Deanna a.k.a The Unnatural Mother
The name "The Unnatural Mother" came to Deanna a little over eight years ago when her first son was born. She was told that her maternal instincts would kick in as soon as the baby came flying out of her vajayjay. Eight years later, a ton of gray hair, and Deanna is still waiting for those maternal instincts to kick her in the ass! In the meantime, she writes, runs, and manages the stress of working full time, spaghetti on the ceiling, a dumped out fish bowl, a lizard, two active boys, being a wife to an incredible husband who busts her chops - daily, which of course, leaves her no time to clean the house. To catch more on how Deanna tries to get it all done without completely failing visit her at The Unnatural Mother, www.theunnaturalmother.com. Twitter love: @UnnaturalMother Deanna
The Unnatural Mother Author Alias
The leaves are changing, the temperature is dipping a little bit, I just love the Fall and yes, I am definitely a leaf peeper! I love seeing all the warm comforting colors, and am simply amazed at how vibrant and beautiful nature is at this time of year. Everything about the Fall rocks!
After seeing and holding the newest member of our family I've realized that there is nothing as pure, beautiful and amazing as the sight of a new born baby, but the smell, the smell of a newborn so lovely, so clean, it actually reminded me of the air in Oregon, strange I know, but it did.
As a family, we are lucky enough to take a few vacations during the year, all are within driving distance from our home (between two and five hours away).
With the end of the school year fast approaching, I thought this would be the year that I would make some “mom friends.” You know: Shuffle our children off after school for play dates, go out to dinner every once in a while, get tipsy laughing over the school principal, maybe go for walks in the mornings... but it didn’t happen.
I was applying my make-up yesterday morning (what little I wear), trying to get out the door, shooting orders like a drill sergeant at the boys to get their back-packs packed, brush their teeth, and get jackets on - when I noticed out of the corner of my half-eye lined eye that my littlest bugger was looking up at me, one hand on his hip, the other pointing at me as if he was an
At lunch the other day, a friend and I were discussing our families’ summer vacation plans.
With the tragedies of Sandy Hook, Hurricane Sandy, our national deficit and what's going in Syria one would think that no one would care about Lance Armstrong. We have better things to worry about right? Right? Heck YES!
I hate Christmas shopping.
Before I begin on my rant about this b*tch Sandy and what she has done to Long Island and the Tri-State area - let me make myself clear that I know that I'm one of the lucky ones. I only lost power for few days. I HAVE my home. I HAVE my children. I HAVE my life. I AM THANKFUL.
When I was growing up, my mother would leave me and my sisters a note with a list of “jobs” that she would want accomplished by the end of every day. It didn't matter if it was a school day, a lazy day of summer or if a tornado was about to touch down, you read the note and did what you were told.
The debate of "Working Mom" vs. "Stay at Home Mom" has been going on for centuries. Starting with the cave women, I am sure that Betty resented Wilma, who got to stay home while Betty was out foraging for food and supplies, all because Barney was too busy trying to invent the wheel, or making fire or goofing off at that Buffalo Lodge.
I have Olympic Fever! Every since I was a little girl I have watched the Olympics - winter or summer, it doesn't matter. I have always been fascinated by the athletes, the events, and what the Olympics stand for: unity amongst all nations.
Everyone has his or her own time zone when it comes to working out. Me? I’m a morning gym goer. I like to get up... well I don't like to get up, but I prefer to get up early to work out.
This is my son. He's white so he’ll never pose a threat to anyone in his life because well, he’s white. While I hope it's true that he'll never pose a threat to anyone, I hope it's true because he's a good boy - not simply because he's white. But apparently that's not how people like George Zimmerman think.
It’s the third inning of my softball game, I’m catching for one of the hardest throwing pitchers in my town’s league and I’m talking 80 mph windmill pitch for twelve-year-olds.
For my family, 2012 is all about organization. My husband is whipping around my house faster than MacGyver disassembling a bomb. It’s quite frustrating as I feel like a slacker.
"Why Working Mothers Make Us Angry"
When I was in high school in the late 80’s, we had a strict dress code that included no shorts, no skirts shorter than your fingertips when your arms were extended straight down, no hats, no halter tops, and if I am not mistaken, no tank tops. Any student that did not abide by these dress codes set forth by the school was sent home immediately.
Hun, what’s this charge on the debit card for $35.66? Oh, um, not sure, where from? ABC United something or other. Oh, I made a donation to a charity Okay, what about this charge for $2.99... Fruit - what the heck is Fruit Ninja? Oh, um, I bought an iPhone game for the boys? Really? Yea, they like to play it. A lot.
Trimming the tree, hanging the lights, sucking down candy canes… traditions like these certainly make it the most wonderful time of the year, but do you know what makes this season even more special? If you’re a parent, you should be able to answer this question within three seconds.
20 children. That’s one and a half soccer teams, a kindergarten class, and probably the population of small town in Alaska.
Over four months ago, my husband and I planned a family trip to Disneyland. We thought it would be such a great idea to keep the vacation a secret and then surprise the pants off our kids. Thursday is finally the big reveal day and it can't come soon enough because this secret has been absolutely killing me!
My 78-year-old father has been living with Multiple Sclerosis for over 38 years. Two decades ago, he had a pulmonary embolism that almost killed him. He walked.. no, he was wheeled out of the hospital - never to walk again. At the time he might not have been able to walk, stand, tie his shoes or brush his teeth but he could dial the phone, talk, think, argue about politics just like any other old geezer and read, read and read.
At school pick-up the other day my husband was approached by another dad with a rather disturbing question. “Did you know that Timmy and Richie were in the principal’s office the other day?” Caught off guard, my husband responded, "No, what happened?" The other dad replied simply that they were goofing off in the bathroom.
