So my H had this brilliant idea to have BOTH of the twins on the same visit. For those of you who may not know my situation, I assure you: He canNOT handle both of them at the same time. So typically he only has one per visit, because one of them is all he can handle. Ever seen an episode of Super Nanny? Well, multiply the worst kid you've seen on there by ten, then multiply it by two since there are two of them.

These kids are f*cking atrocious.

Anyway, he decided to have BOTH of them for 5 days. So I decided to go out of town for the holiday. I managed to find somewhere to stay for Wednesday, Thursday and Friday nights. However, trying to stay Saturday night would have been over-staying my welcome. So I'm back home.

I've managed to avoid having to acknowledge their birthday (it was on the 16th). Frankly, I have zero desire to celebrate the day they were born. I know how cruel and horrible of a person that I am for even admitting that I feel that, let alone the fact that I actually feel that way. But, well, it's how I feel.

So far, I've managed to just stay in my craft room. Thankfully, they were out doing something when I came home, so I had a few moments of peace before they invaded my home again.

Then the same ol' bullshit started: Fighting, arguing, whining, crying, throwing things (was that the remote to MY tv?), stomping around, slamming doors, and screaming ("I HATE YOU!")...

Since I'm in the basement and haven't even had the displeasure of having to look at them or speak to them yet, I am relegated to having to listen to the nonsense through the floorboards.

Honestly, I resent them so much. When I found that one of the little assholes had scribbled my sons face out of that chalk drawing - and neither would own up to it or apologize - I just cannot even bring myself to even PRETEND that I like them. There was NO recourse for the culprit that committed such a heinous crime. I have not been made solvent for that in any way, shape, or form. They completely got away with it. And it makes me absolutely sick to my stomach. I've realized that it's not even so much the ruining of the drawing that hurt me so much, it's what the act represented: They scribbled my sons face out - like they want him dead or something. Or, more like they just don't want him to be a part of the family. What their act represents cut me to the core of my very being.

They are evil, horrible, nasty, nasty, nasty little f*ckers.

I'm over them. I will NEVER put myself out there for them again. They get NOTHING from me. NOTHING. I can't even bring myself to acknowledge that they are alive.

On an interesting note: My H has NOT attempted to address the fact that I avoid his children like they have the plague. I don't ask him about them. I won't talk about them. Even when he tries to discuss them, I just pretend to listen in silence, then I change the subject after (what I feel) is an appropriate amount of time. I can sense that my H is hurt, and even sometimes angry, but he won't talk to me about it. I think he knows that he won't be able to handle the shit storm that comes his way if he does. I'll f*ck his world up with the truth - the truth that he already knows: Things are like this because of HIM. This is HIS fault. HE is the one who has failed to do his job as a father and consequently everyone who comes into contact with those brats pays a price. I have been kicked in the proverbial nuts by him over and over and over again.

I was NOT made solvent over their last heinous violation of my trust and my life.

I know that I need to let it go, but I can't. Actually, let me rephrase that: I don't want to let it go. Why? Because it reminds me of what those kids are capable of.

On another, another note: When I came home, SD had left a bunch of trash on the end table. So I put it on her pillow. I heard her comment to my H about it. I hope he brings it up to me. If he does, I'm going to say, "I thought she was keeping it for some reason since she didn't throw it in the trash. So I put it on her pillow so she wouldn't lose it."

F*ck it.

AND, gross, gross, gross, she left her underwear in the small bathroom. The bathroom that is next to the living room. WHY is her underwear in that bathroom? I have no idea. Gross. So I kicked it into the vestibule so that it would be where everyone could see it when they walked through the door. I hope she was embarrassed. Probably not, but still it made ME feel better.