Cinderella's little black dress

Forget the glass slipper that fits just right. This past weekend, I got the little black dress that fit just right. Okay, it wasn't black. I had to write that just for affect. But, it fit just right; and just in time for me to go to "the ball," as my daughter and I called it.

If you read the last post, you know that I had signed myself up to help clean my church on Saturdays. I mean, I'm just a crazy woman who hates to clean. So, I decided that it would probably really mean a lot to God if I did the one thing that I absolutely despise. Yeah, me and God are cool like that.

My cleaning day, however, just happened to fall on the day of the married couples' black-tie event (the ball.) And since I had to give my ticket away in the name of being dressless, I decided to embrace the Cinderella theme.

Although in my mind, it meant that I would be on my knees scrubbing floors. And even though it was a catchy blog title, it kind of ended there. There really was no way to romanticize it.

I was kind of heartbroken over the whole thing. My life is not a cartoon, where Fairy Godmother shows up and waves a wand. If I had one of those, I'd ask her to wave a toilet-scrubbing wand.

Speaking of toilets, on Saturday morning, I found out that I would be cleaning two things and there would be no Fairy Godmother to wave a toilet wand. I would be cleaning bathrooms--as in the mens and womens bathrooms. That's not two things; that's like a whole bunch of things in two different rooms.

And the men's bathroom--Yuck. Ick. Men are, you know, stinky and stuff. And they pee in those icky stalls.

I promised myself I would not pout about cleaning or about missing the ball. I honestly couldn't believe how it had worked itself out. I'd be cleaning bathrooms instead of getting ready for the ball.

Or, would I?

Well, sometime around noon, hubby handed me a ticket and some cash. "This is for you," he said. "And this is for your dress."

"Is it enough?" he asked as he handed me three crisp twenty-dollar bills.

"Oh, are you serious?! This is more than enough!"

I was beyond thrilled. I'd be going to the ball, afterall, and I had money for a new dress. And oh yeah, I still had that little chore on my to-do list. I still had the cleaning of the bathrooms to do. So, at 2 sharp, my daughter and I headed to the church, where we bumped into a little friend of hers.

His father was apparently setting up for the big ball, and he wanted to help. "Oh, I have something that you guys can do!" I said, just before handing the toilet brushes over. "You have to make sure they are crystal clean."

It took us 30 minutes to clean everything. And to think, I had my own version of the Fairy Godmother toilet-cleaning wands. Nice.

A few hours later and I had stepped out of a super-hot shower and into a beautiful dress that fit just right. And a few hours after that, hubby was feeding me chocolate-covered strawberries under the stars. (The entire room was decked out for our theme, "A Night Under the Stars.")

With rose in hand, he walked me out to the car that night, and I truly felt like Cinderella with her Prince Charming.

Sidenote: I just want some props for calling it in my last post. I said that by story's end, Cinderella gets her little black dress. Although, I figured that would come a few weeks down the road. I really had no idea.

Cinderella's cool with me.

Lastnight, hubby and I did something really bad.

We made a budget. Now, he delighted in it. But I was in pain during the entire process. We put our bills on paper, and even though I make a decent living, there was a defecit. Ever since he went away for fire school and I started doing the finances, we got off track in a huge way. It was time to get on track ... but for me, what awful timing.

I kept crossing things off of our mean dry-erase board--things that I could go without so that we weren't in the red. But, what really hurt me, was when I got to the line that read: Gala (Little Black Dress.)

So, our church is throwing this black-tie event for married couples and this would have been the first real date for hubby and I in ages. I had the plan for weeks and in my plan, the dress would be my first purchase on pay day. And then I would get the nails done. And then the eyebrows. And maybe even the hair.

However, in hubby's more-balanced world, the little black dress was last on the list. And it quickly became a victim of the budget. I finally scratched it off the board--with almost-tears in my eyes. However, we had already purchased our ticket for $75 and so in hubby's mind: "You have a million things in that closet to wear. Pick one."

