Apothetic vent

You know how your mobile will flash the low battery icon, flash the low battery icon, flash the low battery icon, then, finally - if you keep ignoring it - simply go "phone powering down" and switch off, usually while you're in the middle of an important call?

Well this is how I feel.  Like my low battery icon has been flashing for a week.

Yeah, I know my 33 year old husband just had a heart attack last week, but still.  He's doing quite well.  He's finally got a good grip on his blood sugar with these weird new insulins he was given, I've converted him over to his new diet (more on that at the Thrifty Dieters Blog), we're trying to walk a tiny bit each day, etc.

But I still feel sort of ... muted.  Like I'm inside a frosted glass cubicle and I can hear people outside and see their forms, blurry, though the glass, but they - the whole rest of the world - is muffled.

I've been trying to get caught up around here: wash clothes, wash dishes, fix fences (hey, I managed to fix the pig pen so that they didn't get out every day and eat feed, destroy fences, and kill chickens, w00t!).  But everywhere I look there's a thousand things MORE that want doing. Goat fence still has two trees down on it. Firewood needs to be cut and split and stacked.  I swear I wash dishes every day but each time I go into the kitchen every dish in the house is stacked up, dirty. The bathroom and the shower room are like science experiments.  I STILL haven't fixed the toilet upstairs.

And don't even get me started about how behind I am on working on my stores/websites/blogs. *sigh*  Medical bills, whopping great prescription bills, and the longer I stay off-line, the less money I make.  Sucks being self-employed and not having personal days!

And through all this, I feel like I haven't seen my children in a week.  They just sort of flash by.

Blah, blah, blah, whatever.  Whiney, listless vent over.  I need to get up earlier.

Say, you'd think someone would have figured out how to add nutrients (like a protein shake) to coffee.  That would be really cool!  Then you wouldn't have to eat; you could just make several post of coffee all through the day.

And be really really alert.

Thrifty dieting tips - salads

First of all, go to the thrift store and get yourself two or three cute salads plates.

Now, I don't mean to eat just salads on - I mean eat everything on them - every meal.

Pick out some fun designs that make you happy and choose real salad plates that are no more than 8in in diameter.

Now, before you say: "Hey, Ms ThriftyDietMom, I already have a set of perfectly good dinner plates!", bear with me.  There's method in my madness.

Most standard modern dinner plates are ridiculously huge.  Were the plates you mum had in your childhood 10 or 12 inches in diameter?  Probably not.  The ones in restaurants can be insane!

Buy some 8in salad plates.  Get 'em in hearts or flowers or skulls or Star Wars or something that makes you smile.

Now, let's say you eat what I just had for dinner: salmon steak and salad.

Salad tip #1: water down your dressing.  I get the regular WalMart GV ranch (110 calories and 2 grams carbs) and as soon as I get home I tip about 1/4 out into a container and fill the bottle back up with water. So 1/4 water, 3/4 dressing (or so.  Don't kill yourself over this.  It just cuts the calories down a bit).

I promise you, once you get used to your dressing not having so much body that it rivals Brad Pitt in Troy and barely pours, you won't notice a thing.  The taste is identical. Srsly.

Salad tip #2: measure everything.  Actually get out your measuring spoons and measure 2tbs.  If you're adding meat or cheese or bacon bits or whatever, actually measure them.  The phrase "oh, that's about a tablespoon" has derailed many a diet.

Salad tip #3: here's where our 'diet plates' come in. Eat every meal on your new, small plates.  Force yourself to eat only what fits on your diet plate. No fair carrying things in the other hand (not counting your beverage and cutlery, lol).  Remember that your salmon (or whatever) has to fit on this plate, too, so go easy on the lettuce.  If you make a bed of lettuce like you're standing at the salad bar in the Ryan's then you will feel compelled to load up said wodge of greenery with enough toppings to cover it, right?

No.  Just break off a chunk about as big as your closed fist. If you're actually at a salad bar then only use half the plate.  Or go over to the dessert bar (which you'll not be visiting anyway, right?) and grab a wee dessert plate.

