers came from children of the clergy.

  • Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters were children of clergymen.
  • Lewis Carroll was the son of an archdeacon.
  • Carl Jung was the son of a Swiss pastor.
  • Condoleezza Rice is he daughter of a presbyterian minister.
  • Nikola Tesla was the son of an Orthodox priest.
  • Friedrich Nietzsche was the son of a Lutheran priest.
  • Alfred, Lord Tennyson was the son of a rector.

I am not religious, but I do like ritual,  but not ritual abuse. The world is tired of the lies and sadness. We want accountability and transparency in every area of our life, particularly around our children.

If my 13-year-old child can see that this abuse was wrong then how the hell did these supposed men of God not see it?

For every single child who was abused, their childhood was a living horror film, with them starring in the main role.

I sincerely believe the Catholic church must step up and out from behind the altar and make modern and momentous  changes if they are to survive.

Will it happen in my lifetime? I hope so, but I have doubts. It seems the only answer for those victims is now burning down the churches in Melbourne. But better to burned down a building than take your own life. People are angry and rightly so, and the only thing that will fix it is change, or if my daughter had her way, a Judas Chair for every prick who ever touched a child.



Featured image on post is:


Artist: Frida Kahlo

Completion Date: 1945