Um, no. All of my clothes are a few sizes too small since I lost the baby weight. I have a few pairs of slamming jeans that fit just right. But, nothing worthy of a black-tie affair. It came down to: If I couldn't buy the little black dress, I wouldn't be going.

He was feeling my pain, I think. At work, I needed a pair of those slamming jeans so that I could change after work. And he stopped studying to wash and bring them me. I was tickled pink when I saw that he didn't know which pair was my favorite, so he brought two pairs.

Tonight I was at church when I saw my favorite usher. I love him because he is all grilled up and so on fire for God. (Interpretation: he has a gold grill in his mouth and guess what? He still loves God, lol.) I call his wife Janet, because she looks just like Janet Jackson--but she is about 9 months pregnant. So, we'll call them Usher and Janet.

Hubby had bumped into Usher one night and asked if he and Janet would be going to the gala. He shrugged it off, explaining that, you know, the timing wasn't right for them. (Interpretation: funds were low.)

So, tonight, I kept seeing him at church and thinking, he should really have this ticket for Janet. But, you know, there was that selfish part of me that wanted to be spoiled. I wanted that night of dancing and dinner--even if I had to make it happen. I wanted that little black dress--even if it meant being irresponsible with the money.

I just ... wanted it so bad ... that when I handed my ticket over to Usher, I didn't want to let go.

He had the hugest grilled-up smile and that just made my heart leap. The irony of the whole thing is that I signed up to help clean the church on Saturdays. You know, because I am a crazy woman who hates cleaning in the first place and I love to make myself crazy. So, I'll be cleaning for this event that I won't even get to go to.

On the quiet drive home (two babies asleep in their car seats), I thought you know, who cares if I don't get to go to the ball. I have my prince charming who will stop what he's doing to bring me my favorite pair of jeans. And Janet will get her one last night of fun before giving birth to her first child.

And I will be doing what I hate: I will be cleaning. But, I promise I'll be doing it with a smile on myself. Afterall, Cinderella's always been cool with me. Yeah, I'm embracing the Cinderella theme on Friday night.

And you know what that means? I'll get my little black dress by story's end.

Part 2: The Web spite

I don't even like being here--in this place--where I am writing about "the Web spite", as one of my friends and I have come to know it. I just want it to go away. It is the scummy boyfriend who pops up after a few years ... the one that you are really, really over with. You know, the one you just need to go away. Forever.

You could never, ever see him again ... and you'd be fine with it.

That is the feeling I get when I think about what this girl has done to me--like I just want to hop in a hot shower and just scrub myself clean. Betrayal is dirty, which is why I need to comletely wash myself clean of this person, this Web spite, this situation.

After this, I'm done. I don't want to think about it, write about it, scream about it. I'm done feeling dirty over something dirty that was done to me.

So, regarding the story I hired M to write. (And if you are lost, read my previous post.) Her lead (her first paragraph of the story she wrote for me) was pretty much copy-and-pasted off of a Web site. I told her this was, um, something we like to call plagiarism in the journalism field. She emailed me back--demanding payment.

I got the first email on a Friday. I was at work, on my lunch break, with my co-worker, C. I looked down at my phone and saw the first line of the first email. "I am not surprised that you ..."

"Oh no!" I said over a hot chic-fil-a sandwich. "I can't read this. It's going to be bad. She plays dirty." I handed C the phone. She read the email and kind of shrugged at it. "Well, she wants to be paid for a plagiarized piece, but other than that, not too bad."

I had just finished my delightful little sandwich when my phone vibrated. I had another email. It was from her. "Also" was the subject line.

"Oh man. C, read this and please, just tell me if I can read it."

She held the phone in front of her and within seconds, her eyes said it all. She looked worried, frustrated ... appauled. And she had one thing to say:

"Suzy, this girl is NOT ... and NEVER WAS your friend." And she sat silently for a moment. "I want you to erase this right now."