Salad tip#4: cut your lettuce.  With a knife. This tip is from one of my fave diet books Hungry Girl: Recipes and Survival Strategies for Guilt-Free Eating in the Real World by Lisa Lillien - it's fun, funny and practical.  ANYway, when you cut your lettuce instead of breaking it into chunks, the dressing can actually get onto all the lettuce and you use less and taste more.

Salad tip#5: choose the 2 or 3 toppings that you really love.  Don't do the Ryan's thing.  If you want to add carrots, broccoli, tomatoes, cucumber, cheese, ham, turkey, olives, and mushrooms (and who doesn't?!), take a deep breath and pick your three faves this time.  Next time pick 3 different ones.

There they are!  Have fun and go eat some salads! Do any of you have any good, thrifty, easy, salad diet tips you'd like to share?

Just some pics to pass the time and a mini-rant

Sorry these are of varying quality.  Some were taken with the camera, some with my phone, and some are Flip stills, I think.  Teknologeez, i haz dem.

Anyway, here's Bodog at Newberry:

They had him stabilised (I guess I got there about an hour and a half after the EMT's started working on him) so he looks pretty good, although you can tell he's upset and stressed.  He's not a v. emotional person, being an Evil Genius and all.
Here's a random pic of Columbia in the mornings as we go in.  Thought it was kinda purty and dramatic-looking.

Here's the Brood at Providence Hospital, excited to be seeing Daddy.  Left to right; THCTD, Bitty, Bulk and Boy. No one should be this perky in the mornings.  Notice the funky tie-dye shoes and Boy's gap-toothed smile.

The brood in the room with Daddy yesterday.  Bodog looks much better, doncha think?  Cool get-well poster was signed by his co-workers and students.  His co-workers have been uniformly FANTASTIC through all this, visiting him, pampering him, and offering their support to me.  They have really been there for us.

In case you were wondering about Fiver, he's been pretty clingy and out of sorts though all of this and was perched on my hip during all the picture taking.

Here's a pic I snapped Tuesday, the day before the heart attack:

Random aside: his eyes are the exact same colour as mine - hazel - thin inner rim of golden brown and the rest of the eye is green. (light brown eyes run in my mother's family.  Her sister has these startling golden coloured eyes. V. cool.)

Both of my girls have blue eyes, both the older boys have Bodog's odd, pale, grey-green eyes. So Fiver's green is that same pale mossy colour and my green is 'regular' (like my dad's green eyes).

ANYway, all my life I have been irritated that folks have insisted that I have brown eyes.  I don't.  they're 75-80% green.  I don't know why this bugs me so much but it always has.  I had a stranger admire my kids the other day and she goes: "Ohhh, such pretty eyes ..." then gets to Fiver and goes "Oh.  His are brown like yours."  GRRRR!

Jeez!

can i just plz catch a farkin' break?  plz?!

Terrible storm last night, v. high winds. When we left for the hospital right at dawn there were trees knocked over, branches everywhere.

Got home just a moment ago and EVERY one of my animals was out - goats, sheep, pigs in the shed eating the last of my chicken feed, ponies out.  Branches are down on the fences in half a dozen places.

Gah!

*stomps out of blog*

Drama featuring lots of commas

So ... yeah.

Prior to Wednesday, here at the Burrow, in the Evil Genius Compound, I was the person most likely get scuffed, scratched, banged, gashed, stomped on, or run over.  I'm the one with a family history of breast cancer, the clumsy one, the asthmatic, the one who has a seizure disorder, the one who plays with chainsaws, and drives too fast.

But last Wednesday, my 33 year old husband, Bodog, apparently in an effort not to be outdone, had a heart attack.

No.  I'm not kidding.

Heart.  Attack.

