Writing isn’t something I can do with a topic in mind. I thought I could when I applied to write for a blog company. Turns out, I cant. They give me a “Hot Mom Topic” and I have to write my thoughts on it. That’s impossible for me. You know why? Because I don’t have a normal Mom life, that’s why. I have my kids, and they don’t fit into a mold.

I have been given cute topics to write about. Like “overcoming bedwetting”. Are you fucking kidding me? You know what. It’s piss. It’s gonna happen. Do you have a tired child? Me too. She pisses the bed. I put a shower curtain down to protect the mattress and I lay a towel down when she wakes up in pee, if she does. What I have learned is she will eventually stop and her sleeping is more important than pee pee on the sheets. Wash them and move the fuck on with your morning.

Other topics. Talking to your daughters about sex. When is the right age?

If you have to ask when the right age is to talk to you kids about sex, you have already fucked up. You should talk to your kids about sex as soon as you can. I started talking to the girls about sex before they were old enough to understand. My parents never had that talk with me in any meaningful way. They gave me a bullshit talk about a boy and a girl who were in love. What they never told me, and to no fault of their own, was that I could possibly learn about sex from an older boy who would teach me about sex when I was just a little girl. So I told my daughters that they needed to know that someone might tell them all the right things and they needed to be aware of this. This person might even make them think they were special. And this person might make them feel really good. But, it wasn’t ok. And, they needed to know that if anyone ever touched them, it might not hurt. In fact, it might feel good. But it wasn’t ok and they needed to tell someone, anyone. And if that person they told did not help to stop it, they needed to tell another person and another until it was stopped. My kids know I was molested. They know I was a child and that he was someone who was at first, very nice to me.  They know I did the “right” thing and told someone. And they know that she didn’t help me. Therefore, they know to tell anyone they can, even if they have to write a letter to the police. They know that no matter what, they will never get in trouble no matter what they have been told by their abuser. They know no one will harm them or their sisters if they talk to someone. They also know I wish I would have told my mom or dad, or the school nurse, or anyone for that matter. I didn’t because the girl I told was his sister and she told me it was a good thing because I had an older boy who liked me. So my molest was allowed to happen. And I wasn’t sad or mad. I was 8 with a 17 year old boy telling me all the right things. He wasn’t mean to me so it was ok. When it ended is when I became very confused. He became mean to me when he saw me. He no longer wanted me and I was a little girl trying to understand what I had done wrong. I started to have anxiety not because I wanted it more, but because I didn’t know when it would happen again. Every bump in the night woke me up because it might be him….I stopped sleeping well because I was nervous. And when it stopped, I had no idea, I didn’t get a conversation about how I was now too old and I had started to be a woman and therefore he was looking for a younger kid. I was 10 and very lost. I was left to wait for it again until I no longer lived there with him. So yeah, I talk to my kids about more than sex. I talk to them about every kind of sexual experience they might have. It’s a fucked up topic but I try hard to tell them what might be out there. 1 of 4 girls is molested. That is a stat that clearly messed with me. I have to be open with the kids because I know how easy it is to be swooned into being a victim.

I want so badly to be able to write to other parents about how to raise kids, but I have no idea. I know that I want my kids to have a life that has eluded me. I want them to not know about death the way I have. I want them to be conscious of what molest looks like because sometimes it isn’t the mean person you thought it would be. It might be the cute stepbrother who babysits you and has a pretty girl friend too. I’m ok to not write for that website that I was trying to. I know that I don’t have what it takes to write about their topic-de-jour. Oh well. Sorry folks, but it looks like I wont be rich soon.