Merry Christmas 2010

Peppermint Bliss Christmas Card

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Mr & Mrs Anderson

Mr & Mrs Anderson 09/04/10 - slideshow maker with music

We were all on edge during "Earl"'s travels, but thankfully he turned out to be all huff and no puff and Carin & DJ's wedding went on hurricane free. Aside from the photographer's purse being stolen at the church, men's warehouse screwing up the entire wedding party's tux rental and a flower girl meltdown, the wedding proceeded without a hitch. Thankfully thanks to some good neighbors, an astute limo driver, and an all points bulletin, the thief was arrested and the photographer got her belongings back. I'm not sure if the photographer was able to get any photos of MJ in his tux however, due to the fact he was unbearable uncomfortable from all the safety pins and paperclips holding it together (mens wearhouse at its best folks). Mommy was able to sneak a few though, and after changing into his "ring security" outfit, he was good to go. All in all, a good night, complete with uncomfortable drunken relative moments.

Falling To Pieces

Being the smart mouth, tough "softy", little person with a big mouth and quick come back was always natural to me. I've always felt like I had to hold it together, even when I was falling apart, because I felt it was my civic duty as a child, to make sure my parents didn't worry about me. I'm of the opinion, if you're going to do something, do it right or don't do it at all. So of course, I start life as a walking natural disaster. I started the chain of one of many surgeries when I was 18 months old. I was born with a congenital heart defect where my Aorta was crushing my trachea AKA innominate artery , which in turn would cause me to code at the drop of a hat, and was further compounded by yet another birth defect in the structure of the bronchus in my right lung AKA the breathing tubes AKA pig bronchus,not the cute kind of pig either which only allows me to receive 60% lung function on my right side. So, in layman's terms : Heart defect that squishes air tube + existing non operable lung defect = Very sick baby, almost dead baby. By some miracle of God the Dr's at Mass General Hospital in Boston figured out what the malfunction was and fixed the offending defect in July of 1985. My parents say there after it was like day and night. Well, more or less.


I continued my adolesence through a perverbial revolving door at the Operating Room, almost like a comedy of errors. It might not have been funny at the time, but seriously, who gets a joint replacement in middle school because you got struck with a softball. Me, that's who. I almost died that time too. Like I said, if you're going to do something, do it right, or go full out. I got diagnosed at 17 with endometriosis, after OBGYN shopping for severe pelvic pain and periods from hell, I finally had a doctor (at least temporarily) who would listen to me. No asshole, I wasn't trying to get pain meds, I want you to end the pain, I don't want any god damned pills, I want you to find out why I turn into Sybil and bleed for 3 weeks every month - thank you very much.
By the time I graduated High School at 18, I had 18 surgeries - one for every year I was alive. It's really comforting to hear "what are you having done THIS time" from your friends, awesome. It's also a good ego booster to have to be medically excused from gym class and any team sports because it might, literally, kill you. It does wonders for your social status too, incase you were wondering, but thankfully I wasn't alone in social pergatory in High School. The art room was way more fun than lacrosse anyways.


The following years were a series of inexplicable medical mishaps and mysteries, Pancreatitis twice, Endometriosis surgery (again), Sinus surgery (for the 3rd time), diagnosis of a Mitral Valve Prolapse, mis adventures through the wonderous land of birth control (note to self, Ortho Evera Patch = Bad, very Bad), Cervical Dysplaysia and two perfect pregnancy's (take that Endometriosis!)and with a brief reprieve, I am back at square 1, whatever the hell that is supposed to mean. I fell like a big bag of shit, between my right clavicle that is incased in arthiritis (WHO gets that at my age?!? honestly)and impinging my rotator cuff and all the nerves, and my endometriosis that is sucking my will to live (because its completely normal to bleed straight out for 4 months and pass out from the sharp pains), I'm spent. Oh and let's not forget the daily choking episodes that have made it all but impossible to eat with out anxiety and 9-1-1 on speed dial. Fear not, I have my first of the two procedures tomorrow to help decide whether it is Lupus, eosinophilic esophagitis, or severe GERD that is causing all of the swallowing difficulties. Hooray!!! What's more liberating than having a scope down your nostril while you're awake .....


I do not faulter though, I'm not allowed to. Having to drag my sorry ass into work aside, I'm a wife and a mother, oh and I don't want to worry my parents (they've had their fill over the past 27 years). I grew up with a sick mom, a very sick one at that. It fucking sucks. I don't want to do that to my kids or my husband, I don't want to be the emotional burden that makes them worry if I'm going to make it this time. That's not an option. The one thing I've gained though my life experience (besides a collection of some pretty impressive scars,intolerance to most codeine based medications and a nifty allergy to latex)is strength that I didn't know I was capable of. It's amazing what you can go through when the only option you have IS to be strong.