Hi, my name is Deanna and I’m a reality TV addict. They say the first step is awareness, right? I realized my addiction the other night, as I flipped through reality TV shows faster than... well, Bruce Jenner in the 1976 Olympics. (Now how apropos is that?!)
Hurricane Irene is set to hit in a day, and as I’m contemplating rescheduling my husband’s 40th surprise party (worrying about reserving a tent, if the DJ can make it, if any of the 52 guests that said yes will show up), I was slapped with a reality stick.
I know I shouldn’t be writing about this, being that she’s a pretty public figure and all, but you know that feeling you get when you’ve left dinner, lunch, a party with friends, dear friends that you just love and you’re all giddy inside because they just lit up your soul?
I have blogger conference envy.
I love and hate texting for one reason and one reason only: Communication. Texting is fun, it’s quick, and it’s easy. I can fire off a text to make someone laugh faster than Mario Andretti at the Indy. In my youth, I’d go to any length to make someone laugh, I actually spent a full year in therapy trying to undo why I’d randomly moon my friends or drive through a ...
Yesterday I went to watch a baseball game with my best friend to see her son play, and because we were with a four-year-old and a soon to be four-year-old, I had the opportunity to watch maybe one inning. The park by the field was way too enticing for our other children and all they wanted to do was play. I volunteered to take them, I’m not going to lie, I wanted the opportunity to check twitter, and write a few notes for my blog. As soon as we arrived at the park there were two boys horsing around with some girls that were sitting under the monkey bars playing house, the girls ages ranged from four to ten. It was the classic let’s bother the girls, try-to-impress-them innocent teasing.
Out of the Mouth of Babes: And by babes, I mean the small versions of Al Bundy that run through my house with their hands down their pants and use farting as their second language. So these two cuties, and really they are cute, have been slaying me recently with their pearls of wisdom of which I will now share with you.
It happens to all women. Married, single -sometimes the transition can take years, for others it literally happens overnight, but when it hits you, it hits you! You look in the mirror, you proclaim “Because I said so…” and BAM you’re your mother. I didn’t realize it at first, the evidence was there; the smell of bleach lingering in the air, the old shirts that are now dust rags, lowering the heat in the middle of winter and telling my husband to suck it up and put on a sweater.
As I caught up on the daily news stories involving the Anthony Weiner’s indiscretions, Senator Edwards mess, the ridiculous Jesse James and the Arnold Schwarzenegger infidelities, I began to wonder about their parents - because as sure as some rowdy frat boy doing a tequila shooter in Cancun, we know these parents didn’t raise their children with the thought of “I can’t wait till the day my son texts his penis to a 24-year-old college student” or “I wonder when little Susie is going flash her bits to the world, that will be really special."
I’ve read countless blog posts, articles, arguments and have thrown myself into several face-to-face and twitter discussions regarding the latest parenting controversy – genderless parenting. When it first came up, I thought what the hell is that? And when I found out that it’s when parents decide not to put any emphasis on what gender their child is, like parents Kathy Witterick and David Stocker who are raising their third child genderless, I was confused.
My seven year old doesn’t eat anything healthy unless you consider spaghetti, pizza, pumpernickel and cream cheese, pancakes, candy, chips, pretzels, or chicken nuggets healthy--and he hasn't eaten a fruit or vegetable since I closed up those baby food jars when he was a year old! I know my three year old would try new things, including fruits and vegetables, but he does everything the seven year old does, so it's useless ...
When the book “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother” hit the bookshelves the controversy lit up the skies as if it was July 4th.
My son Richie is a 7-year-old animal fanatic. It doesn’t matter if it's a snail, a great white, or even a squirrel. He loves animals and has absorbed ridiculous amount of information about them to the point where if we step outside we can’t walk two feet without him pointing out a “Great Eastern Humming Bird that is indigenous to the Eastern United States because of its yellow beak and mating calls” with more confidence than Bill Clinton spewing “I did not have sexual relations with that woman”.
Never again. Never again will I step foot in a restaurant with my three-year-old. If you even hear me utter the words, “we’re going out to breakfast, lunch or dinner with the kids”, tie me up and lock me in a closet. Make sure I have some water though, as I tend to get thirsty quickly. Only five ounces though, anything more and I’ll be sure to wet myself.
I have always said that the single most difficult thing to do as a parent is to sing your children’s praise – only because it’s constant, never-ending praise. The “you are so smart, funny, cute, fast, a great artist, baseball, soccer, lacrosse, football player etc.” is mentally exhausting. I never got that as a child. I was the last of five girls, and I am sure that by the time I came flying out ...
Seven years ago, I gave birth to my first little bugger. I honestly can say that I don’t know where the time has gone. Seven years flew by with a snap of my fingers, I can remember every detail about his delivery and our first night home yet I can’t tell you what I did two hours ago. I was the stereotypical, SNL episode mocking of a first time mom, maybe even a ...
My three-year old has just hit the prime of the terrible two’s (I guess he waited to make a grand entrance), with the strength of the Hulk, the charm of Hugh Grant, and the speed of Superman. My house is child-proofed for Hannibal Lecter. All kitchen chairs are tied to the table, there are no knick-knacks or picture frames around the house, cleaning supplies are above the sink, any other piece of furniture that can be moved is in storage and we don’t use any knifes, we cut our food with lasers.
The air is fresh with possibilities and all around me happiness is bursting at the seams (the groundhog did say Spring will be here in 6 weeks!) much like the ending of every Disney fairytale, but for me? Well, I feel like I’ve been covered in snow I am barely breaking through the surface, I am still stuck in the winter blues and my only thought is “Holy Canoli, Memorial Day is closer than I think! I still have my “holiday ass” on and I got major work to do for that half marathon I signed up for in 10 weeks, let alone storm around in a “bathing suit”.