As a SAHM who is knee high in mundane (That’s French for Fisher Price and poo, right?) on a daily basis, it’s only natural that I ignore my children while logging on for look forward to my daily dose of Woog and as you can imagine, I busted a nut wee’d my pants was ever so pleased when I was asked to share a guest post here on Woogsworld!

Yeah baby!

Ok, so Motherhood has definitely hardened me up abit. Nothing really phases me these days. Come to think of it, there is only one thing that sparks fear in my cold, black heart … and that is the word ‘Holiday’.

Now that Madge has babes of her own, I wonder if she shudders when she thinks about those ridiculously perky ‘Holiday. Celebrate’ lyrics of hers? Then again I doubt she’s really experienced the joys of going on holidays with your brats babes. You know, since she probably employs an army of nannies and all that.


I don’t do holidays with children. Yes yes, I know that makes me a mean Mummy but there is a theory behind my nastiness I can assure you!

Wanderlust and dirty nappies. They just don’t compliment each other.

Travelling with children suck. Point blank. They hate long car rides, they squeal and try to squirm off your lap on flights, they don’t want to sleep in strange beds and forget camping – I’m not down for a dingo stealing my baby.

A friend suggested to me a little while back that we should invest in a caravan. Apparently the kids will sleep better in a familiar surrounding. Apparently it’s a good thing. All I got from that suggestion was apparently my friend thinks that I’m the perfect candidate for Queen of the trailer park.

Mess with me, you mess with the whole trailer park?

Hell fucking no!

A girlfriend of mine has 2 boys, similar in age to my two and they are already seasoned world travellers. Yes, holidaying with babes is bliss for her. They have hit Italy, France, Greece, Dubai, England … all in style, sanity firmly intact. Yes, I think my girlfriend is a bitch.

We took my daughter on a plane once, she was about 10 months old. A 90 minute flight from Sydney to Melbourne. I don’t know who felt abused afterwards? The bottle of vodka I punished, or the woman sitting next to us who copped an earload of squealing the whole flight.

From then on, I pretty much vowed I wouldn’t get on another flight with my children until they’re 10. At least

Don’t fret for me and my ‘no holiday’ stance though my friends, for I have a dream. A dream of the ideal holiday. Perfect for the tired, overworked Mama. No cleaning, no cooking and no babe wrangling.

Let me set the scene;

Swim up bar.

Beautiful beaches.

Bikini bodies will look like this. Awesome, right?

A never ending stream of Cocktails, which equates to be being pissed 24/7. You never wake up in a pool of your own vomit and arise from slumber, as fresh as a daisy! Unrealistic but whatevs.

I’m pretty keen on a poolside waiter in a thong as well … erm, unless he looks like this. That shit is just naaasty!

Sleep – Whenever and wherever you desire. Without having to first rock, pat or sing to sleep an overtired, sleep dodging little child.

You will eat dessert. In peace. Without sharing.

You will get a chance to throw yourself into a raging, passionate affair with good books. That don’t contain words like “Spot”, “Dora” or “That Sam I Am”. That don’t contain lift-it tabs. That don’t contain less than 5 words a page. Bliss!

You will be able to wee in peace. Without a little person coming in and asking “What you doin’ there Mum?”

and finally, the icing on this fantastic cake –

Fabulous, I know!

The moral of the story here darlings?

Wanderlust and dirty nappies do not equal a good time – so get your ass organising a babysitter and a babe free holiday, a la Mrs Woog. Girlfriend leads by an excellent example, yes?

Hope you’re having a cocktail or 10 for me Mrs W ♥