My father got me out of bed last night because he couldn’t sleep. Luckily I wasn’t sleeping either, but reading instead. (I find I sleep very little since we moved in here.)

He wanted to know what happened to me. “You used to be such a fighter. That’s how you got your reputation comprar reductil online as the family bitch.”

He’s right. I am the family bitch. (Pardon my language, but there really isn’t a better word for it.)

I know I’ve referred to myself as the black sheep of the family on the blog before and it’s true. I was never one to follow the pack. I’m the middle child, the middle of three daughters. My older sister is five years older than me, and when she was informed she was getting a baby sister, she told my parents she’d rather have a puppy. She was spoiled rotten, as the only grandchild at the time, and they all lived with my grandparents and my uncle and his former wife. Six adults and one child in a house makes for a spoiled child.

My parents got their first home just months before I was born, so not only had my sister lost the constant attention of four other adults, she had to deal with a new baby sister taking her place also. So from the time I was born, I had to be a fighter.

By the time my younger sister came along, when I was just three, my older sister and I had never gotten along. But she was ready for the new baby, she was allowed to help take care of it, while I wasn’t. It was about then, so my parents tell me, that I started getting into trouble.

I never took it out on the new baby, my younger sister, but always went after my older sister instead. I was “the problem child”. The one that wouldn’t listen, that talked back and always did my own thing. Not that this was a bad thing, at least in my opinion. It made me who I am today.

Growing up I probably felt dad’s belt across my backside three times as much as either of my sisters. I got to the point where I’d just tell him to smack me, because I wasn’t going to do what he asked me to. So I took the paddling, and then did what I wasn’t supposed to, and took another paddling for it.

By the time I was five, I had probably had more stitches, than most people ever get, usually doing something I shouldn’t have been doing. I was also the one that caused the most damage.

I was seven when I shoved my older sister, who was twelve at the time, through a glass door. She may have gotten the stitches that time, but I think my butt was more sore than hers when dad was done.

I should also mention that I was the smallest of us three girls, not height wise, as I’m actually the tallest now, but weight wise. (We pick on each other now, my older sister got the good hair, I got the good body, and my younger sister got the good job… Together we’d make the perfect woman.) Anyways, I was a scrawny little “stick child”, while both of my sisters were stocky in build. It may have been a disadvantage when we were younger, but now I’m envied for it.

Over the years, I caused lots of injuries to mostly my older sister. When we both became teenagers, Dad quit trying to referee our fights and got to the point where he’d just let us fight it out. As we were girls it usually came down to lots of teeth marks and pulling hair. I did blacken her eyes quite a few times though, but her teeth seemed to be sharper than mine…. lol…

When I was sixteen, and my older sister finally moved out of my parents house, the fighting between me and my younger sister picked up. She ended up with a few stitches and even a few broken bones. My favorite episode being when I broke three of her fingers, because she woke me up. Mom had told her to wake me one afternoon because I had to work, but she woke me by lifting my head off the pillow by my pony tale. online prescriptions I don’t think she ever touched me again after that, not that I can blame her. It’s really hard to get along when you have two broken fingers on one hand and one on the other.

Then after my I married my first husband, I had to be a fighter to survive. Only he taught me to fight better, not by teaching me, but by me having to defend myself and my young son. But as I’ve grown up, my penchant for violence has diminished, I’ve learned that words can work better than fists, but well, they’re always there for back-up just in case.

I was the first daughter to ever stand up to our sometimes over-controlling father. I’ve put my dad in his place a few times over the years. But I’m also the closest one to him, probably because I’m the most like him. (Although, I’ve never hit my kids.)

I finally defeated my first husband with words, not fists, and got out of that relationship. Only to have him force himself back into my life. It took a few more years before I got rid of him totally, but again it wasn’t done with violence, although sometimes I think it should have been.

Over the years I’ve used my fighting attitude to get things done my way many times. Even my current husband can’t one up me when I set my mind to it, although he is a cunning guy. Sometimes I get into fierce debates just for fun, usually when I’m bored out of my mind.

Okay, so to get to the point of this post….

On Friday when this latest mess started, the fight kind of went out of me. I had it stuck in my mind that I had to be nice to these people because the fate of my family rested in their hands.  It’s wasn’t just me on the line anymore, but my husband and children also.

Last night’s little talk with my father put things back into perspective to me. He told me to quit feeling sorry for myself and to come out swinging! And he’s right!

The fate of my family and my house, doesn’t rest with these idiots, the dealership, the mortgage brokers or any of the rest. It rests with me. So why was I being nice and trying not to step on anyone’s toes, when I should have come out swinging then. I’ve never been one to wait around while other people decided my fate, I’ve always made my own path.

So “No more Mr. (or Mrs.) Nice Guy”, it’s time that we do things my way! And right now, I feel for the first poor soul to tell me it can’t be done! I’m just waiting for the phone to ring now, not nervously as yesterday. But anxiously!

You may not be able to catch as many flies with vinegar as with honey, but who wants to catch flies anyway? I just want my house back, and at this point in time, I don’t care how many toes I step on. Things are going to get done, instead of just talking about them getting done!

I guess we all sometimes lose ourselves when things like this happen, but we’ve just got to look back and remember who we are! If I can play Russian roulette with an angry drunk (my first husband) and come out on top, these bankers and business men don’t stand a chance – do they? Only no guns will be needed this time, as word can cut just as sharply, especailly when it comes to reputations!