Monthly Archives: November 2009

Sometimes we need a mantra. I love my family is what I say to myself when I’m standing (hunched over really) in the attic at 8.45 in the evening.

How do I find myself in the attic? Well, my dear sweet husband came home at 7 and promptly flicked on the heater in an already warm house. So far, nothing to wipe the silly grin off my face. We sit down for dinner and as I’m doing dishes I quiz the kids for their spelling tests tomorrow. During this time my husband comes downstairs and says, “when I turn the heat on Alexander’s room smells like burning plastic.”

“Oooh,” I reply, “be sure and turn the heat off, I’ll call the HVAC guy in the morning.”

The kids finish up their spelling and we all rumble upstairs. The top floor stinks like burning plastic, and I really do need to figure this out before kids are put to bed. I open bedroom windows and pull down the attic ladder. I’m not sure what I think I’ll find, but I’m going to look.

Bent over like Ardi in my attic I survey my domain. it’s a sea of pink and silver. There is insulation which is surely poisoning us all and silver air ducts that weave over and under one another pulling hot air out of the house and forcing cool air in. The heating system is an afterthought, this is Los Angeles, after all.

Two hunks of foam insulation are out of place, I walk gingerly on joists, ever aware that it’s a ceiling below me and not really a floor. I pick up the foam and put it back where it came from, I tug at our light cans making sure everything is as it should be, and then I see it. A nest of sorts, bits of foam are clawed away at and random trash lines it. We have a rodent living here, it’s feces are ten times the size of the hamster’s downstairs. I make a mental note get a rat trap and I don’t care if it’s humane, make it big.

I come out of the attic with no more information than when I went up. Alexander says, “Mom why were you up there?” I explain to him that I was trying to figure out why it smells like plastic when we turn the heater on.

We move on to brushing teeth and clipping fingernails before bedtime. As I’m tucking my son in I turn off his desk light.

“Son, is there something you want to tell me about this desk light?” I ask him.

“Oh, sometimes I like to melt my erasers on the bulb.”

And as I’m showering the fiberglass out of my hair I’m saying to myself I love my family, I love my family…

Today I got a glimpse of State Run Healthcare.

It was horrifying.

Eleven years ago I became a mother. I got exactly 43 seconds today to sit and contemplate that feat.

Woke kids up, gave Jane gifts. An LG Neon slider phone that her uber hipster aunt also happens to have, from Mom and Dad and a copy of New Moon from her brother Alexander. Both gifts were perfect, the book went to school with her.

They got to eat Cookie Crisp for breakfast. Twice a year my kids can pick any crappy cereal they want, it can be laden with sugar, HFCS, transfats and other frankenfoods, they get to begin their birthday with whatever disease the grocery store is selling us, 14 ounces at a time.

I brought Jane to school, stayed while the flag was raised and Happy Birthday was sung to my daughter. I bought the library a book in Jane’s name and hid it for the librarian to find on her own. I came home, cooked and baked, visited doctors and turned right back around to pick Jane up from school again. This time she had a basketball game. Jane scored 6 of the 11 points, and though the other team was terrific they just couldn’t get more than one basket.

Girls were playing their toughest games and smiling the whole time. It was kids sports at it’s best.

We went to dinner at a theme restaurant at Universal Citywalk. Jane was gifted Abercrombie’s and Hollister’s Fall line. She was appreciative. Alexander was given four packets of baseball cards, he was through the roof. My son experienced more joy from tiny pieces of printed paper than anyone else at the table. For a moment we all envied Alexander and his capacity to be delighted. Then the next moment arrived and we all delighted in Alexander.

Driving home there was Hits 1 and moderately acceptable music. He says that his music is better but I’m not convinced that the Killers and the Arctic Monkeys are better role models than Lady Gaga and Jessee McCarthy.

Tucking them in, my eight year old and my 11 year old who this morning thought they had everything and tonight realize they do. Tucking them in takes a few extra seconds, because I hold his hug just a beat longer and after I kiss her cheek I smooth her hair off her face and check the delicate lines of her nose. I’m looking for a hint of me, but I never see it until she runs. She is a Gottlieb, and sigh, because I used to feel shallow about enjoying my husband’s handsomeness, but now I feel smug and even almost smart.

Because this little girl, who looks so big if I look at her long enough, this tiny child is my child. And somewhere, I don’t know when or where, she made me an adult. She gave me permission to revere our home and put these relationships on a pedestal, where they belong.

Jane made us adults. A few years later Alexander came along and made us a family.

Last week Jeff Pulver was nice enough to give me the stage at his 140 Conference (again) here’s my take on monetizing your twitter stream. A huge thank you to Real Player, I adore a company that supports my community, and providing video for all of us is incredibly generous.

The companies I mention in my speech are Sponsored Tweets, Magpie and Twittad. I’ve spoken with the CEOs of all three companies, and I can tell you from the top down, they are good. My review stream is at JessReviews. I’d love you to follow me there.

If you don’t really understand twitter and want a primer, I recommend The Smart Girls Guide to Twitter. Alli has been in this space for a long time, and just this morning I had a phone call with her where she shared some really great advice. It’s always good to learn.

Eleven years ago I went to the Doctor and then to the radiologist. They measured my baby and estimated the amniotic fluid just as they had the day before. Eleven years ago I was 42 weeks and 4 days into my pregnancy and I was terrified.

I was 28 and married a year and a half. I was pretty sure that I’d know what to do,  but fearful that I’d mix it all up. I was fat, tired and broke, but madly in love with my husband and eagerly anticipating my daughter’s birth.

The doctor said, “You’re having a baby tomorrow, go get a manicure.”

I cried a little, mostly because pregnant women have a tendency to cry and went to Woodley Lakes to play 18 holes. In my lifetime I’ve never golfed better than I did during that pregnancy. My shots were long and straight, my putts were solid and I never lifted my head too soon.

I don’t golf much more than once a year now. I thought I’d miss it, but really I miss my kids too much to spend that much time away.

Eleven years ago I cried a lot because the thought of being a mother scared me. Today I’m baking Jane a cake and wrapping her birthday present. Jane made me a mother, she fortified me with knowledge I didn’t know I had. She made me love my husband in a way that I never dreamed was possible. She made me need other people for the first time in my life, and she gave us all strength we didn’t know we had.

Tomorrow I’ll be the mother of an eleven year old girl. Once again I’m grasping at every moment, and awestruck by the beauty of my children. Nothing about motherhood scares me any longer. Having a ten year old daughter was about as perfect as the world could ever be; I imagine eleven will be an awful lot of fun too.