veggieburgerwithbacon

This weekend was one I will never forget. One of a lot of tears cried in a rental car and a lot of “what the fucks?” that I asked to the universe. It was emotionally intense. But, beautifully fucked up in a way only grief can allow. Grief, in some ways, is gorgeous.

Grief can be amazing. It can inspire. It can motivate you and change you. It can, if you allow it to, be a force field of hope.

This weekend was that…so much THAT.. for me. Thanks morbid PTSD and thank you undying grief. You rock.

Let me back up. I think you need the background story.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…

That line was specifically written for Tony.

But so anyway, I had been living life with a dead brother for a couple of years. Life was good. I was so totally over my grief and had just had this new baby and my life, no sarsacsm, was perfect. I clearly remember sitting on my big 4 post bed, in my brand new house, with my brand new 9-week-old baby, nursing.(This was before I knew I had PTSD).

My phone rang and of course as a stay at home mom, I jumped to talk to anyone who called me.

This was not a call to rush to. I kinda wish I never answered.

My sweet friend, not a close friend, but one I knew well and had loved, had taken his life.

I sat with the news for a bit. I got mad. I went on with my life. But, knowing the magnitude of that loss, I did something crazy: I began an online relationship… with a woman.

It began with a simple MySpace message to call me if she ever needed to talk. That was all.

It wasn’t instant. No. Not at all. There were privacy settings that didn’t allow for this relationship to grow. It should have ended. However, I knew I needed to know her.  So, I would occasionally message her.

Now here we are. In this full on love affair.

Hashtag: No homo

So let’s back up again, but only a few weeks.

By now Brooke and I have become very close, even though we haven’t officially met. Her kinda husband (they wear rings??) sent me a text about how I should come out; Brooke needed a break. I have no idea looking back how he got my # or how we all got to know each other so well, but it happened. But, I knew Justin so I knew it would be ok. So, I agreed to book a flight and spend the weekend with an online relationship.

So Friday (Tony and I had planned for a few weeks for me to arrive without Brooke knowing). I get into town and meet my online relationship for the first time in person.

It was not love at first sight. It was better.

It was family at first sight.

I first saw Tony in the parking lot as we were still conspiring against Brooke. I loved him instantly.

Then I met her. My Brooke. She’s definitely someone I knew in a former life.

As much as I wanted to celebrate our union, I instantly felt her pain. She was me. I am her. We have experienced loss on a level not many can know. But I am ahead of her. Big sister status. I will help her through this. I promised myself.

We spent the weekend not tying to catch up. That was nice. We spent the weekend as a family, as sisters, just doing our thing.  It was so fucking cool.

No pressure.

I played soccer with Drew; my new nephew.

Brooke did homework. Nerd alert.

Tony say on his couch/thrown with his “I’m a fucking badass because I made this happen crown”.

I will never understand why Brooke and I are friends. But she gave me so much peace this weekend. Her and her family reinforced that I am on the right path. I survived Micah to help others see how pretty it is when that storm is over.

Thank you Brooke, Tony, and Drew.

Ps- Look for the sweatshirt 11/21. We play U of A!!!

There is often a lot of negativity in my line of work. And there are days when it can be overwhelming to experience all day. I’ve recently been talking to my students and my clients about the laws of attraction. What you think about becomes who you are and becomes your life. Your  thoughts, they become your actions. Your actions, they become the life you have. When you have a choice daily to decide to have a good day or a bad one; why pick a bad one. I haven’t had a really bad day in years. I have had bad moments;  definitely bad hours. I have not had a bad day. In every situation there is a positive to it. Every one. Are you looking? I am.

On the day my sister died, which was just shy of 6 years ago, that was not a bad day for me. I watched my only sister die. I watched her gasp for air and suffocate to death as the machines that had been pumping her with life, shut down. This was a bad morning. However, as I sat there and held her wrist and felt her pulse slowly soften, I was not mad. I was not sad. I was not angry. I was grateful. Grateful to have had those moments with her when I could see her smile or remember her laugh (her smile shone through her eyes and her laugh was deep and from the gut…infectious). That morning, I was grateful she had been in my life even for a second. I had learned from her life. It was not wasted at all. But still, while she was dying next to me, I was grateful she was going to be safe now and no longer sick. I was grateful she was going to leave this world to be greeted by two beautiful blonde haired boys who adored her (her little brothers, Matthew and Micah). I was thankful I had the chance to tell her I was sorry and that I would miss her dearly, and that I understood why she was leaving. Please know that accepting the death of a loved one does not mean it is easy to say goodbye. I am crying now as I write.  I grieve for her and I miss her. But, I know that there is still good in her loss.