"You better give me bullet points at least," I begged. "I have to at least know what it is about. Come on, dish."

After having tossed my phone to the side--as if it had been tainted by the message glaring upon its screen--she held it in her hands and began to read. But, then she stopped.

"All I can tell you is that think about every dark secret you have ever told this girl. And I mean, everything. She basically spells it all out in detail. She says you are living a lie and that she has been holding her tongue for years. She uses all of the stuff you confided in her about ... to attack you. To rip you to pieces"

And then she gave me the bullet points--that felt like bullets piercing my heart. "She went there?! What? But, how could I be living a lie? She knows what I went through after my sister died and how that messed me up. And how I acted out after that. And how much it hurt me that I cried until I could cry no more."

"She says it was all an excuse so you could do the things you did."

"An excuse!?" I was so angry--because you know, she was one of the only people who knew about "the stuff." "An excuse?! Oh, just let me run into this girl and I will show her excuse!"

I went through all of the emotions in a span of a few minutes and then I pulled it together. That night, I let hubby read the email. She attacks me. She attacks him. She attacks our marriage. She attacks everything that I stand for. She calls me a hypocrite and says that I am living a lie. She holds some really deep stuff over my head. She wanted me to be scared of the secrets that she knew about.

Little did she know, hubby knew everything.

"Everything she said that you are, she just did to you in this email," he said with his head down. "It's just ... really bad, Suzy. Really bad."

And at that point, I decided to block her from my email account. I felt so tainted, so betrayed and I refused to let this girl do this to me--ever again. That night, I sent her an email telling her, basically, that she had nothing on me.

And that I was more proud than ever about the colorful story I have. "I choose to be naked and not ashamed because of who my father God is," I told her. In short, I messed up bad, but God is going to use my mistakes one day--so that I can help other women.

You know, I simply refuse to be ashamed of anything. This girl has nothing on me--except for a duplicated idea for a Web site. There are no secrets. And you know what? I am embracing every ounce of my story. I have nothing to hide. One day, I'll proudly tell it all--when the timing is right.

For now, I love to think about the last line of her email that says "I really hope you seek help."

Honey, let me tell you about help. It is what I like to call "the block." You have been blocked. And I say that with a smug smile on my face.

(And since I know you are just dying to see the Web spite that I speak of, have fun: it's at momshare dot org. I am personally banned from ever looking at it again--you know, for my sanity.)

Part 1: The Betrayal

I was prepared to do my birthday post, but something else was weighing heavily on my heart. And I knew I had to blog it. I blog what comes to mind, and this has not left me.

So, it all started for me about two years ago, when God placed a clear vision on my heart for moms. I knew that I knew that I knew that I was supposed to start this Web site. I knew what I was going to name it (momgive.com) and to my surprise, the domain was available.

But, I prayed. I did not buy the domain until I knew that I was supposed to. If it was there six months down the road, I'd buy it. And so, I sat and I prayed and I hoped that this was meant to be.

Six months later, the domain was still for sale. And for $9.99, I bought it. That was in early 2008. So, I had the domain for a few months when I got a call from a very, very dear friend of mine. I had been in her wedding--that is how dear. "God told me to start a Web site with you, Suzy," she told me.

"What kind of Web site?" I asked her.

And her vision had something to do with "mom to mom." So, moms connecting to other moms and she wanted to include a husband's perspective. But, this had been done a million times over. And so, this is where I made my biggest mistake.

Instead of praying about it and seeking hubby's advice, I got so excited that I told her all about momgive. She was clearly excited about the vision and at that point, I told her that she could be a part of what I was doing.

A few months down the road, and my vision was being turned into something else. Our ideas for design clashed. She wanted angel wings and hearts on the Web site. I wanted professional, modern. It was at this point, that I had to remind her that I was the visionary and that I would have the final say about the final product.

