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Marcus, Marcus, Marcus

When I was a kid, I loved watching the Brady Bunch.

It was one of my very favorite shows and I even share a name with the beautiful older sister.

But even though people have always, ALWAYS, come up to me and said “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia”, I didn’t identify with the popular Marcia Brady.

No.

I’m Jan…..all the way!

jan-brady

I didn’t want to BE Jan…..I just was.

I’m a middle child.

And like Jan Brady, the middle child is never considered the smartest, the most beautiful, the funniest, or the ANYTHING.

We’re just there.

In the middle.

Between the perfect oldest child and the sweet, precious baby child.

Except in my family, we have TWO baby children.

Molly likes to pretend sometimes that she’s a middle child but oh no!

She’s definitely a baby.

Child.

A baby child.

Did I just call her a baby???

Oops!!

Anyway, since Molly was the baby for six years until Marc came along, she quickly decided that she was NOT giving up her baby status for no BOY!

Hence, two babies.

Children.

Baby children.

Oops!!

And just in case you think that the curse of the middle child goes away with age, let me assure you that it does not.

Not by a long shot.

Just this very last month the Jan Brady Syndrome reared its ugly head.

My brother, Marc, came to town for a few days and so the Mr. and I decided to go to church with him at Mom & Dad’s church.  This is the church I grew up in so I know most everybody.  But recently, the church hired a new youth minister and I thought of this right as the service started.  I leaned over to Mom and said “Which one is the new youth guy?”  She told me that he and his family were behind us a couple of rows.  I figured I’d goon at him after service and then I just kind of forgot about it.

When the service was over, we turned around to gather our stuff and Mom said to the youth pastor, “I want to introduce you”.

So I grabbed the Mr. by the arm and told him to hang on.

Mom’s introducing us.

That’s when my sweet mother said “This is our son, Marc.  He’s a youth pastor in Arizona.”

Hello.

Hello.

Pleasantries all around.

Now it must be my turn.

Yep, time to introduce your daughter.

The daughter standing right here.

Right here beside you.

Remember her?

Your kid???

Your MIDDLE kid????

Nope.

Nothing.

Not a mention.

Not a nod.

Not even a look that says I have a clue as to who you are.

So what’s a Jan Brady to do when she’s been dissed by her very own mother???

She looks at the Mr. and says, “Yeah, we can go.”

Sorry that you missed out on meeting me, New Youth Guy.

I’m really a very nice person.

Just ask anybody.

Well, maybe don’t ask my Mom.  🙂

~Mish~

My Old Kentucky Home

I love Kentucky.

I mean, I really do.

Some of the most beautiful country you’ll ever see.

kentucky-horse-farm

Some of the best food you’ll ever eat.

hot-brown

Some of the craziest people on God’s green earth!

I saw one of them today.

Well, I didn’t actually see the dude, just his truck.

But that was enough to know that he is all kinds of whackadoo!

I went to lunch, per usual, and then on my way back to work, this truck cuts me off.

What’s that???

Something is hanging down from the trailer hitch.

Something BIG is hanging down from the trailer hitch.

What could it be??

Oh my word…….

It’s a head.

A HEAD!!

Hanging down.

From the trailer hitch.

Of course, as soon as we stopped at a red light, I had to snap a picture.

‘Cause who would believe me otherwise????

cof

I guess it’s true what Julia Sugarbaker once said….

In the South we don’t hide our crazy people.

We bring ‘em right out and show ‘em off.

Gotta love Kentucky!

ky-home

~Mish~

Scenes from the Pic Pac

groceries

Grocery stores and I have a love/hate relationship.

I love that there is food there but I hate that I have to go hunt for it, pay for it, load it in my car, unload it from my car and then find a place to put it.

And most of the time I hate that I have to prepare it.

I know…………what a whiner!

As much as I’d love to say I like cooking, I just don’t.

I love to eat.

I love to read recipes.

I love to plan food for a party.

I especially love watching food videos and Food Network.

I’m just not a fan of the actual cooking!

Of course, with such good cooks in our family, there really has been no need.

The Mr. likes good food, too, but he sees mealtimes as a big hurdle to get over so he can move on to other things.

It’s a chore.

Yes, the Mr. is looking forward to the time when we take a pill to satisfy our dietary needs.

He’s very sci-fi that way.

But my sister, Marti, is completely different.

Cooking is her gift.

Cooking is how she shows love.

Cooking is a joy for her.

And, boy, is she ever good at it!

Man, oh man, that girl can cook.

Not only can she follow a recipe, but she can make stuff up.

She just adds this and that and, viola, a delicious meal.

