So, here I am on a Sunday. The kids are napping and I should be relaxing, having lunch, and enjoying some quiet time. But instead, I am seething. I have jumped head-first into a pool of vengeful spite and, truth be told, I am having the most difficult time climbing out. In fact, I am rather enjoying the warm (hot) temperature of the spite pool, and I'm swimming around rather gleefully. But, I know eventually I have to get out.
What has gotten me so in a tizzy you ask? Well, I'll tell you...parking. Neighborhood parking, to be specific. Yes, now that I've written it down I can't escape how stupid the whole thing is and even worse, how stupid I have been.
I could give you history that would be 100 percent slanted in my favor, thereby painting my neighbor as the ultimate biscuit head. I'll give you the short version, though, and do my best to stick to the facts, m'aam. In a nutshell, we are warring over a parking spot right in front of our driveway. She doesn't want us (or anyone) to park in front of our driveway because it makes it difficult for her to back out of her driveway (she's across the street from us and it's a very tiny street). We get it and avoid that spot maybe 90 percent of the time. The other 10 percent? Small street, shit happens.
Fast forward several years. After an altercation involving myself and neighbor, she decides she will no longer use her driveway and will park on the street. Fine. Free country. If you're not going to park in your driveway, though, don't block ours 'cause we want to use it now. (We don't really. It's the spite talking.) Told her this no less than five times. No dice. Despite many open parking areas, she opts to park in front of our driveway. We left her a note (that looked like a ticket; we think we're funny) thanking her for being such an awesome neighbor (cue oozing sarcasm here).
She then leaves a semi-rude voicemail calling me "sweetie" and talking about "having too much time on my hands because I'm home with the kids all day." (Note: She is a stay-at-home mom.) Right here...here is where I'm having trouble being a grown up. I want to strap on my Dynasty power suit (complete with shoulder pads), get the red painted claws out, march over there and engage in some serious hair pulling. Picture it: I'd stealthily fly across the floor and take her down at the ankles. We'd brawl Alexis-Crystal style. I'd of course emerge victorious holding a clump of blond hair. But before leaving, I'd look at her, gasping for mercy, and say, "There's a new bitch in town."
I want to take a moment here to recognize that I did just get carried away AND that I've watched Heathers one too many times. But, in my defense, that is what happens when you drink from (and swim in) the pool of malcontent.
The one glitch in my little fantasy? I'm a mom, I'm a mom, I'm a mom. Moms don't brawl. Moms don't engage in silly, petty needling games. Moms set good examples. Moms rise above it all. Moms don't go THERE.
At this point, I'm not sure if I'm going to completely let the situation go, take a different tactic, or keep up the existing tension and awkwardness. What I do know is I can't just go on in anger. I can't expect those two little people, who look to me to teach them things (still haven't wrapped my brain completely around that one), to do the right thing if I'm so easily sucked into the wrong thing.
I'm not the first person (nor will I be the last) to get her panties twisted up their ass about parking. We got too many people, too many cars, and too little patience. But, I am trying...trying to do the right thing. That's the best I can do right now. Hey, I might be a mom, but I am still human...and the woman is crazy.