That didn't sit well, and as a result, she opted to walk away. If she couldn't be my 50:50 partner, then she didn't want to do it. My bad for not setting really clear boundaries from the beginning. She felt like I had abandoned her. I apologized to her, saying that "If I hurt you, those were never my intentions, but God has given me this vision and I have to protect it."

Fastforward six months and I am on the phone with her discussing a possible freelance assignment that I had offered her. "I don't want you being mad and finding out from someone else," she said. "But, I started a Web site."

Me: "That's awesome! I always knew you would start your own site. What's it called?"

Her: "momshare"

Silence and um, I wasn't really sure what to say. I didn't really say much and hurriedly hung up with her so that I could check out said Web site. And when I pulled it up, I was dumbfounded.

Had she just taken everything I told her about and ... gulp ... duplicated it? What? Are you serious? Who does that?! I tried. I tried so hard. I even sent her an email saying that the Web site was behind me and that I wouldn't let it affect our friendship.

But, a few days later, I realized the depth of the betrayal that was right in front of my face. And so I emailed her and told her that it wasn't sitting well with me. "How is this any different than the idea I shared with you?" I wanted, I needed an explanation.

Her response stung. "As you recall," she wrote. "This was my idea."

At that point, I needed her to tell me in person. I needed to hear this from her mouth and so I called. "This was my idea, Suzy, and you are going to have to deal with it," she said.

"What?!" I felt like I could barely breathe. "Don't you remember that hour-long conversation when I told you in detail about my vision? Don't you remember when I had you over for dinner and -- in front of my husband -- we talked about how you could come on board with me. And he asked you why you wanted to be a part of this?"

"And I bought the domain in 2008. You bought yours, apparently, in 2009. What? How? I mean, I have the proof. I am not crazy!"

But, she was making me feel like I was. I felt like I was in the midst of a really bad 90s lifetime movie. Are you going to steal my kids next?

"Suzy, if you can't deal with this being my idea, then I don't have time for this phone call."

Me: "You. little." CLICK.

Yep. I hung up before I let anything slip out of my more-than-angry mouth. I mean,had she really done this? I pored over the words on her Web site and it made me even more angry. She talked about God giving her this vision and she talked about people jumping in (and out) of the project.

Hubby caught me one day staring at her Web site and with tears streaming down my face, I shouted--between sobs--to him. "That's me! She's talking about me. I am the parenthesis in this sentence! How. could. she?! TELL ME RIGHT NOW. TELL ME HOW!"

I was beyond angry. I was seeing red. I remember picking up this cup that held all of my pens and just throwing it against the wall. He tried to hold me and I screamed for him to get away. "JUST WHY. WHY WOULD SHE DO THIS TO ME?"

Well, a few days later, I received an email from her. She had just turned in her freelance assignment that I had hired her to do. And it was like ...

It never happened.

"Please let me know what you think and if I need to edit this piece in any way. And, by the way, when do you need my headshot?"

--TO BE CONTINUED.

(In my standard three days. There's too much to put it in one blog. It only got worse before I had to block her email address from my email account. Oh, the drama. Thank God, it's over now. But, I still shutter when I think of "the email." Yes, as I have come to call it "the email." Please, prepare yourself for it. It was, to date, the worst email I have ever received from anyone. Ever.)

The Sound of Defeat: Who's Laughing Now?

I'm smiling today.

It feels so good to have an authentic, from-deep-down-inside smile on my face. It's like my heart is smiling, and my face can't conceal it.

Two months ago, my husband and I had walked out of a marriage counselor's office. The decision had been made to get a divorce. She advised us that it didn't seem like either one of us really wanted the marriage. And so, she thought we should get the divorce.

We--both exhausted from the fights, confusion and anger--agreed.

I really didn't want to agree. But, I was too tired to fight. The pain of the past had consumed my heart. So, in my mind, it was time to throw in the towel. Why fight a losing battle?

