We say we write for ourselves, here in this weird place that most of our parents and friends have yet to understand. But we kind of don’t. We hope people are reading. And I don’t mean marketers exactly. (Well, at least some of us.)

When we write, we hope to varying degrees that we’ve touched people in some way, connected with someone, made someone’s day a little happier. We love the personal letters in our inboxes, and the comments thanking us for providing a kindred spirit in the 3 AM crazies, troubled pregnancies, or fear of Midwestern hair.

So when we have the chance to reach a broader audience, we’re always grateful. As I was when the Christian Science Monitor asked if they could republish my Sanctimommy essay. Only without the sex with Danny Bonaduce reference.

(They also asked me if I would like six billion dollars for it and I said nah, I’m happy just to be published. That’s the kind of thing we writers do.)

And in a brilliant move right out of the Mom-101 playbook, the day it runs, I’m leading with a post about sex and chocolate with the f-word right at the top.

Sorry CSM readers. I swear I don’t usually curse until at least the third paragraph.