Sorry, I got side tracked…

Where was I?

Oh yeah…sis had just died.

Carry on.

Even after kissing her dead cheek goodbye, and knowing it would be the last time I would feel her physical presence, I did not have a bad day. Dammit, I was lucky to have been there with her to see her off onto the next realm. I was and still am jealous of her.

She can fly (I assume). Flying would be so fucking fun.

Sorry. Back to that day.

I left the hospital that afternoon to hundreds of calls and texts from people supporting me and my family. I went home to healthy babies. I went home to a man I adored. I went home to a home. Not everyone has a home.

I later met with more people who loved me and my family and were broken over the loss of Amy, just as we were. I am grateful for those people.

My rant has a point, I promise.

The point is that everyday, we choose how to see this world. We can have a bad day or a good one. The laws of attraction are real and we get back what we send out.

This is not just a mindset, but a daily practice.

I will continue to remind myself that I need to be thankful for what I have now. I will continue to spend my life helping others to see that this world is a miraculous place to live in. Positive thoughts lead to positive actions etc.

If I can tell you all that losing my only sister was not a bad day for me, you can get through anything.  I mean that.

———————————————————-

So P.S.

(I never  do a PS)

I am so genuinely thankful for my readers. Seeing those in countries I cannot pronounce that I have readers makes me hopeful that these rants are doing something good. I am grateful to have the platform to reach others and I wish you all will feel as loved and as appreciated in your lives as you have made me feel

rant over.

On April 20th, 1999 I cried watching the students at Columbine High School run for safety and I ached for the innocence they had lost so quickly.

December 14th, 2012 I turned the TV off after the news of a classroom full of murdered Kindergartners was too depressing to watch.

May 12, 2015, an 18 year old boy at my kids’ high school shot himself in the head. That day I was thankful he only killed himself and no one else as well.

October 2nd, 2015 I heard the news of a massacre on a college campus in Oregon and I was relieved it was not my school or my students.

Today, I woke up to the news that there was a shooting at NAU, a school that I work with, and I was grateful only one student was dead and not more.

I AM PART OF THE PROBLEM.

I should not thank god someone’s child took ONLY their own life.

I should not be grateful ONLY one student was murdered at school and not more.

I should not be sitting at work grateful I have a place to hide in case of a killer.

I should not be teaching my students how to escape the campus in case we have a shooter on campus.

I SHOULD NOT BE DESENSITIZED TO A SUICIDE OR A MURDER

I hear there is no hope. I hear there is no way to fix it. I hear that this is just the way it is. I hear it but I do not believe it.

We need to arm the schools, these shootings are happening in Gun Free Zones

We need to improve school security no matter how nice and safe an area seems to be.

We need to cut down on violence in the media. Why do we allow adolescents to buy games that reward them for shooting and killing others?

We need to improve mental health care. Putting the blame on guns diverts the attention from where it needs to be. Better, more comprehensive mental health services and facilities; addressing these issues in their infancy when they’re first manifesting in childhood or puberty instead of assuming ‘it’s just a phase’ or ‘they’ll grow out of it; not groveling to drug manufacturers by prescribing anti-depressants or whatever at the first sign of trouble; getting people to understand that they won’t be punished or cast out or labeled weird for seeking help.

We need to think about the families and not the shooters. Bad people will do bad things, so take away whatever motivation or reward the person has for doing them. Stop making murderers notorious; let them die in an anonymity

We need to focus on improving parenting skills. My God we are raising children under the theory that we must protect their self-esteem at all cost. And then we as parents have better shit to do so we sit them in front of a monitor in which there is bloodshed and hate and we completely desensitized them to violence. Let’s stop shielding our kids from every possible disappointment in life, so that when they are faced with it, they know what to do.