Wednesday morning, he felt like he had a bit of food stuck in his esophagus. His chest felt tight and uncomfortable and he couldn't eat or drink anything (everything came right back up immediately). So he went to Lexington Medical Center Urgent Care (*spits on ground*) in Chapin SC, and they charged him a wad of dosh to tell him that they thought he had an esophageal obstruction (thank you, dickheads, that was our best guess, too.  So much for consulting professionals.) and he should hie himself to an emergency room.

(Amusing aside: they insisted on Lexington. 'Scuse me whilst I wipe the tears of laughter from my eyes.)

Bodog, meanwhile, left and drove himself straight to our preferred hospital's emergency room in Columbia.

(I, at this time, was in Newberry - 20 min away from Chapin and almost a hour away from Columbia - with all the children.)

So we met him in the ER at Baptist (an hour later) where he said that, happily, whatever was 'stuck' had gotten unstuck while he was checking in.  He had had sudden, horrible nausea, sharp chest pains, then it subsided and he felt better (this happened right there in the check in).

He was then relieved of $100 and sent back to see the doc who x-rayed him and told him that he had reflux and gave him a 'script.

Since everything was (supposedly) peachy, we then split up - he took Bulk and Fiver and himself home for naps, and I took the bigs with me to finish my errands.

An hour later he rings me, sounding like he can't catch his breath:

"Blue, what do I do if my left arm hurts so badly I can't sleep?"

Answer: DIAL 911.

Now remember, I'm in Columbia.  He's heading for Newberry. We'd swapped places, still apart by about an hour.  Also, he had Bulk and Fiver.

So I'm on I-26 with V for Vandetta in the wind and the Newberry dispatch on the line. (When i finally got them.  I got Richland county - perhaps because my cell is local to Columbia? - who sent me to Lexington (*spits on ground*) who was RUDE to me* before I got routed to Newberry)

ANYway, the v. sweet Newberry dispatcher (she called me 'hun' for goodness's sake), calmly told me that Bodog had been transported already (Newberry County EMS farkin rawks!)  and that my children were safe "with emergency personnel".

Forty-five minutes later I haul arse down my own road to find two big white EMS pickups and an ambulance grouped around my front gate. I slid in behind one of the pickups like Dale Jr pitting, lept out, and found three tall, lean, amiable, and capable Newberry EMS blokes watching over my children.  Fiver was still in his crib asleep and Bulk was chatting happily in the kitchen with the youngest guy.

If I could have kissed them, I would have. (The EMS blokes, not my kids.  Those youngest two are sticky.)
So, long story short (too late!) Bodog is in Providence Hospital in Columbia (an excellent heart hospital).  They did a heart cath Wednesday night, put in two stents.  He has a heavy family history of heart disease (his dad was just a guest of Providence for EXACTLY the same thing), and this, coupled with his diabetes, seems to have been the culprit(s).

Looked like he was the youngest guest in the NCCU and now he's in his own room, doing well.

Next question ... when can I have my Evil Genius HOME?!

PS ... if anyone has any Get Rich Quick schemes or winning lottery numbers handy, I'd be grateful, LOL. These medical bills coupled with Mr Primary Bread Winner missing a lot of work is gonna reeeeeeeeeeeally hurt us. Oy!

PPS, woke up this morning with a dreadful cold.  Bloody great. *rolls eyes*

*Yeah, this Lexington county bitch was a real gem.  I'm v. organised and calm during crises - it's one of my few skills. When I ring 911 I don't ramble, I state the facts right up front: my name, the emergency, the location, etc.  So i rattled all of it off to the Richland bloke and he realises that he's the wrong county and transfers me to Lexington.  So I'm quickly repeating the info (name, emergency, locatio--) and bitch cuts me off and snaps: "Ma'am, calm down!"

Oh, erm, sorry? 

Honey, if I'm weeping, or yelling, or cursing, then you may tell me to calm down.  If I'm speaking too quickly for your ill-formed white trash brain, then you may ask me to slow down. Otherwise, if I'm just trying to impart the information that you farkin requested, then you need to re-adjust your attitude or find another job.

Craptacular day

V. bad day here.  Hope to update you tomorrow.

In the meantime here's an loldog (via Icanhashotdog) that made me laugh:


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Keep us evul jenyuses in yr thots plz.

