Brothers

The boys adore their rotten little sister.
In fact, the boys worship her in an "I'm scare she's gonna snap and come after me oh isn't she cute" kind of way.
Boo especially.
When I'm wrestling her into a fresh diaper, Boo is there with diaper cream and a reminder that "Sissy is a pretty Princess, Mama."
When I'm getting sippie cups, Boo will take Punks and declare, "It's for the Princess."
When punk is dressed up and dolled up for a night on the town . . .er, a trip to the grocery store, Boo declares, "Come look at the pretty Princess. Isn't she bea-u-ti-mus!"
While I think its cute, I'm almost a wee bit irritated that the Princess seems to out rank the Queen. (and not in a Freddie Mercury or drag queen way!)
I don't get any special treatment from the men in my life. I do occasionally get told I'm hamd-sum, which results in the lecture, "girls are pretty, boys are handsome."
I don't know where I lost control of my menfolk. I mean, I knew The Man would toss me over for our daughter--I was okay with that--but my boys? Now that hurts!
I have sacrificed body and soul for those rotten little monsters and this is how they repay me?
Okay, is it me or was that line just very "Mommy Dearest" in a "no wire coats hangers" way?
All I can tell you is I'm determined to reclaim my throne.
Even if it is in the bathroom.