We need to invest ourselves in the social skills of our children. Kids are playing video games and relying on social media and they are not learning how to effectively communicate with their peers. By concentrating too much on technology and too much on the self we are inhibiting the ability of our children to understand others’ emotions. Our kids are not developing critical communication and coping skills. We have stunted our youth socially, psychosocially and/or emotionally due to neglecting their social skills and we have created detached, disconnected, desensitized humans who have no coping skills.

We have fucked up.

We need more than a Facebook post with “likes” and “shares”. We need to stop wasting time debating the safety of a weapon when the danger is us. We need action. We need education. We need funding.

We can do better you guys.

I’m for sure getting married again. One day. I swore off marriage for the rest of eternity after having my ass handed to me in matrimony before. But the truth is, I miss it. Not the bad parts or the marriage I had before, but I miss having a partner. I miss having someone to come home to or to wake up with. I miss having someone to chit chat with about my day that isn’t on the other end of my phone. I miss having someone to watch movies with or to rely on. I haven’t had someone to rely on other than my dad in a long time. I’ve had a relationship but it wasn’t a partnership. It was a drinking buddy and a playmate but there was always something missing and I never could fully pinpoint it. But that’s where this whole concept of a soulmate comes in. I want that. Someone who I know is perfect for me. Maybe not perfect, but perfectly imperfect and a perfect fit for imperfect me. Someone who will be honest. And someone who will be kind. My god, someone who won’t call me names. I can be a pain in the ass, but I don’t want to be belittled anymore. Someone who has their shit together. Not rich, I don’t need money. But I mean someone who has a goal and a dream as well and a passion and they will stop at nothing to get it. Someone who understands that I have kids but don’t need a father for them. They have that. Someone who will understand that my relationship with my kids is sacred and not fucking competition. Someone who can hold an intelligent conversation but still laugh at dirty jokes. A Sun Devil would be nice but as long as they are able to show up and cheer, I’ll be ok if they don’t love it as much as I do. Someone with kids but not little ones. I’ve done that. I can’t do it again. Someone who might want more kids though because I’d like one more, just not wanting to deal with baby mama drama from anyone else. I’m might die alone. But I almost had all that, it just went away. Dating for the last couple of years there was a moment I felt I had found that person but I was wrong…ah-gain.

I’ve been to a lot of weddings. I’ve placed bets at weddings on how long they would be married. Watching my brother get married there was none of that. I felt whole heartedly that it was a great relationship for him to be in and one I supported before he admitted it was more than a friendship. I realized at his wedding that there was this thick feeling of love not only for the couple but for the two families joining. Everyone loves everyone. I gained a sister and a sister of hers. It was so fun to have the photographer call us all sisters. It’s exciting to have more sisters (I have Michelle but for the sake of this post I’m talking about getting newer new ones).

The biggest thing I noticed though was that I haven’t had the relationship yet where I would be excited to get all dolled up in a big dress and make a spectacle of myself so that everyone could watch me get married. I did once and we eloped. Stupid mistake. Now I’m left to find that again with someone who is real again. My ex was everything I wanted back then. Now it’s like two totally different people when we talk. Time changed us greatly. We are in part, total strangers. So who is next for me? I don’t know. I’m impatient to say the least. Wanting that whole love affair-get engaged-get married might not happen again for me. And I’m trying to be ok with that. I have all the other makings of a happy life. But I’m often very lonely. Often I feel alone in a room of people because I’m usually the one there without a person. Without their person. People ask about my kids or my job and it’s like they look at me knowing I go home alone. I used to thrive on my independence and now I feel it is more of a burden. I don’t get invited to couple’s night. I’m too old for my single girl friends and I don’t fit in with the married bunch. This sucks guys.

So now what? I mean, I can’t just make myself a man. So I go back to what I know. I work on school stuff and I blog and I clean my house and I ask the universe to see to it that I have someone again. And not just anyone. That someone. I think I’m actually ready to finally do it. It took me a long time after my divorce to be able to say that I want to have a live in partner. I want to share my life with someone. Before I had one foot out the door and too much pride to move forward with anything. Now I think I’m ready. Ok. So c’mon world. Help me the fuck out.