Update on my Paleo Lifestyle

I just wanted to pop in and say, specifically, how successful the Paleolithic Lifestyle has been for me.

Remember, Paleo is a lifestyle change, like vegetarianism, NOT a quick-fix diet to lose weight.  Obviously you CAN lose weight on it (I have been) but you're gonna have to exercise and count calories just like with any other successful diet on the planet.

To recap, the Paleolithic diet (Paleo diet, stone age diet, caveman diet) simply reasons that homo sapien had been eating a certain way for millions of years, then, suddenly (in the grand scheme of things) and quite recently, he discovered fire, learned to cook, and, most importantly learned to farm.

So Paleo Guy spent great huge wodges (for him) of evolutionary time eating what he could find that did NOT require cooking: meat, fish, eggs, fruit, veg, nuts, seeds, insects.

He did NOT eat starchy veg that must be cooked (no potatoes, corn didn't even exist), grains (no rice, no bread), lentils (no beans or peanuts), or dairy (asking a passing mammoth to hang on while he milked her was not an option).

Then, suddenly, he developed the means to cook his food and began settling down and farming.  Rice, potatoes, grains, milk, cheese, and bread are very very recent additions to our diet and the Paleo theory is simply that our bodies haven't had time to evolve and adjust and properly cope with these foods.

The Paleolithic diet lifestyle is all about simplicity, not just about "cutting out certain foods".

Simple, simple, simple.  Eat your veggies raw, eat your meat without sugary sauces or carb-laden breading.  Try to stay away from processed anything (sauces, condiments, gravies). Cut sugar out of your life ruthlessly.

Some of the nastiest and worst-for-you foods are the last thing a Paleo would eat, but are America's faves: white bread, chips of any sort, sugary soft drinks, candy, snack foods. All highly processed and filled with empty carbs and sugar.

So, how's the whole Paleo thing working out for me?  Aren't I suffering horribly not eating french fries, bagels, and corn-on-the cob?

Actually no.  I've not missed the grains at all.  I thought I'd have serious cravings, because I'm a crunchy, salty, snacky, crusty bread/crackers type person, but I had none.  I'd have to watch myself to keep from popping a crisp or a cheese cracker that my kids had left behind into my mouth, but other than that, nothing.

I will tell you what I do miss: peanut butter and beans. Huh.  The only real craving I've gotten since I went Paleo was for a big pot of pinto beans that I was boiling for chili (for my family)!  Beans and peanuts are both lentils.

When I reach my goal weight, I'm seriously considering adding lentils back into my diet (so then what will I be?  A Lacto-Lentil-Paleo? ROTFL!) No-sugar-added peanut butter and beans are a superb source of protein and fibre, too.

I still have 5lbs to lose so I have a short while to think about it.

Inspirational diet article

GREAT article here!

I don't know who Jillian Michaels is and I deduce the the Biggest Loser is a telly show (don't watch telly) but the article, my Margarita Bertsos is FAB amd Ms Michaeles's tips are FAB.  Love the empowerment.

"1.) DON'T APOLOGIZE FOR SELF-PRESERVATION.


I told Jillian that some of my habits--flushing rice down the toilet so I won't eat it, bringing my own high-fiber bread to brunch--stirred some controversy on the blog. "Why?" she asked. "Why should we apologize for the practices that help us manage the symptoms while we deal with the real reasons we eat? I pour candle wax on my food at restaurants," Jillian admitted. "Not wanting to 'waste food' is a poor excuse for ending up far worse off later on, dealing with all the health problems that come with obesity."

 2.) RUN.


I asked Jillian if running really is the best form of cardio for weight loss. "Absolutely," she said. "There are lots of great ways to get your heart rate up, but if you want to see the pounds melt off, running is the fastest way. But I get that not everyone is built for it--knee problems, tight IT bands, heel spurs; I get it." Whatever you do, she said, "Don't forget the weights! The more muscle you build, the faster your metabolism will run."(What's better running outdoors or on a treadmill?)


