One Extra Chore

I'm glad I did the extra chore and checked the car for things my kids leave in there. The littlest left her jacket, her backpack and her lunchbox. The others left their water bottles. And the hubs will be going to the dealer and leaving behind my car in exchange for a rental at the crack of dawn because someone smashed it in a parking lot yesterday. I'm very glad none of my family was in the car when it happened and I'm very glad the responsible driver had insurance.

I woke up much too early yesterday, felt desperate from a couple of days of sleep deprivation and yet I woke up much too early anyway. So I decided to give myself a break and take some NyQuil. It knocked me out and I didn't wake up until the hubs brought the kids home from school! I must have been very, very tired. Anyway, I woke up to see the lot of them gathered at the foot of my bed and the hubs trying to tell me, in a way that would not cause panic, what had happened to my car. And even though I saw all my girls right there in front of me, I worried in case any of them had been traumatized by being in the car when it happened. Thankfully, no one was in the car when it happened. What a freakin' relief!!

Now I have to get through the birthday party of the littlest this evening. I feel funny about having the parents of the other kids coming over here. I feel funny because I know I am different and not like them. I can't show up at all the school functions, I once answered the door in pajamas to one of them (I was not well), and I have not even laid eyes on some of the others and have relied on my husband in order to have effective communications with them. I'm really feeling like a freak and it hurts me so much. I have this awful feeling that I just don't want them to see me, that I'm not normal and not good enough and don't deserve to have children. I'm wishing I had not planned for the party to be right here in my home because I don't want to feel this kind of overwhelming shame about my deficiencies in my only really safe place. I even feel bad for feeling these things because this is not about me. It is about my baby and her birthday. She is ten and I'm glad she is here. But I still feel bad. This is just not right. None of it is right, but the trauma dictates (hat tip to my blog pal, Butterfly). This is why you shouldn't fuck kids: Reason #1,000,000 - because it taints the birthday parties of the children they grow up to parent. And if you fuck kids anyway, then FUCK YOU - I hope you die.

I hate my father. I'm glad he's dead. The next time my mother calls here or comes over I'm going to tell her what a worthless cunt she is and that she is prohibited from ever contacting me or my minor children ever again.