I Got Water

When Shelby was little, she would sometimes come to Mom and Dad’s for the weekend.

I always tried to be there because she was just so darn cute and so much fun!!!  Molly & Steve were usually there and we had lots of laughs with that little fella.

Me & Shelby2

One time I remember we were going to a Gospel concert.  I’m not sure what concert but Shelby was along for the fun.

On the way, we stopped for supper at Frisch’s.  Shelby just LOVED the Big Boy that stood out in front of the restaurant.

Related image

Marti did too at one time but that’s a story for a different day.

If she doesn’t kill me dead.

Which she probably will.

And that makes this my Farewell Post.

Thanks for the memories.

Anywho, after Unkie let Shelby talk to the Big Boy, we went inside and ordered our food.

When the waitress brought our drinks, she gave me a chocolate shake.

She gave Dad a chocolate shake.

She gave Mom a chocolate shake.

Shelby’s drink was in a child’s cup with a lid and that precious girl took a big ole drink.

Her eyes got big.

She turned to Mom and said……….

“I got water”

Bless her little heart!!!!

That baby watched all of us be presented with chocolate shakes and Mom had gotten her WATER!!!

She didn’t pitch a fit but I will never forget the look of disappointment on her little face.

So when she comes to stay the weekend with me, she gets whatever she wants!!


Mt. Dew


Chocolate shake


Chips & dip


I thought of poor little Shelby today when I went to Wendy’s for lunch.

I’ve been trying to eat better these days so I ordered a small water.

Now, for some strange and odd reason, Wendy’s has decided that it would be great fun to have ONE machine dispense about 172 flavors of drink.

I don’t know why they did this but it gets on my ever-lovin’ last nerve!

For one reason, when the dude in front of you finishes getting his drink and you stick your cup in the machine, whatever sugary yuck he was getting now is dripping on YOUR hand!


I don’t want someone else’s drip on me!

So today I remembered to let it drip a minute before sticking my hand in there.

Smart thinkin’.

When it appeared we were drip-free, I put a little bit of ice in my cup and selected “Water”.

And, sure enough, water came out.

But why was it reddish?

Dump that out.

Try again.

A little ice.


Now it’s pinkish.

Okay, so not only do these machines drip on you but you also get whatever gross drink the dude before you selected that’s still left in the hose.

I don’t even what to think about what all else is up in that hose!!

Next time I’ll be as smart as the Mr. and bring my own drink!!

Or just get a Frosty. 🙂




100 here I come!

Well, the day is almost here.

I can deny it all I want but it’s coming.

THE day.


How can that be????

So now I’m trying to decide……….

…………… do I want to express my mid-life crisis???

Of course, the Mr. likes to point out that we are BEYOND mid-life.


That’s so hateful.

I may live to be 100.

You don’t know!!!

I’ve narrowed it down to two things:  a mini tattoo OR a radical hairstyle change.

It’s tough because one of those choices is more painful than the other.

I mean, have you ever tried to grow out bangs?????


The Mr. suggested that I go completely blonde.

He’s so full of helpful thoughts.

But I vetoed that right quick.

I’ve got plenty of yellow-headed people in my life.

Plus, blondes don’t have near as much fun as they provide entertainment for the rest of us brown-headed folks.

I’ve got a ton of stories about my blonde sister but I’ve got to share this one about my friend Erica.

Erica is one of the Fierces and we’ve had lots of laughs over the years.

Like the time her chest butted me out the door of our office right into a crowd of Amish folks.

Or the time Jane and I teamed up to scare her (at work, of course) and she screamed and put her trashcan on her head.

That girl is a hoot and a HALF!!!

Anyway, one day we were headed down the hallway at work, and our boss stopped us to ask for some information.  She had a big-wig attorney with her and we were all trying to put on our most professional demeanor.  Well, when she asked Erica for something, Erica told her she would get it right away, turned and walked right into the wall.

I mean, she WALKED into that wall.


When she bounced off the wall, we all just busted a gut.

Did I mention that we worked at a hospital?????

We’re so very professional.

But before you get the impression that only blondes do silly things, let me tell you about Mrs. Gore’s daughter.

Mrs. Gore writes a blog that I thoroughly enjoy.  I even follow her on the Facebook.  She’s got 4 precious children and another on the way.  If you get a chance, check out Mrs. Gore’s Diary.

One of her kids (a brunette of all things) does so many dingy things that Mrs. Gore has nicknamed her “Oh Honey”.

Now if you’re from the South, you know what that means.

Kinda like “bless her heart”.

One day my blonde sister pointed out that my little blonde Winston was the Oh Honey in our family.

And I do believe she’s right.

The Mr. and I have decided that enough is a dag-on ‘nough of these barking, begging dogs at mealtime.

I mean ENOUGH!!!!

Taj is usually the problem while Winston just sits there waiting for us to respond to Taj.