I started this this post a few days ago and I’m now redoing it all. So the picture above is why. I guess I feel like I need to write more about me? I dunno. I mean, this whole fucking blog is my own narcissistic narrative of the way I see the world. But, I feel like knowing why you are on this planet is something we all should know. Sadly, I can even begin to tell you how many people I meet who don’t even know why they are here. And it isn’t because they aren’t good people; it’s because no one fucking asked them. I am one of the rare few (as I’ve learned over the years) that knows the exact moment in time when I knew why I was alive, and what it was that was my purpose in life. It’s a really long rather boring tale, so I won’t bore you with apologies…just read on yo.

I once knew this boy, who died. You may have heard of him if you’ve followed me. Anyway, he died. And it was pretty nasty. I was ok for a few weeks and I was trying hard to “fake-it-till-I-make-it” as I was told to do. But inside? No. I was reeling. I was literally dying a slow death myself. So I decided I would make a run for it and off myself in the easiest way possible. I had a beautiful baby girl who was 2, but that didn’t stop my daydreams of death. Anything to stop the pain of missing “him”. But the real kicker was that I was pregnant, and I felt like it would be really REALLY selfish to dip out on this realm of existence before she (the then fetus) had a shot to get to see the planet. So, I committed myself to 6 months of “hard time” to make it to the date that the baby was due. After that, it was time to chiggity check myself out of this place.

But then this shit happened….He happened, again, FROM-THE-BEYOND *scary ghost story voice*

Lucah was only a couple hours old. Everyone left the hospital as it was the middle of the night. I’d laid Lucah in her plastic bed next to my hospital bed, and I’d fallen asleep. It was about 5am. I was woken up by someone sitting on my bed. I could feel the pressure of them and the way the blankets pulled my legs tight to the bed, making movement become impossible. Point is, it woke me up.

I woke up expecting to see someone, but the room was empty. I could still feel it though. And then I realize he was there. He was looking at her, his new niece.

I wasn’t scared at all. I was oddly (cliche alert) very at peace with the situation. I knew he came to meet her and to see me. But mostly to see her and check out his work (I believe he personally designed her for me in heaven). I watched him watch her as I laid my head down and let my tears tickle my face as they met my pillow. And then I was asleep. I woke up to pee as the sun was waking up in my room, only the bathroom was locked.

I called a nurse.

She called an older nurse.

She called maintenance.

The door to my bathroom was locked. Only it was not supposed to be. Ever. The hospital doors are designed to where if you lock it and shut it, the lock pops open. The only way this was possible was for it to be locked from inside, and the person who locked it would still be inside.

I assured the workers that it was open when I last used it because I was using the light as a soft glow to nurse the baby before I fell asleep.

The next thing I know, I have 4 workers, 2 nurses, an assistant nurse person, all in my tiny room, all trying to see what has happened.

I knew though. He was fucking with me. This was a “toldja I was here” parting gift. Oh how thankful I am for it.

Later I sat with Lucah in my room. I couldn’t stop looking at her. She was new but old to me in so many ways. She had a wisdom about her and her eyes ran deeper than any I’d seen before. I couldn’t wait to see who she grew up to be. I knew it was going to be great. Life changer.

Suddenly I knew why I was still alive.

If I could live through Micah’s death and be happy again, I wanted people to know.

I knew then, I was here to help others see it does get better. I had no idea I should make it a career, but fuck. It does get better. Everything does.

That’s why I’m here. To help others learn this. To help others see that there is more to life than what you can see. To teach people to live with a purpose…to find theirs.

God damn I’m tired.

Again, this is coming from my phone, as I sit by my pool before 3 in the afternoon. 2:37 to be exact. I’m teaching 3 classes this summer (which is why I’m not at work),  and this might be the most wonderful summer  I’ve had in years, as far as self-refelction goes. The kids I teach are fantastic and smart to boot. But not only am I able to teach these kids (young adults really), I’m learning to take my own advice.

One of the lessons we do is practicing improving on their strengths, or areas they are already good at. Watching them take the information and apply it to their own lives is great, and makes me feel like I have a chance of making a difference in this world. Explaining my class to you all would take too long, but it’s basically an intro class to life. Sure, it was supposed to be college success, but to be good in college, they have to be good at living. And the best way to help them do that is to help them to live to their fullest potential, which is where strengths come in.

