WTH is going on with the world lately?

"Lalalalalala..." I sung to myself as I buzzed around the kitchen, washing up the remaining dishes and loading them into cupboards. I liked to sing as I worked - it helped take my mind off the chores and helped me prepare for what was coming next. God knows I would need all the preparation I could get.
"Honey, I'm home!" Mom chorused just as I was beginning to vacuum the lounge. She was all smiles, cradling a battered filofax in her arms, face flushed from the cold outside. I gave her a small grin back, afraid that she would burst into song. She was literally trembling with masked joy.
"So, I went to the foster home. They have some more kids for us!"
"Kids? Plural?" I asked, dumbfounded, "As in, more than one?" I seriously didn't think that my mother could get any crazier. She had me, for goodness sakes! A perfectly functioning, healthy, teenage daughter who brought home good grades and cleaned the house and always kept her room in spotless condition. I'd always wanted to make my mother proud. I stayed out of trouble and showered daily and always got up on time, made her coffee, and went off to school. I'd never flunked an exam. I'd never skipped school. So why the hell did she need any more kids?
I was okay with the first few - they were little kids, too young to really understand what was going on, and the girls were always adorable and let me read them bedtime stories and plait their hair and tickle them 'till they cried, that sort of thing. The next batch were older, but at least there was never more than one - that would have been unbearable. The boys teased me, pulled my hair, locked my in my bedroom and refused to let me out until Mom returned home, when they'd pretend to be innocently listening to music in their bedroom (the foster kids always got the larger room, while I was stuck in my poky little box with the creaky door). The girls caked themselves in make-up and wore tiny skirts and push-up bras to show off their cleavage. They called me every name under the sun (and by that I DON'T mean literally), accused me of being a Goth, an Emo, because my hair was black (natural, honest!) and I scarcely wore any make-up at all, apart from eyeliner, which outlined my eyes (my best feature) and made them seem an even brighter shade of blue. All in all, not a great experience.
"Yes, honey. There are three this time - two girls and one boy. Celeste and Blake are only a few months younger than you, and they're twins. Poppy's the youngest - she's only six next month. They lost their mother due to alcohol abuse and their father left just after Poppy was born, and no-one's been able to find him since. So I offered to take them in for a little while. They're not adapting well at the home, apparently. They seem nice enough kids. I met them briefly before, they're very polite, shook my hand and everything. We'll go shopping tomorrow, how about it?"
"Um, shopping, okay. But... three kids? Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"Of course, honey! It'll give them some time to... get used to the idea of their mom not being around. You'll like them, Alex, I promise. Now, chinese take-out to celebrate?"
Okay, she had me there. How could I resist a chinese take-out? How could anyone?