When I’m Doing This Right It Feels So Bad


I want to be a good mother. I’m trying to raise independent children who leave my home and make the world a little better. If my husband and I are successful, our children will be able to fend for themselves in a world that won’t always treat them kindly.

My kids are confident, polite and capable. My tween can cross the street, my seven year old can rumble up and down the street looking for a friend, and both of them know how to pay a cashier for something they’ve purchased. Both kids can make their beds, tie their shoes, manage their own homework, and make themselves a bowl of cereal.

It’s like a little death.

I know that my job is to make myself unnecessary. I understand that my children shouldn’t need me to go to college with them. I don’t want to cripple them with unnecessary longing or wistfulness. Do I? The logical part of me knows how to be a good mother. I understand that nudging them out of the nest after they’ve sprouted wings is good. They will fly; soar even.

Deep in my soul, I want to cradle them forever.

I fight with myself and my impulses. I let my ten year old cross the street, because I’ve taught her how, and now I have to trust that she’ll remember the lesson. My seven year old no longer fits in my lap, and every so often, his hand will slip out of mine, because a friend is near. They’re separating from me. It’s natural and it’s good.

At times it feels awful.

I remember waiting anxiously for my daughter’s first steps, her first words and her first day of school. Three years later with my son, who I knew would be my last child; I savored the slowness of it all. With every step he took, he was walking away from me, and my daughters milestones started to seem more like a slight than a reason to celebrate.

I don’t want to infantilize the kids, but I get anxious when everything seems to whiz by me with such velocity.

From the neck up, I know what my role is. From the neck down; it feels like a sucker punch.

This is an original post to the LA Moms Blog: Photo courtesy of Rose Latka Photography;  Jessica Gottlieb can be found Mommy Blogging at JessicaGottlieb.com

Hide and Seek


I’m at LA Moms and ECP today

Read them both, just cuz I asked nicely.


Hey, Mom, This Means You


I dare y’all to send your coffee money to impoverished schools in Los Angeles.

I’m broke, you’re broke, the stock market is broke. I do suspect that you could forgo two lattes or a half a manicure so that a classroom in the inner city can have a laptop.

They don’t want a laptop cart, just one stinkin’ laptop.

If all my readers sent $5 or $10 (see I’m really not asking for much), wouldn’t that be grand?

L’Shana Tova y’all.

Soccer and Such


Today I’m at the LA Moms Blog.

See me there.

Also, I need 15 more fans before my feed is up at facebook, so go do it. I need your help in taking over the world.

Strangers in my Home


LA Moms Blog logoThe LA Mommy Bloggers couldn’t wait for their formal launch party in September and someone who rhymes with SoCalMom (Yeah I get no privacy so either do you) suggested a less formal get together. Because I can’t hold my liquor and don’t want a DUI I’m a giver I volunteered my home.

It dawned on me this morning that I invited a dozen women to my home. None of whom I’ve ever met. If you are not in possession of a set of ovaries you really don’t know what this all means.

I have to remodel my home.

Like now. I’ve needed a new kitchen since forever. It’s got granite and all but I really don’t like the granite, it makes me dizzy, the cabinets are for shit and the floors, ooh, they’re very un-pretty. My dining room table is small but so is my dining room. We’ve thought about knocking down some walls and maybe adding in some pretty flooring.

The upstairs carpet is shot. That one is actually on the agenda for this summer. We had some issues… dying elderly dog and a puppy I managed to kill. Not kidding dead as a doorknob. Did you know it’s $11 to cremate a 2-pound puppy?
The family pictures on the walls are about two years old. Clearly, I haven’t properly loved my children in two years. I’m tired.

Nothing is baby proofed. Not a fucking thing. You see we moved here when no one was a baby but when you invite Mommy Bloggers over they might bring a baby along. It’s not like I can be all “ooh, hello. I’m a Mommy Blogger too only I have white suede sofas so if you don’t mind I’m not all that child-friendly...”

Oh, and I’m outclassed. These women had (have?) careers. Not the whiskey slinging bullshit of my past but real honest to goodness jobs that grownups who own pantyhose get. Except for the comedienne, she only wears pantyhose if she wants to. Oh, and the author. Yeah, she wrote a couple of books.
I’m aware that I mutilate paragraphs and sentences ThankYouVeryMuch.

So yeah, the Mommies are coming. I hope they bring their rose-colored glasses.