Mullet Free Since 83'

Ever walk into a salon or respective barber shop and just get a feeling of " this is probably a bad idea". Wedsneday was one of those times. I had been looking around the local salons for a place that looked to be half decent and not too expensive. I thought wrong. I for whatever reason decided on the salon by walmart, which was formally "Lords and Lady's", which I had gone to in the past and had a decent experience with. Not so much this time. I am , in case you hadn't noticed, kinda OCD. Once I find something that irks me I fixate on it and obscess, its one of many redeeming qualities I possess. Anyways, I walk in a and immediately noticed:
1)the furniture didn't match
2)5 out of 6 of the stylists had on acid washed high waisted jeans and/or a mullet, or femlet respectively
3)my stylists name was "Arlene" ... I know that you can't help what your parents decided to name you, but at some point when you become of legal age you'd think you'd want to change it to something that doesn't automatically conjure up the dueling banjos.


I sit in the chair and show her what I had in mind, I wanted a darker dirty blonde/light brown (with golden undertones) and heavy blonde highlights in the front, and a trim of the dead ends since I've been growing out my hair for the past two years from the aysemetrical Victoria Beckham bob I had a couple of summers ago. So what do I get. Brassy washed out blonde with highlights on top, and ashy muddy greenish/brown underneath. And as far as the "trim", in my past 20 years expirience a trim meant breaking out the scissors, and trimming off the dead ends. This "Stylist" proceeded to whip out her razor (I'm surprised she didn't see my look of horror on my face), and razor the ever loving shit out of my hair. I have very fine baby hair, YOU DON'T FUCKING RAZOR IT EVER. It looked like a six year old cut my hair, she took off a good 2 inches, and the front was cut straight across like a bob, then it was long in the back. HOLY FUCKING SHIT THIS LADY IS REALLY GOING TO GIVE ME A MULLET RIGHT NOW. At first it looked okay, not exactly what I wanted, but I hadn't notice the extensive WTF until I was at the gym , which then prompted me to exit immediatly to the parkinglot. I was pissed. It wasn't cheap this butchering of my hair, it was around $135 after tip, and my hair looked like I used box color from the sale bin at CVS and used a "suck cut" ... "well it certainly does suck".




Thank god for Hotlocks in North Falmouth. I called the salon and explained the massacre that had occured , and they were super nice. They had me come right in, acess the damage, discuss what needed to be done to correct it, and the stylist even trimmed my hair and softened the edges so it didn't resemble the Tina Turner wig from the late 80's. The reconstruction project of my dome piece isn't even that bad, it'll probably be around what I paid in the first place to get my hair done. I should've gone there in the first damn place. Moral of the story: always trust your instincts, if it feels wrong, its a no go. Especially when they break out the razors *shudders*

Building Bridges

This summer has been crazy busy , not just work wise, but life in general. We've spent a lot of time with my brother and sister in law after rebuilding a relationship following a massive blow out, which turns out if people just took a minute to actually ask what the problem was instead of making assumptions, wouldn't have happened in the first place. Husband has started working on the relationship with his father and that side of the family, and clearing the air on things that have bothered him for years. He's also come to realize that some relationships are not necessarily healthy, and is learning to take some things for face value. It's hard to come to the conclusion that the people you grew up with aren't who they appear, and when they start creating a stressful enviornment for everyone around them, it's time to cut the cord and do whats best for you. I'm getting to know in laws that I wish I had the chance to years ago, and gaining the strength to ignore the hurtful and toxic behaviors from others. The funny thing about the whole thing is that I, who grew up in a house hold where you did not discuss your problems or emotions, was the one who orchastrated the whole chat session to address the issues. I felt like it was right in my heart, and faced my fears head on, you never know how strong you really are until you are faced with a problem you have no other choice than to solve.


Growing up in a emotionally handicapped atmosphere has also led me to be weary of trusting people, and I have something of an emotional block, the size of the great wall of china. The only person who has ever been able to break it is my husband and a few select friends that I've had since kindergarden. I'm just always ready for the next blow, and I figured that if I don't let that person in emotionally, when they screw me over it won't hurt as bad. It has been effective thus far, but it also slows any healing process to a complete halt. After starting to reconcile with my sister in law following a massive blow out, I acknowledged that I am a difficult person to get to know and that I was willing to work on that. She admitted and owned the wrong doing on her part, so I have to be able to acknowledge my faults in order to make any progress. No one said that being a grown up would be fun or easy, hell all I cared about in high school was having my own car and no curfew. I have both now and its not really all that special. I guess, what I've learned is that 99.999999 % of all these problems we've had is from a complete lack of communication. If we just sat down and discussed what was going on and bothering us instead of assuming, these big blow outs wouldn't have happened in the first place.