She can even taste something and tell you what’s in it and what it needs to be better.

It’s crazy!

So when our family gets together to eat, the Mish usually gets assigned chips or drinks or paper products.

And I’m fine with that.

Last night was no exception.

We were getting together on Marc’s last night home before he and Mason head back to the desert.  The plan was tacos.  YUM!  I could eat tacos every single day.  Love ‘em.

And what was my assignment????

Cheese and sour cream.

I’m all over it!

So after work, I head on over to the little grocery store downtown.

I like this store.

It smells like fried chicken.

And they sell groceries.

Not lawn furniture.

Not clothes.

Not books.

Not camping gear.

Groceries.

And I don’t have to wait for a tram to pick me up at my car, meander through the lot while taking me several miles to the front door only then to have to remember that I’m parked in Scooby Doo 2.

{Old Kings Island reference, in case you missed it!}

I park in one of the 15-20 parking spaces; I go in, get my stuff, and get out!

So that was the plan.

Cheese and sour cream are right there together.

I got this.

Of course, nothing is ever that easy and there are several people crowded around the dairy section.  So, not wanting to be pushy, I kind of hang back and look at other things while I wait for the folks to move along.

That’s when I hear them.

“There’s one; she works here too.”

It was a young-ish woman walking with a pre-teen who was losing it!

That poor girl was sobbing.

I mean, there were gut-wrenching sobs coming from this little girl.

Next thing I know, the weeping teen goes up to the worker (who was doing her own shopping) and said “I’m sorry.”

The worker told her “Just don’t do it again.”

Well by this time, Mish is all ears!

What in the world is going on?

Bless her heart.

This child is heartbroken.

This child is humiliated.

This child is hysterically sobbing…….loud, guttural, wailing sobs.

Then, as they walked away, I hear the mom say “I ain’t raisin’ no thief.”

That’s when I smiled.

That’s when I knew that this mother was teaching her young daughter a valuable lesson.

A hard lesson, for sure, but a lesson she apparently needed.

This girl won’t soon forget how her mother marched her through that store, making her apologize to every employee for stealing from the Pic Pac.

Bravo, mother, bravo!

{Still, bless her heart.  She was sure tore up about it!}

~Mish~

The Wonderful World of Fashion

I fully realize that I am in no way qualified to give advice on fashion.

I mean………..in NO way.

So I’m not going to give advice.

I’m just going to share my feelings on what appears to be a fashion craze in America.

Yes, we’ve lived through bell-bottoms and shoulder pads and grunge and whatever in the world we had in the 2000’s, but this latest obsession is getting a little on my nerves.

Quite possibly, it’s on my nerves because it’s not for every body.

But more than likely it’s because everybody seems to think it IS and my eyes just can’t take much more!

If you haven’t figured it out by now, let me just tell you that leggings have gotten OUT OF CONTROL.

They are everywhere.

My Facetube feed is filled with all manner of leggings.

I can’t escape!

Now, don’t get me wrong, leggings are a comfortable alternative to actual pants and, on some people, they look great!

But if you have short little Vienna sausage legs, not so much.

{I’m not naming names……..but I know who I am!}

And they have some super cute options.

Cute little stripes.

stripped-leggins

Adorable florals.

floral-leggings

You know what I’d look like in those???

A couch.

A big, comfy couch!

Let me assure you, though, that I have tried out this phenomena myself.

I have a pair of plain black leggings and when I wear a long shirt, I do indeed wear those snug britches.

But let me tell you, I pull and tug on those bad-boys all the live long day!

In full disclosure, I feel compelled to tell you that I  have found a pair that I desperately would like to have.

Pom Leggings.png

My fear, though, is that they’d look less like a tiny Pomeranian….

winston

…..and more like a giant Chow!

chow

It’s gonna be cold this weekend, put on some pants! 🙂

~Mish~

Indians, Bumper Stickers and Tattoos

I had the best grandparents.

I mean, the BEST!

In the world!

I have many wonderful memories of all my grandparents but today I want to share a Me-maw memory.

Every summer B.M. (before Marc), Me-maw would take us girls to Old Fort Harrod in Harrodsburg to see the outdoor drama.  Back then, it was the Legend of Daniel Boone.  It was the story of how Daniel Boone came through the Cumberland Gap and stumbled upon the land of the bluegrass.

It’s not just music, people.

It’s Blue. Grass.

I know, looks green to me too, but they say that there is a blue-ish flower on it when it is allowed to grow wild and it makes the field look blue.

I’ve never seen it, but it’s on the interweb so it must be true!

