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.

The Last OB Show

My pre-op appointment went swimmingly. I had a brief battle of wills over whether or not I was going to get an internal check (answer: NO. I have never dilated or effaced in my life. They had me on a pitocin drip for ten hours and I managed one centimetre, and that's being optimistic. No way I'm shedding my knickers for anything other than sex or a bath at this point, Mmmkay?)

Blood pressure excellent, Fiver's heartbeat great, weight ... I'd gained 1/2 a pound. I'm telling you, I'll be surprised if this kid is much bigger than 8lbs.

I encountered an interesting specimen of female in the waiting room beforehand.

I was flipping through one of the baby magazines in the waiting room ("Birthday parties for two-year-olds: are 40 guests too many?") She sailed in, about as old as my car, manicure and pedicure, hideous Prada handbag, maternity shirt that fit like a sausage casing and low slung jeans that exposed a crescent of cute little soccer ball belly that she clearly felt everyone should be honoured to see.

She went up to the desk and gave her name and the receptionist couldn't seem to find her file. She searched about while Miss Priss looked about in a bored manner and checked her cellphone (which was supposed to be OFF as the sign on the door clearly stated).

Finally the lady behind the counter finds the file - in a different stack - she looks in it, looks at the clock, frowns. It was 20 minutes past the hour.

"Yeah," Miss Priss bubbles, "I'm late!" Then she giggles as if she's just the cutest thing EVAR.

The receptionist says, just a touch tightly: "Well, you're pregnant, so we'll forgive you."

Another loud giggle from Prissy who twirls and sits close to me. She takes a moment (after checking her cell again) to stare slowly and rather rudely around the room at the rest of the patients.

A moment later a rather harassed looking young man shows up, finds Miss Priss, sits. He clearly had been parking the car, having dropped her off at the door (bless her heart, she can't be expected to walk, she's pregnant!) Prissy immediately begins whispering to him. Since she's so close I can discern that she's talking about the other ladies in the waiting room*. She even points a few times.

This goes on for a bit.

At this juncture I deeply regret that I lack the ability to fart loudly at will.

I don't know whether Fiver sensed my deepening disdain or what, but he picked that moment to begin thrashing about like an 8lb bass (those of you who have been pregnant know this one - where you can see the random knee or elbow bulge out alarmingly) and I did what I always do when he starts his calisthenics: I patted my belly and murmured: "Settle down in there, boy."

This arrested Prissy in mid-whisper. You'd think I'd started stripping my clothing off or had attempted to swallow my own arm. This chick was gawping at me.

I looked up at her - she was still staring at me, open mouthed - and gave her my sweetest "eat me, you ridiculous waste of carbon" look (now with eyebrow lift!)

Her significant other - bless him, he'd apparently not noticed my grievous social faux pas of speaking to my own belly - smiled wanly at me, I smiled back, and Prissy immediately dropped her gaze and engaged him in conversation. Cuz, ya know, we can't not be focused on her.

I went back to my magazine ("Drop that last five pounds of baby weight and look normal again!") and I overhear one last exchange before the nurse comes for me ...

"When I came in," Priss enthuses in a loud whisper, "I said I was sorry for being so late and she said it was ok cuz I'm pregnant!" (Giggle! Giggle!) Then snappishly: "God! I wonder how much longer it's gonna be?"

Uhm, honey? You did NOT apologize for crap. Do you remember the chick** in You've Got Mail? The one who was dating Tom Hanks's character? You are that person, cupcake. You were a portrait of self-absorption and disregard for every other person in the room - including your poor, poor husband - and I wish you were reading this blog right now, although you probably wouldn't even recognize yourself.

Get a clue, sweetheart. In a while your baby will be here and the universe will no longer revolve around YOU.

That and I'm honing my fart-on-demand skillz.

* The worst part was that the young man was clearly embarrassed by her overt gossip report. He was fairly squirming in his seat.

**Played perfectly by Parker Posey (say that three times fast). Remember the scene in the elevator?