We start our lives with people influencing our strengths. We see a boy hit a ball well and we sign him up for tee ball. Our kids draw us pictures and even if they are total crap, we slap those puppies on the fridge and we tell them it looks great; they should be an artist. But somewhere down the road, that stops. They reach a certain age and we tell them a picture looks nice but they should try to color in the lines better. Or we see the little boy has one hell of a swing but he can’t throw far, so we begin to focus on throwing and his batting isn’t getting the attention it deserves. Why do we do this?

A couple report cards ago my daughter had all A’s and one B in Chorus. I read this impressive report card and then I asked her what the hell happened that she got a B in what I saw as a gimme class. I didn’t think twice about it. And the next report card you bet your ass she had an A in chorus, but she had a B in science – one of her best subjects.

So what did accomplish? Well I made her focus on a weakness and her strong area failed. This isn’t an isolated incident. I could give hundreds of examples of when I thought it was best to help the kids focus on an area of improvement as opposed to helping them get better at what they already do well.

It takes so much energy to go from terrible to kinda bad, when we could go from really good to incredible so much faster.

About a year ago I met a man who asked me a loaded question. He said “What are you great at?” And I gave him a bullshit answer about being organized and having a strong work ethic, and he called bullshit. He said “No, what things do you do that make you feel alive?”

Holy shit. Uhhhhh. So I thought about it and I knew, I feel the absolute best when I know I have helped someone see that they are their biggest obstacles in life. Too many times we give up on a goal or a dream because it seems too hard, or it seems like it will take too long. Or we are afraid to fail.

Fuck. Being afraid to fail is the utmost ridiculous fear ever. Hell, not one of us would have learned to walk if we had that fear as a baby. Or to talk even. Thinking “Damn, there’s so many words to learn, that will take years. Nah. Imma just grunt and cry to communicate”. No. We didnt have it in ourselves to think about time till completion or if we might fail or fall or get laughed at for saying our words wrong (yes mom. I still say “sawl”)

Only 17% of Americans have a career in which they feel they use their strengths and are excited and challenged by what they do for work. That’s sad. I don’t want to raise kids like that.

This week my class has been focusing on what their strengths are and learning ways to make them work for them. I get that all of us will be able to have careers in which we know we are doing what our natural abilities made us good at, but what if we could stop our kids from losing sight of their strengths? Can’t we give them the courage to be in that 17%? I sure hope so.

It’s so easy to look at what aren’t good at and try to get better. I asked my class to write 3 things they don’t do well, and it was easy for them. I asked them to tell me 3 things they are great at, and they sat silent. I asked them to write their name with their dominate hand 5 times. It took them less and 30 seconds. I had them do the same with their other hand it it took 4 times as long and it wasn’t nearly as good as if they used they hand they were already strong with. Think of this in a real life situation. The amount of energy and time we spend trying to get better at a weakness is wasted when we can make what we are naturally good at, great.

I know it’s a little rogue to think this is possible, but what if we all began to encourage ourselves, our colleagues, and our children to focus positive energy on the positives and less on the weaknesses? How different could our lives be?

I never have written from my phone, so I apologize in advance for the shit grammar this will no doubt have. And, I apologize for the terrible spelling of my last post. I was in a hurry and slightly angry, so I never cared to look back at it.

Many of you who know me in real life know that I decided to shut down my Facebook page. But, what no one really knows is the truth as to why. To be honest, I did it to be honest. Even on this blog, which has been called things like “painfully honest” and “raw but humorous”. But the truth is, I’ve left out a lot on here too. Lying my avoidance or whatever it’s called. What has been going on behind the scenes wasn’t funny nor was it something that fit in with my “I’m a single mom who can take on the world” bullshit persona I was enjoying having people think. The truth is, my life was actually slowly, becoming unrecognizable.

I know that life is messy and unpredictable, but lately it was just a shit show. All families have issues. As a therapist, I know that. And mine was no different. However, what we have been dealing with at times, has seemed cruel. Especially when it involves a child.

