Fuck her.

When Sarah calls I could throw up. When she goes on and on about how much she loves and misses her kids I could literally hit something. Really, Sarah? Really?! Do you love and miss them more than you love meth and miss it when you can't get any? No. Okay, it's not that the mere act of her calling makes me sick but the reaction from the kids; the squeals of joy and the "I love you mommys" She's 1500  god damned miles away, banging drugs and probably on her back as I type. I am here cleaning shit out of underware, dealing with Tween girl angst and otherwise playing mommy to her three kids. I work 2 jobs to make ends meet, cook dinner, make presents for their friends, etc. I get the grunt work and she gets the glory. Tonight, I showed my ass.
Sarah called and as per our rules was on speaker phone while talking to the children. I heard the middle child giving info to Sarah about where she goes to Day Care. I interjected with "DO NOT give her that info!" as Sarah has come and taken the kids from school previously. I forgot that she was on speaker. She got mad and said, "GOD! Just let ME talk to MY kids." YOUR KIDS? These kids that I raise, you whore? I only verbalized some of the above written before Aaron told us to both stop.
Fuck her. Her kids? Just because she birthed them doesn't mean shit to me. Get clean, come back to Oklahoma and be a mom then. My son's father isn't asserting his parental authority while being a derelict. He stays away. He doesn't want to write a check or be responsible so he doesn't call or come around. I respect him for it.  Parenting can be done one of two way: all in or all out. You can't be a mom with a syringe hanging out of your arm.