3.) THE BIGGEST LOSER IS NOT REALITY.


"You don't watch the Olympics and think, Hmm, I should swim for 6 hours a day like Michael Phelps, do you? But you might think about joining a pool and swimming a few times a week," she said. That's what Jillian wants people watching TBL to think, too: "If these people can lose ten pounds in two weeks, maybe I can lose ten pounds in a couple of months." She adds: "I want people to realize their own potential; I meet people all the time who never thought of themselves as athletic, but now? They truly are athletes."


4.) FORGET WILLPOWER.


"Losing weight is not about willpower--it's about moments of bravado, like the moment when you ask your waiter to take the bread away from the table right away."


5.) JUST SAY THANK YOU.


When I told Jillian how much weight I've lost, she congratulated me. And then (as I always do), I added, "But I still have a long way to go." "Stop," she said. "What does that do," she said, "apart from negate everything you've already accomplished? You're being self-deprecating and disempowering, and that doesn't serve anyone-and especially not you. Be proud of what you've done for yourself.""

I especially loved 4 and 5.  Life is tough as it is and a lot of us are working jobs, caring for children, taking care of our homes and partners, etc, etc.  EVERYTHING is about FlyLady's wonderful 'baby steps'. You pick your battles with your teenagers, let your bathroom go one more day dirty so you can read to your toddler, take your own trash to the dump to save money, and you should be proud of yourself that you turned down Barbara's birthday cupcakes in the breakroom and instead walked around the block.

You might not be 5lbs thinner tomorrow from that, but you did well, and it will show.

Praising grazing?

Via Janelle from the Evil Genius Woman Forums, an interesting article here.  It's aimed at developing your abs but a lot of it is basic good sense.

I was intrigued at the recommendations of Nancy Clark, re: meals.

"For the next month, work your abs according to the following steps and try this eating tip from Nancy Clark, R.D., author of Nancy Clark's Sports Nutrition Guidebook: "I make two peanut-butter-and-honey sandwiches every day; I eat one for lunch at 11 and one for my second lunch at 3," Clark says. Notice that the 3 o'clock feeding is a "second lunch," not an "afternoon snack." Too many men equate snack time with, well, snacks—junk food. You'll eat smarter (whole grains and muscle-building protein) and not need as big a dinner if you allow for a second lunch. Plus, you'll have more energy for a better workout in the afternoon or evening."

I have used this method of eating every time I dieted, raised my children like this, and now eat this way full time.  The only difference is that, being an Anglophile, I call my meals Breakfast (6:30am), Elevenses (between 10 and 11), Tea (between 3 and 4), and Supper (6:30pm).

(Since I'm pretty anti-sugar, none of these is 'snacktime'. Each is a meal. Obviously peanut butter and honey on bread is out for me, but it's one of my kids FAVE meals!)

Eating multiple times a day really makes sense given the Paleo lifestyle, too.  I mean think about it.  Paleolothic man spent all day searching for food.  If a stone age caveman managed find a huge clutch of eggs or bring down an injured antelope, then the clan stuffed themselves to bursting.  But that wasn't a typical day at work for Paleo guy.  Normally he bagged v. small game and supplimented with roots, veg, fruit, seeds, and insects that stone age woman gathered.

Caveman probably 'grazed' all day.  I mean, what else would one do?  It's not like they could check their email. ROTFL!

Grammar EPIC FAIL

*SIGHZ*

gud grammarz, yr doin it rong:


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I guess in a twisted way, this is funny.  It's totally sad when you pat yourself on the back doing lolcats (which is purposeful incorrect grammar) but can't speak English properly IRL.  Even i can haz cheezburger isn't immune to dolts.

Would ya like to slap a "please" on that before I slap you?

(Alternate title: "No daughter-in-law of mine ...")

OK, so yeah.  I went out in public yesterday (as opposed to scooting out in my sweats, shades, and ratty tee, grabbing my schoolies and running home).