Anyway, it was always very exciting to go to this outdoor theater and as we waited for darkness to fall, the anticipation would build until finally, just at dusk, these half-naked Indians would appear at the end of each row of the audience and I would jump out of my skin!!!!

ragged-edge-theater

(via Ragged Edge Theatre)

It was the scariest and most thrilling thing I had ever seen and it got me every year.

Now, before you fuss about me not calling them Native Americans, let me just say, I have issues.

I know…..you’re surprised!

Yes, the Indians were here from the beginning; hence, Native.

But so have I.

No, not the beginning of America but I was born and raised here and, therefore, I am indeed a Native American.

Apparently from the tribe of No Pigment.

Palest Indian tribe EVER!

But back to my story…..

Once those Indians scared folks to absolute death, we would settle in to the sort-of-boring play until the final battle scene at the end.  By this time, it’s completely dark and there are Indians and Settlers running all around.  There’s yelling and wah-wah-wah-ing and hatchets and rifles and gunpowder and smoke and burning forts and it was GREAT!!!!!

It was always the highlight of our summer.

But one year, the Old Fort Harrod folks messed up.

One year, they went too far.

One year, Me-maw got right ticked off.

After the show, we went out to the car, where low and BE-hold, some overzealous park employee had put a bumper sticker on EVERY CAR!

Every.

Car.

Even the Me-maw Mobile.

She was fit to be tied!

I have never seen her so mad but thankfully, the sticker hadn’t been on that long and she was able to get it off.

At least I think she did.

My little kid brain didn’t really process that part.

But now as an adult, I totally get it.

My car is bumper sticker free.

I just don’t understand putting a bumper sticker on your car.

I mean, cars are so stinkin’ expensive, why would you glue something to it that won’t come off?

And I REALLY don’t understand folks who put bumper stickers on the PAINT of their car.

bumper-stickers

Really????

On the paint????

And what happens when you want to sell your car but nobody wants a car with a failed politician’s very-outdated bumper sticker on the paint????

That’s just craziness!

Bumper Stickers are like tattoos.

You gotta be sure you want it/love it/support it cause it’s gonna be around a LONG time!

Of course, when it comes to window stickers, it’s a whole different ballgame

I’ve got one all picked out:

pom-window-sticker

I just need to decide if I want the window decal or the tattoo.  🙂

Happy 2017, everybody!

~Mish~

 

Book Learnin’

I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted anything.

And I also know that most of y’all haven’t even noticed I’ve been gone.

But that’s okay.  I have a good reason.

Now hold onto your hats…………..I’ve gone back to school.

Can you believe it??

The Mr. is married to a college girl.

Well, maybe girl is a bit of a stretch but, yes, he’s married to a college old lady!

Now, I know what most of you are thinking.

Why would Mish go back to school when she’s so stinkin’ smart already?

(I do have an actual paper that says I’m stinkin’ smart, right Jane?!  It’s all very official.)

But believe it or not, there are a few things I don’t already know so I figure college is a good place to learn ‘em.

I started back in March and was glad to know that a lot of my previous college credits transferred.  I was just 2 classes short of having the core curriculum under my belt.  Boy was that a relief.

So I quickly signed up for Earth Science and it was every bit as exciting as it sounds.

The other class I needed…..

Well, that’s the one that has tickled everyone in my family.

As a matter of fact, when I told the Mr. what class I needed, I thought he was going to have a stroke from all the laughing.  I mean, he was beyond tickled.

The class I needed…………

The class no 49-year-old woman should have to take……….

The class that brought so much joy to my dear husband……….

Well, that class was…………..PE.

Yep, Physical Education!!!

running2

Go ahead.

Get it out of your system.

I’ll wait.

Done?

Okay.

Thankfully, it wasn’t the full gym class I needed; just an hour elective.

But that led me to a question for my advisor: how in this WORLD do you take a gym class online?????

The Mr. was hoping that I had to log in and play dodge ball or some such over the interweb but, thankfully, that wasn’t how it worked.

No, the class was called Walk/Jog and I had to either walk or jog (clever, huh?!) and keep a record of it.

Lord-a-Mighty, I just about croaked before that class was over!

I got through it (barely) but this whole working full-time and going to school and keeping the house clean and cooking and taking care of a husband and two dogs has just pulled me in too many directions.

Something had to give.

So, sadly, the house, the cooking, and the husband are on their own! 🙂

At least this time around, school is going better than the last time.

No, not when I originally went to school 30+ years ago.

And, no, not when I went back and got my associates degree.

I’m talking about my most recent educational experience.

See, when we first got Taj, we enrolled him in obedience school.

We went once a week to class with a few other fur-students and their moms & dads.

It was great.

They learned to walk correctly on a lease.