Miss Cape & Islands Contest 2010

So I conquered my fear and kicked my anxiety of being in front of a big group of people by participating in the "Miss Cape & Islands" contest held at The Sand Dollar Bar & Grill in Dennisport. I had to say I was expecting pageant hell with catty bitches, but I was pleasantly surprised. All the girls were really awesome and I had a fabulous time! Free drinks also helped :) I had an amazing time going out there and talking to people, getting the crowd pumped, I never thought I would do that. I was however dissapointed that all the girls that won were employees of that bar or associated bars, and the judges owned that bar or neighboring buisnesses. To me that falls under 'conflict of interest', bad policy. So in my quest to awesomeness I will try again at the competition being held at The Cabby Shack in Plymouth on wedsneday the 12th.

Auto Pilot

"Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength"
~Author Unknown

I'll give you the cliff notes on my upheaval thus far : We go on vacation to NH from July 18th - July 21st. Grampa has back surgery on the 19th, we're told he'll be admitted and then go to rehab. Come home on the 21st to find grampa in his recliner in the living room. WTF. Thursday the 22nd, I'm home by myself with the kids and my grampa is in excrutiating pain. Call rescue to have grampa re admitted to CCH, he's there for 3 days does great, goes to Harborside in Mashpee for rehab on sunday the 25th. I visit him monday after my MRI and he looks fabulous, acting like him self.


Tuesday the 27th, busy ass work day from hell, thank god for my partner :)Husband is blowing up my phone, I can't talk bc of the insanity in dispatch. All I catch is "There's going to be a massive blow out between me and ****". **** is the leaching cousin from NH who treats our house like a motel and brings her ankle biting dog and leaves it for other people to tend to while she takes care of her own agenda. Anyways, she had been at the house all week while grampa was in the hospital, and Michael and the kids went to the store for 45 minutes and came back to find the dog locked down stairs, where it doesn't belong, in our living space.


Apparently the first time Michael attempted to address this with **** she was on the phone (which he didn't realize at the time ) she waved him off, Michael went down stairs to keep his head from exploading. After a few minutes he goes back up stairs to get the rest of the groceries from the car, where he is met by **** at the top of the stairs. She then proceeds to get in his face, pointing her finger in his face yelling at him, and making many accusations, the most hurtful and inaccurate of all, that we don't help my grandfather. This obviously angers Michael and he then yells back and made a comment about he better not find that dog in our living area again, blah blah blah.


Well apparently **** took it upon her self to call the police, and I had (thankfully) called my father after Michael's call to me, and the situation was a whole to do about nothing. But I was mortified that the police were called on my husband for a supposed threat. In the 7 years we've been together he's never even raised his voice to me. This woman is a complete Dr.Jekyl and Mr.Hyde, she'll be nice when people are around, but as soon as they leave she's completely rude and disrespectful to us, she manipulates people to get what she wants and was bullshit bc Michael called her bluff.


Our unwanted guest left that same night, thank god. Wednesday my brother and I go to visit grampa at the rehab, and he looks to be doing great. We discuss what happened, and I'm not sure if he couldn't really hear or understand me even though he appeared to, and then we discussed the possibility of us (Michael, the kids and myself) moving out. My grandfather seemed on board with this, saying he needed to down size, the house needs a lot of work that he can't afford or do himself. Mj starting preschool in the fall, and especially after the incident with our unwanted guest, we just really felt it was time we left. We had what I thought was a very productive 45 minute conversation, and I thought we were on the same page.


The next day Thursday the 29th, my father visits him to bring him up to speed on us leaving and the situation with the unwanted guest. Apparently my grandfather either totally forgot or did not understand our conversation the day before, bc he got all teary eyed and was insistant that we didn't leave, and that this unwanted guest would be banned from his property. I visited with the kids shortly after my dad left, and he was having an episode of shortness of breathe, chest pressure and feeling cold. The rescue was called and he was admitted into falmouth hospital, where he's been since bc they're still trying to figure out whats going on. There was no sign of any new infarction with the exception of some elevated enzymes, but its extremely difficult to tell with him bc he's had a quadruple bypass, a pace maker, tri gemini PVC's and CHF. On top of that now he's having difficulty swallowing, which is a new development.


So now we're trying to go through our stuff, pack and deal with all this crap. On top of all the stuff going on with my grandfather, I'm going for a repeat MRI on my shoulder to figure out whats going on with it, bc once through the tomb wasn't enough fun for me apparently. And I just had bloodwork, ultrasound, biopsy and removal of my IUD to figure out whats malfunctioning in my uterus and making me hate life. I have a exploratory laseroscopy and D&C to look forward to also. Awesome. So I'm on auto pilot right now, and if I don't seem like my self, that would be why, don't take it personally my friends.