There's a lovely park beside my kids' school and it was an equally lovely day, so the littles and I walked over, fetched the bigs, and they played a bit on the playground.

There was already a family there, a stereotypical C-Town unit: dad, mum, 2 kids (one boy, one girl, natch!), ridiculous little purebred dog, and SUV that seated SEVEN with the tiringly ubiquitous stickers on the back (college team flip-flops/palmetto tree on left and stick-figure family on right with every member even the dog, awwww. NOT).

My five scattered out onto the playgound immediately and I sat on a nearby bridge/toy/thingy that's rarely played on but in the shade.

Almost instantly, the girl, aged about 3, ran afoul of Bulk.  He tried to walk across the same 3 foot wide bridge as she and she SCREAMED at the tops of her lungs and whined piercingly: "Iiiiiiiiiiii was on this!"

Bulk, who has two older sisters, wisely retreated - albeit a bit baffled.

Mom, who looked as if her Zoloft was kicking in nicely, sort of peered into the middle distance.

Dad, however, much in command, was pacing back and forth, cellphone clamped to ear, TALKING IN A VERY LOUD VOICE.  He continued to do this without interruption the entire time they stayed there.  I heard about their friends who were driving down from northern climes and were currently in eastern Virginia and had just stopped to eat and had caught part of some game (football?) on the telly in the restaurant and wow, I hope they make it to the playoffs, etc, etc.

Meantime, the boy was trying earnestly to tell Boy what he should be playing.  Boy was politely talking to him but rebuffing his ideas.  The child was talking about telly shows Boy has never seen (and frankly seem too young for a 5-year-old. He mentioned Barney.)

Anyway, he quickly abandoned Boy for THCTD, who is so social that she happily went along without a clue as to what the boy was talking about.

Problem was, was that the child got more and more aggresive.  He began speaking so loudly he was shouting.  He also had the unnerving habit of leaning right into THCTD's face to speak to her.  He even grasped her arm and pulled her to where he wanted her a few times.

Mom just watched, Dad ignored.

Now THCTD is, heh, no dummy, and she's also a tall, capable gal, so I wasn't afraid this suburban milquetoast was going to bully her, but it did take all of my willpower NOT to micromanage.  At one point they were all playing and Bossy Boy spent the entire time telling everyone in a petulant/cross voice what to do and how to do it.

Cut to Screaming Girl.

She did the rounds whilst everyone else played, and whined and screamed if anyone got in her way or played on anything she wanted.  My crowd just ignored her.  I secretly wished she had encountered Fiver, the 30lb master of screaming-to-get-your-way, on a narrow bridge.  He easily outweighed her and was not much shorter.  It would have been a smackdown.

ANYway, about this time, Screamy appered at my elbow.

Now, I am not about to be ugly to a child unless greatly provoked, especially another person's kid.  So I looked down at her and smiled. The wee cherub, in turn, looked up at me from her nest of entirely playground-inappropriate pink/polka-dotted/frou-frou/tacky/lacy/crapwear-and-hair-accessories and said:

"Can you move? I wan' on dis."

I honestly was so flabbergasted that I got up.

Now, my kids are not perfect by any stretch.  Srsly.  But I do expect them to be polite and respectful and well behaved at all times.

My 3-year-old, Bulk, would not dream of speaking that way to anyone!  If he forgot his 'please', he would still say: "May I get on dis?" in that situation.  But most of all, none of my children would, in a million years, presume to ask an adult to do anything (other than help them)!!!

(Yes, that was worth 3 exclaimation points.)

But brace yourself, it gets better.

Dad, finally gets off the phone. After briefing Mom on a convo that she HAD to have heard, because *I* heard the entire thing to the tiniest detail and I was over 30 feet away, they adjourned, after a brief begging session with their kids ending in a bribe, to their silver Expedition.

We played in peace for a bit.  Ahhhhh.  If only we had one of those playgound thingys here at the house.