The truth is my family is one of the millions in the world who is dealing with mental illness. One of my kids has OCD, and she has it severely. This disorder has made her a different person. She no longer wants to leave the house, see movies, spend time with her friends, or even go shopping. Recently, she began staying with her dad to avoid the chaos of our home. As much as I want to believe he is doing what is best for her, I can’t help but be mad that he has isolated her from her life here. And I’m sorry, but I will not pretend as if he has been more than a part time parent for her entire fucking life. But, she can be an only child at his house and not at mine.

What boggles my mind is the irony of this. I have spent my entire adult life learning about the brain and learning how to help people with “these issues” and then when it hits home, I feel as if I am learning sign language, blindfolded. Knowing your child has a disorder that is inside her brain and makes her think she will die if she isn’t clean, is heartbreaking. I have become an expert in the field of adolescent OCD, yet I am still helpless. However, I am not hopeless.

One thing I’ve learned in the last decade or so is that things could always be worse. I cannot help but be thankful that this is the battle my family is dealing with. Something that can be fixed in time is a blessing. As much as it sucks to watch your child battle with their brain, having the ability to still know they are alive is great. Not everyone is so lucky. I will never understand why this is something she must deal with, but if anyone will take this experience and thrive from it, it is going to be her. I cannot wait for the day when we can look back on all this and say “damn, that sucked”.

According to many native traditions, everyone has a spirit animal. You can usually determine which one is yours by paying close attention to an animal that is always in your life in some way or that you have always felt a drawn to. Mine is a bee. Back in the day I was young and stupid and I needed a bee to show me I was being ungrateful. After I met Jesus Bee (as I would come to name him since he gave his life for my sinful mindset, and me), I was different as a person because that is when I started to look for the good in situations, no matter how awful they were.

I think about Jesus Bee a lot and all that I have learned from that day I met him. I see him and his work in many aspects of my life now and I know Jesus Bee, my savior, has been showing me his blessings in his own way. I would have to write a novel for you to understand my beliefs (beeliefs, ha. I just though of that). But I see his message everywhere. I used to think that bees were awful and they were only on this Earth to sting people. But, as I look at the flowers on my table I know I was misguided. Bees help to make this a beautiful place. They are able to create more beauty in the flowers they help to pollenate. To me, that is the full circle of living. It is the yin and yang of life. Nothing good or bad lasts forever, which is a fact.

I am learning this more than ever lately. With everything that has been going on with my family, I have to look around and look for the good in all of this. And luckily I was able to find the silver lining. Unfortunately for me, this meant having a come to Beejus talk (why did I not think of that before??) with myself.

I had my oldest child… not wait. I had all of my kids very young. I was 26 when the 2 youngest of my 4 were born. I had lost my favorite person in the whole wide world and I was fucking mad about it. I have always been a yeller, but things got bad. PTSD is not an excuse to be a shitty mother and I have been in many ways.

Loving your kids is not enough to be a good parent. I wanted my kids to know what life was life so I let them climb trees and I didn’t coddle them when they were whiney and it has been great for them in most areas of their lives. And I said “I love you” every chance I though to. But you know what? I took out a lot of my anger on them in some way. I guess I thought that yelling wasn’t so bad; or that words that I was saying to “get my point across” were hurtful to them long term. What I said to them would linger and even if I were no longer upset, they would still be.

I didn’t realize this until I was in the situation myself, with someone who made me feel shitty only using words. These little words we piece together can form a very hurtful weapon. Verbal abuse is real, painful, and powerful abuse. I had to have another human knock the wind out of me before I knew what I might be doing to my kids. I vowed that I would watch everything I said to my kids, no matter how frustrated I was. There really is not coming back from a verbal assault. You can say you are sorry but the wounds? Those don’t heal the same as a bruise or a black eye. That’s because your pain is invisible and no one asks you how you are doing. I wont let anyone put invisible bruises on me ever again, nor will I ever let my words hurt my daughters.

As much as I love my kids, I know I have said things that have been hurtful to them, and I will be spending my life making up for those mistakes. Things can only get better. It took my family being going through another emotional gauntlet for me to pull my head out of my ass. I know that there is always a good that comes with a bad and that what has happened to my family has changed me for the better, and fueled me for a more beautiful world. Again, I am truly humbled by that fucking Jesus Bee.

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.