We had never been at a point this low in our marriage. One day, I'll be able to write about it, but right now, it's still too fresh and because I am thinking of hubby, I must hold back.(But, when I do write it, it's going to be so good!)

So, the decision had been made. And on a muggy Saturday afternoon, we walked out of that counselor's office and drove home together. I remember feeling disgusting. I was sweating and crying. The tears and the sweat had mixed together and there I was--a sloppy, filthy mess. The stains of mascara said what I couldn't, between the silent sobs.

It was over.

My shirt was stained. My eyes were swollen. And while I was silently sobbing, he was simply silent. He was as still as a statue. Not crying. Not talking. Not moving. (But, ofcourse, even though I could barely see out of my sunglasses, I refused to let him drive my car.)

That was the sound of defeat--my sobs and his silence. I was so mad. I felt like it was mocking me. Laughing at me. Defeat: "See what you did? You messed everything up. How does it feel? He doesn't want you anymore."

Those were words from my childhood. They had been buried under all of the layers and there were so many layers, that I could no longer quiet the pain. They were coming up. No matter what.

That night, I received an email with a list of divorce lawyers and I knew that this was it.

"Good. Do what my father did to me. Do it! Leave me!" I refused to be a quiet bystander. He was agreeing to leave me--like so many others had. And that meant that he was my enemy.

However.

Hubby wandered into this church one day--hoping to get some information about their day care. We lived within walking distance of this church but had never paid much attention. I'd like to say that hubby had an over-the-top spiritual experience. But, he did not.

Instead, someone simply reached out a hand--an outstretcheed hand reaching out to a weary hand. It was the pastor--a young guy, about my hubby's age. They seemed to really connect, and he was reaching out.

Hubby went to church for the next month. Meanwhile, I was lashing out. We were basically destroying each other and I am really good at being really angry. I stood my ground. I refused to go to that church. "Oh, please, they are all going to judge me" I screamed at him one day. "Have fun at your little church!"

But one day, God spoke to me. (Oh, man, I wish I had time to write all of this.) He used someone who I was interviewing for the book I am writing and He spoke so clearly. At that point, I began to break.

I realized that I was so angry and bitter and hurt that I had walked away from God a long time ago--sometime after my sister died and sometime before we moved back to Florida from South Carolina.

I was completely numb. And I preferred it that way.

But, God was speaking to me. And so I decided that if He could speak to this sloppy mess of a woman, that I could go to church just once. I snuck into church one Sunday morning in April, and I sat in the very last row.

With my head down, I simply said to God: "Okay, you know what I need and if this pastor talks about healing, I'll stay. Because, God, I hurt too much to go on like this."

I think that the fifth word that came out of his mouth was "healing." And at that very moment, I knew that I would never turn back. I felt like I was a little girl lost in a shopping mall. When she finally sees daddy, she doesn't stroll over to him. She runs.

And that is what I did. I ran to Him like never before and it was like, He knew what I needed. He knew how to respond. And, through a series of people and prayers, He was embracing me.

So today, there is this smile on my face. The tears that I have cried during the last month have been tears of utter disbelief at how amazing God is.

Today, it feels good to have an authentic smile on my face. And it feels so good to hear the sound of laughter replacing the sound of defeat.

So, to defeat, I say: Who's laughing now?

Publix balloons for my sis

I took my girls to Publix today for a few groceries. We're settling in the new place and the refrigerator was empty, so we took the scenic drive to our new Publix, and I felt like I was in another world.

I was so comfortable in my old Publix. You know, it was my Publix. But, the new Publix is growing on me. After we loaded the cart with some groceries, the bagger asked the girls if they wanted balloons.

I admit it: I sort of rolled my eyes. The 2-year-old is going to scream and want his own balloon when we get home. And then the balloons are going to sit in their bedroom until they deflate ... and if you're a mom, you feel me.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, I decided to make a right turn instead of a left. The left turn takes us home; and the right turn takes us to my sister's grave. "You want to give your mom a balloon?" I asked my niece.