Then, just as I was contemplating ringing Bodog and seeing if he was up for meeting us, another huge SUV pulls up (this one was black, but the tacky back window stickers were almost the same).

This one disgorged three lanky girls, a 5th grader, a 2nd grader, and a tall kindergartener dressed, you guessed it, in lace, pink, frou-frou, NOT-play-clothes, crap.

(BTW, I know the exact grades because they were sisters whom Boy knew from school.  They also had awful Western-themed matching names - think Steele,Canyon, and Colt if they'd been boys. *gag*)

(oh, and FWIW, the 2nd grader was wearing a spaghetti tank, miniskirt, and v. high-heeled sandles.  She was clearly athletic but almost fell on those stupid stacked heels and I saw WAY more underpants than should be shown in public.*)

Anyway, Boy knew these three and he homed in on the kindergartener.  Well this little ... person was a piece of work.  At various points whilst she was there, she 1) screamed in his face, 2) asked him questions in a loud, petulant voice, then walked away, and 3) responded in a bored, dismissive fashion when he spoke (at one point she yelled "I do-on't CARE!" after he answered her nicely). Add to this that she cut in front of, pushed, and stepped on all of my other children, whinged loudly at anyone if he/she played where she wanted to play (in a stunning imitation of Screaming Girl - 2 years hence), and totally ignored their caretaker/nanny/mom(?) despite the woman asking her repeatedly to stop risky stunts. (Woman never once asked her to to quit being the wee bitch that she was being.)

I, meanwhile was sat by, alternately fuming and being gobsmacked at these kids' behaviours.  I mean, can you imagine Princess Bitch all grown up?  Her poor, poor husband-to-be.

I finally couldn't stand it any more and instructed Boy, sotto voce,  not to play with her.  Poor HCTD had been trying since they arrived just to get them to speak to her but every girl just ignored her. Bitty and Bulk tried to stay out of the way as all three girls were running, pushy-shovey, climbing on things not meant to be climbed on, etc.

Then Fiver got involved.

Well Princess Bitch decided she wanted to go thru an opening currently occupied by Fiver.  She screamed at him AND tried pushing him and he jutted out his jaw and held his ground. Hey, he's got sisters.

(BTW, they were almost 5 feet off the ground and she was trying to push him OUT of the opening.  I was halfway accross the playground - incoming - at this juncture.)

So I grab Fiver, but he's gripping the bars and glaring up at PB.  I have to prise his fingers off and this takes, what, 4 seconds? Meantime PB is trying to get out the opening by stepping over us and steps on my hand.  I look up at her and she says:

(wait for it)

"Can you move?"

"Please?" I snap, and the look on her face is priceless.  She is stunned.  She stares at me wide-eyed for several seconds as I give her my best I'm-gonna-pick-a-switch-and-wear-your-arse-out look.  She glances nervously at Boy and you can see the connections being made in her self-centered ,over-indulged brain; this is a mom who runs a tight ship, this is a boy who is polite and sweet as a result.

But then her momma's glorious parenting kicks in and she rolls her eyes and says in her best 'whatevrrrrr' voice: "yeah, please" and steps over us onto the climbing thingy.

-----

Now, I've spoken a lot in the past about how I wanted all boys and how nervous I was about raising girls and how I'm not girlyfroufrou and didn't know how I would handle that sort of stuff.  Well, I've learned a lot from my two smart, capable, wee girls including how I won't die if there are *gag* fairy books and *gag* pink frilly shirts in my house.  People are individuals.

But, by golly, one thing I've NOT done is produce two whining, screaming, self-centered, mean-spirited, over-indulged, wastes of two X chromosomes disguised as clothes racks.  My girls are friendly, sweet, and polite.  Oh yeah, they DO whine a bit, and yeah, they do like to get their way every now and then, and yeah, they can be difficult as only us females can be (hence the 'used to sisters' remarks), but they are at heart great little people.  NOT divas, NOT brats, NOT princesses.

*amount of underpant veiwable in public on any underage female that is acceptable? NONE.

EDITED to correct glaring typos.  Sorry.