I was going to talk to her and ask her if she thought she’d behaved appropriately, calling people to lie about me. If she even knew she was a liar or just that her perceptions were skewed. If she thought she’d be able to be friends with or trust someone who’d do that to her, behind her back.

I was going to tell her off after yesterday, when she invited herself to come grocery shopping with me and a friend, showed up, interrupted a conversation and then called me a big bitch for semi-ignoring her to continue the conversation I was having, and then left.

And then this morning, she took the final strike. She involved my kid.

We go to this playgroup drop-in thing every morning it’s available, at the local rec centre. Most of the moms who are into drinking coffee and letting their kids socialize while they get to, go to it. It’s pretty packed.

So it was pretty interesting when me and five other moms got to see her pointedly ignoring Isobel, someone she’d previously doted on. Then there were the two moms who overheard her telling her son that he couldn’t play with her. Then there was when I got to see her tell him to play somewhere else when I was telling Isobel to share a mat-toy thing with him.

Then there was the time that Isobel was on a huge mat with a mutual friend’s baby, talking to her and she moved Isobel away from her - actually picked her up and turned her around and then turned her back on Isobel.

Of course, that could only be topped by Isobel eating a snack that another mom had shared with her…the mom needed her container back and asked her to get it, but to leave the snack for Isobel. She took the whole thing out of Isobel’s hands without saying a word to her and walked away and when Isobel followed her, running, saying her name and that she wanted snacks? She turned around and told her to get her own.

To a two year old.

She then wouldn’t let Isobel sit in her lap during songtime and made a point of saying goodbye to everyone but me and Isobel. Two hours later, she called the friend I was walking with to invite her to go to the beach with her and some other friends tomorrow - but specified that the invite was only for my friend and her two kids, no one else, “get it?” she asked.

I was furious all day. I vented to a couple of people. One who said to confront her in a public place with JDawg, one who said fuck her, and one who said she’d have a hard time not punching her.

So, with this new behaviour, I was going to confront her. I was going to tell her exactly what I thought of her and her life and her parenting. I didn’t care if she tried to beat me up (cuz she’s classy, like that) because I was prepared to press charges, if it came to that.

I even, at one point, thought I’d let her boyfriend of eight years know that she goes back home a few times a year and cheats on him with his ex best friend. Or let her job know that the whole neighbourhood knows about her drinking and smoking habits at work.

And then I talked to JDawg, and he said to go for it, but know that nothing would change. That she’d still be the same person (or lack thereof) that she is and it would only make my life harder. He suggested I go to a different play time and just avoid her. (He’s trying to be a bigger person and that means not holding grudges or behaving badly based on anger, apparently. What an inopportune time, for me.)

That’s not fair to Isobel or I, though. We have friends there. We enjoy it there. It’s two blocks away, versus about 15. She likes the ‘instructors,’ who will be the same people instructing her pre-preschool classes. Bitch should have to leave.

But no.

Then. I had some clarity. I breathed. And I realized that this 24 year old girl is nothing more than an insignificant, immature, petty bully. Who never moved on from her childhood, will step on anyone at any time, and doesn’t seem to understand simple phrases without translating them into massive lies.

I realized that I don’t need to confront her, because I and everyone that I would be concerned for, already know that about her. I realized that she isn’t worth my day being ruined. She’s not worth me asking multiple people for advice and needing to vent and even, well, this blog post. She’s a small speck on my radar from now on.

Though I will go so far as to just do almost nothing. I will walk up to her at the next playgroup and say ‘I was going to do this or that out of spite, but i’m not going to because you’re not worth it. In fact, you’re too small and petty to understand how much you’re disliked, anyways.’

And then ignore her for the rest of our lives.

It’s still not entirely the higher road. But definitely better than the valley I’d usually live in.

Yes, I know I’ve gone on and on at various points what I’m about to go on and on about now. But nothing’s changed (much) and it seems like things are getting worse (in my shallow and not-so world) and I figure, if I keep blogging about it, I will take my own advice (that I’ve given out to a lot of you). And I will find my own damn happy.

Let’s start off nice and shallow.

Today, I thought I found a gray hair. This was as I was pinning my haven’t-been-washed-in-five-days bangs out of my eyes, thinking I needed a trim, wondering how it all became so dry and frizzy, and noticing the horrible scalp conditions I’ve got going on.

That moved on to the general Brooke Sheildsesness of my eyebrows, the sun damage and wrinkles surrounding my eyes, the fine hair that coveres my entire face.

Wait, let’s back up. I haven’t really slept in about four years. Rarely is the night that goes by with more than four hours. It shows. Closer to the present was a long-time friend’s comment that losing weight over the years has aged me. So has stress and smoking.

So has Isobel. And her father, really. I’m sure her and I have aged him a bit, too.

The usual mommy stuff can get pasted in here - the stretch marks, cellulite, loose skin. I own all of the above. But then I also have a quite awesome collection of spider veins that seem to be multiplying daily, along with freckles and moles.

There’s the physical. Now, the more intangible.

I’ve never been more unhappy with a living space as I am now - more like I’ve got no control. Control about where to put things (they go where they fit, right now), how to conduct my everyday activities in said space (must do dishes a few times a day now - no counter space - and there’s barely room for Isobel to dance and spin anymore.), whether I have my blood sucked out by some form of nasty vermin (new bug bite count is up to 12, for a total of 31 in a week).

I am losing my shit about it.

I’ve got great ideas and no cash to put into them.

Which brings me to other stuff. My lack of ability to stop fucking shit up. Between Starbucks and over-grocery shopping and buying little things here and there, and Isobel’s birthday - I’m fairly broke. I’m waiting on the refund of my security deposit, which will buy me some breathing room, but it’s looking like even if I felt confident enough in the bug scenario to buy a new bed, I couldn’t morally fork over the cash without some major buyer’s remorse.

Looking at my budget for the month, which I have not yet updated, has shown me that I had a lot of potential wiggle room that I, as usual, have pissed away.

Cleaning my old apartment showed me what a nasty mess-maker I’ve been over the years. Clearing out junk I’d accumulated taught me that I didn’t need a lot of stuff and neither does Isobel.

Now for the extreme asshole qualities.

I’m not a great mom. I spend more time during the day putting on movies and pushing a stroller and going on imagined needed grocery and coffee excursions - all just to avoid actually pointedly engaging Isobel - than I do being that mom that a lot of you seem to think I am. Yes, for the most part I talk gently to her, avoid raising my voice, explain the morals and reasoning behind the ‘no’s, but me? I’m a feisty, flightly, angry woman by nature.

And Isobel, like her father, has the ability to make me want to rage out. So I take it easy, on the Internet while Dora plays on repeat. I ask her, when I’m pushing the stroller, to stop whining because my brain will melt. I resort to immaturity, “if you can’t listen to me when I say not to dump your cup out, I won’t listen to you when you ask for more water” I am not money at this parenting thing.

But I could be.

What the fuck am I doing?

So, once again, for the zillionth time, I say:

From here on out, I’m going to change things. I’m going to be a better mom, I’m going to spend money effectively and responsibly, I’m going to take a fucking bath more often than once a week and actually take some fucking pride in my goddamn (sorry, churchies) appearance. I’m going to try to go back to trying to be the person I want to, inside and out.

And it all might start with this book.