She smiled and nodded her head. She never said a word, but the smile told me what I needed to know.

And so, we took my sister the Publix balloons. I stood back at the van and let the girls just go. I took a few shots. I thought it was such a beautiful moment. And it was peaceful--the first peaceful moment I've had at her grave.

I remember how she and I used to split Publix subs--always turkey with muenster cheese. Aww, I miss those moments with her.

Tiny food, tiny laptop, tiny (um) makeup

When I'm stressed, I don't eat. Which can be good ... and bad. Stress in my life can mean that my skinny jeans will fit just right, but it also means that I am not taking care of myself.

About a month ago, my husband made me tell him what I had eaten in "the last three days." And as I really thought about it, I kind of cringed and said: "Well, I remember having a bowl of cereal today, and that day we went to the Mexican place, I ate those, um, two bites of rice and then I think I ate a bite of a sandwich the other day."

I mean, that is how bad I get. When I stress, I shut down. "You can't do that," he said sternly. "But, it's not like I'm doing it on purpose, so what's the big deal? I mean, if I was purposely, like, starving myself, then we could have this discussion."

I was really annoyed, because, honestly, I don't have time to even have a discussion like this.

He wasn't quite buying it. But, this is how my husband works. This past week, he has just happened to take me out to eat about five times. As if I don't know what he's trying to do.

So, when we went to Olive Garden on Monday, I was excited because I knew a secret that most of you probably do not. Do you know that Olive Garden has, as I like to call it, "tiny food?"

LOL.

The waitress, Stephanie, remembered me because I had been in the week before with a girlfriend. And for lack of a better term (and because I had been crying the entire way there, which meant that I--and my brain--was shutting down), I asked her this:

"Do you guys have any ... tiny food?"

To my delight, they indeed had tiny food.

For just $3, you too can order tiny food from Olive Garden. And they'll even put it in a regualr-sized dish if you so desire. Woo-hoo!

For just about $3, my tiny food came in a tiny dish and I even took some home in a leftover box.

... which is why she rememberd me so vividly. "I remember you. You ordered the 'tiny food' and took a to-go box for your leftovers." We laughed ... and then talked about earrings while hubby's eyes glazed over.

So, "tiny" has been a theme that I have been quite enjoying this past week. I have totally embraced my "tiny" laptop. In fact, I can never go back to regular size. "Tiny" fits in my purse and what girl doesn't love that?

My tiny laptop!

You know, "tiny" really is the way to go and this morning, I learned that "tiny" lesson in the biggest way.

When I get ready for work, I'm usually half awake. This morning, I had to get to work early for our monthly branch meeting. I threw my hair back and began my morning ritual--which is not much of one. I always start with a moisturizer followed by a little bit of Bare Minerals bronzing powder.

I took my brush and swept the side of my right cheek, when, OMG. What? What?! WHAT!!!

My cheek was reddish-brownish-bronzish. It was caked on. What I didn't know at that very moment was that, just about 10 minutes earlier, my beautifully brown daughter decided she'd give the bronzer a shot--all at her pale mother's expense.

But, here's the thing about Bare Minerals: they stick. There's something about the minerals that stick to your pores, unlike standard make-up. I looked at the clock and knew I had to bolt. So, I swiped a box of baby wipes and--while driving the mom van--I feverishly scrubbed my cheek--over and over again.

"Oh man! I look like I am on my way to a Glamour Shots gone wrong!" Ugh.

Sometime in the middle of the branch meeting, I whispered to Christine, my favorite co-worker, "Do I look like I am on my way to a really bad 80s Glamour Shots?!"

"What? You look great." She giggled. (I had actually managed to scrub the Raggedy-Ann look off of the right side of my face, and I had a beautiful glow--or something, lol).

"Well, you know how I've been telling you about the tiny food and the tiny laptop? This would have been the perfect morning for tiny makeup!"

She thinks I'm nuts. I just know it.