But we did some online research about breaking the habit and decided that the Dog Whisperer was on the right track.

Now when we eat, there is no talking to the dogs, no eye contact and no physical contact.

That is, of course, until the Mr. can’t take any more and yells QUIET at the top of his lungs, which is NOT how you whisper to dogs.

It’s working like a charm.

So Taj is finally getting the hint and he will stay somewhat quiet.

But Winston has decided to take up the slack.

He just doesn’t get it and he barks and barks until he gets himself choked up and then he coughs and coughs.

The other night I had to put a stop to it!

So I got up from the table, walked into the dining room with Winston following me.  I doubled back and closed the pocket door before he could come back into the kitchen.  I sat back down and sure enough, the barking continued.

That little cutie barked and barked.

And then coughed and coughed.

And then barked and barked.

The Mr. finally looks at me and says, “Does he not realize that he can come around to the other door?”

Apparently not!

Oh Honey.





Mystery in the Forks

Next week is a milestone for the Mr.

Yep, he turns the big 5-0.

I asked him one day how I ended up married to such an old man.

He quickly informed me that I would be joining the elderly ranks just a few short weeks after him.

He sure knows how to burst a girl’s bubble!!

Anyway, as time is quickly marching on, I’ve noticed that the older we get, the more like our parents we become.

The thing that bugs me is that we don’t get to pick the characteristics of our parents that we get.

Did I get the never-ending patience that Dad has?

Did I get the warm, hospitable kindness that Mom displays?

That would be a big, fat NO!

What I did get is the crazy, jump right to conclusions side of…….one of my parents.

Now, I’m not dumb enough to tell you WHICH parent does this but just know that if any of us were ever late coming home, ONE of my parent’s would be sitting in the dark kitchen with a phone book ready to call around looking for us.

Because she (OR he) was sure that we had wrapped our car around a tree.

That one came up quite often.

Never mind that traffic may be heavy.

Never mind that we lost track of time.

This parental unit would jump straight to “car wrapped around tree”.

It used to be kinda funny…….back before I started doing the same thing.

Woe be unto the Mr. if he is late with no call or text.

Yep, must be wrapped around a tree.

Heaven forbid the boys be a little late coming home from work.

Wrapped around a tree.

But even though I know I do it, I just can’t stop my crazy mind from going there.

And yesterday, it happened once again.

It all started last week when I completely flaked on my hair appointment.

Christi (my cousin) told me she could do my hair on the 11th.

What did I write on my calendar????

The 17th.

Senior moment.

So we finally got it worked out that I would come to her shop yesterday at 2:00.

I get to the lot and see Christi’s car there.

{And thankfully, no other car because I don’t like to share my Christi time.  If someone else is there, how are we to gossip catch up????}

So I go to the door and it’s locked.

Or is it??

I’m not the strongest person in the world so I tried the knob again.

Yep, definitely locked.

Now where could that girl be????

It’s the middle of the bloomin’ day!!

So I knock.

No answer.

Then I call her cell.

No answer.

This is strange.

Her car is right there!

Now, I’d like to say I immediately thought that she may be out with someone else for a late lunch or that she’s having a private potty moment and locked the door so a crazy woman didn’t just walk in, but, oh no, I went straight to MURDER!!!

Yep, there I stand, banging on the door and calling her cell phone while my sweet cousin is laying in the shop all kinds of hurt or dead.

What do I do????

I don’t have her husband’s number.

But I do have her sister’s number.

I’ll call Judy.

Or should I call Uncle Raymond??

I mean, Uncle Raymond can come bust down the door.

Of course, if I’m wrong (though I’m probably not) I’m liable to get the infamous McLean Brother Side Eye.

If you’ve never seen it, it’s the look that says “you’ve completely lost your mind and how can we even be related?”

side eye

No, I better stick with Judy.

She can get one of her boys to come and help.

Just as I’m looking up Judy’s number, a car pulls in.

Nope, not Christi.

I’m thinking that now I’ll have to explain to this customer that poor Christi has been murdered and the murderer locked the door behind him when he escaped.

Suddenly, another car pulls in.

The driver waves.


Hallelujah, she’s safe.

She’s also in Suzanna’s car.

Now, I think it’s important to point out that this all happened within a span of about a minute.

She got there at 2:01.

Silly me.

I think I need to ease up on the murder shows on TV a bit.

And I definitely need to give myself the Side Eye!!



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.


I’m Jan…..all the way!


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.


A baby child.

Did I just call her a baby???


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.


Baby children.


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.”



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????



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.  🙂


My Old Kentucky Home

I love Kentucky.

I mean, I really do.

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


Some of the best food you’ll ever eat.


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.


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????


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!



Scenes from the Pic Pac


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.


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!}


The Wonderful World of Fashion

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

I mean……… 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.


Adorable florals.


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….


…..and more like a giant Chow!


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