They learned to sit on command

They learned to lay down on command.

They learned to greet other people and animals in a calm way.

They all did great.

There was just one problem student.

Was it the cute little cocker spaniel who threw up in the car every night before she got to class?

Nope.

Was it the precious little puppy who was so excited that it took forever for him to calm down?

Nope.

Was it the oh-so-fluffy pomeranian who thought he was the king of the world???

Nope.

It was that guy’s mom!!!

That’s right.

Me.

I was the one who got a “talkin’ to” from the teacher.

The teacher, I might add, who was only about 19 at the time.

Yes, that’s right.

I’m an obedience school failure!

Let’s hope that this time I live up to all that potential my teachers used to think I had.

~Mish~

 

A Day Late and A Dollar Short

That’s not really true.

I AM a day late but I stole some moolah from the Mr.’s wallet so I’ve got a dollar.

Anyway, yesterday was a special day for our family.

Well, for all of us except Dad.

No, to Dad, yesterday was just another day.

Just an ordinary-like-all-the-others kind of day.

But to the rest of us, it’s special because HE is so special to us.

He’s our rock.

Our protector.

Our spiritual leader.

The wise old head.

The umbrella holder.

He’s DAD.

 

Dad & Shelby

Dad and Shelby

He’s never been one to get over-excited about his own birthday.

He can take ‘em or leave ‘em.

I don’t really know how to process that.

I love me a birthday.

I start mentioning my birthday MONTHS before the actual event.  Just to be sure no one forgets and I’m treated like a queen.

Well, maybe not a queen, more like the court jester, but still.

I love to celebrate ME!  🙂

{By the way, my birthday is about 3 months from now so start shopping!}

Dad is soooo not like that.

So I’ve decided that in honor of this great man’s birthday, I’d share a little Dad story with you.

I hope I haven’t shared this before but since I’ve managed to stack up a fair amount of birthdays myself, I can’t really remember.

So here goes:

Back in the olden days of the 70’s and 80’s my family practiced that long extinct ritual of the family supper.

I’m sure you’ve heard of this before.

It’s where someone, usually the mom, cooks a meal using pots and pans and skillets and such and then the whole family sits around a table and eats and talks together.

I know, it seems weird now.

No microwave.

No TV.

No electronic devices.

Just talking to each other and enjoying a good meal.

Unless it was hamburger gravy; then it was just a lot of griping.

That stuff was NASTY!!

Our family was quite large by today’s standards, there were six of us in this tiny little kitchen and once you sat in your seat, you didn’t get up.  It’s not that getting up from the table was forbidden.  No, it was because the kitchen was so small, there was no way to get out of the room until EVERYBODY got up!

I remember one night we were sitting at the table and for some reason, I was sitting by Dad.  This was unusual because Molly always did, and still does, like to sit by Dad.

I don’t know why, really.  He usually had her squalling by the end of the meal.

He had this thing where if you put your elbow on the table, he would pick up your arm and bang your elbow on the table.  Not super hard; just enough to make you about four/thirds mad.  He didn’t do it because he minded elbows on the table, it was just fun to crack that funny bone.

I know, I don’t get it.

Boys are weird.

Anyway, Dad did this to Molly almost every night and she would fuss and she would cry and the next night, she was right back by his side.

So this particular night, I was sitting by Dad and we had a delicious meal of country ham.

Now, for those Northern folks who may be reading this, let me explain country ham.  It’s ham that’s been cured with salt before it’s smoked.

And no, we didn’t smoke it; we never could find papers big enough to roll it in!  haha

Sorry, sometimes my McLean comes out in me and I can’t stop it.

The thing about country ham is that it is super salty.

And very yummy!

You just can’t beat country ham, biscuits, fried potatoes and gravy.

So this night I was happy as a clam, eating my country ham, minding my own business.  But there was a grisly part on the side of my piece of ham that I cut off and laid on the side of my plate.  No biggie.

Toward the end of the meal, Dad noticed that piece of meat and says “Are you gonna eat that?”

Before I could answer, quick as a blink of an eye, he popped that tough piece of ham in his mouth.

All I could do was look at him and say “No, but I sucked it”.

Sure enough, when I realized that piece was too hard for my little teeth to chew, I sucked out all the salty goodness and laid the now bland piece back on my plate.

Well, when he realized I had been sucking on that meat rind, he just about lost it.  He jumped up from the table but, of course, there was nowhere to go!

He was trapped!

Dad learned a valuable lessen that night.

He’s never swiped a piece of food from a plate since that day.

At least not without finding out more about where that food has been!

Happy belated birthday, Daddy!!!

~Mish~