Journeys With Jani

“Texting Ain’t Cheating?” Oh Please. Let’s Talk About It…

July 7, 2025

The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

The other day, I read a post that said “texting isn’t cheating.” The hell it ain’t. If you have to delete it, hide it, or explain it away, then baby—you’re already in the danger zone.

Cheating doesn’t start in the bedroom. It starts in the comments, the DMs, the long replies with way too many emojis. It starts in the little daydreams and justifications you whisper to yourself like, “They get me better than my spouse does.” No, sugar—they don’t. What they’re doing is flattering your ego, feeding off your dissatisfaction, and putting lipstick on a lie.

Let’s call this out plain and simple: if you are in a committed relationship and you’re out here building an emotional connection with someone else—guess what? That’s cheating. You don’t slip and fall into feelings. That’s not how emotions work. They build up little by little because you let them. And I get it, people marry too young or marry the wrong one. But if you’ve been in this thing for a lifetime—are you kidding me?

Now, people love to point fingers at social media. “It’s easier to have an affair now because of Facebook and Instagram.” Nah. Social media didn’t invent infidelity. Affairs have been happening since the beginning of time. The milkman, the secretary, the church organist—Lord, we’ve all heard the stories.

What’s changed is how fast folks fall for the fantasy now. One DM turns into late-night texts, and suddenly somebody thinks they’ve found their “forever.” You already had your forever. You said vows. You promised. Just because things got hard doesn’t mean you trade in your commitment for a flirty escape.

And don’t even come at me with, “But my marriage was already over.” Then end it first. Be grown enough to close one door before you go opening another.

Listen, my grandparents stayed married until death did them part. Both sets. Were they perfect? No. Were there hard times? Absolutely. One of my grandpas was an alcoholic for years. He neglected his family. He embarrassed my Gramma. And still, she stayed. She prayed. She helped. And he stopped drinking after I was born.

That is what commitment used to look like. Now, I am not saying stay in a toxic or abusive marriage. Don’t twist my words. Abuse—emotional, physical, financial—is a whole different blog and it needs serious conversation.

What I am saying is that we’ve gotten a little too comfortable using “I’m not happy” as a hall pass to act out and cheat. Stop being a titty baby, face the issues, and do the work. Because running to someone new doesn’t erase what’s broken inside of you.

And let me say this loud for the folks in the back: God is not sending you someone else’s husband or wife to answer your prayers. You are not special in that scenario. You are not the exception. You are justifying a sin with fantasy and calling it fate.

That greener grass you see over the fence? It’s only greener because someone is watering it. Maybe instead of jumping the fence, you need to grab a hose and start tending to your own damn yard.

Affairs don’t just break trust. They break families, faith, and futures.

So no—texting is cheating. Sneaky Snapchats are cheating. That coworker you just connect with better than your spouse? That’s a red flag, not a fairytale.

Let’s grow up, face our messes, and fix what’s broken instead of blowing it up for a moment of validation.

XOXO, Jani

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Marijuana Isn’t the Enemy—Let’s Talk About It…

July 6, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

Let’s just cut through the weeds:

I’m not here to push a pharmaceutical version of marijuana that’s been stripped, modified, sterilized, and boxed up with a warning label.

I’m here to talk about the real thing. The plant. The original.

Because I have Multiple Sclerosis. I live with childhood C-PTSD. I have adult ADHD. And guess what? Marijuana—actual, unprocessed marijuana—helps.

I’ve tried the prescriptions. I’ve lived the side effects. I’ve stared at a long list of pills meant to “manage” me. Nausea, brain fog, appetite issues, insomnia, mood swings—you name it. Every single one came with its own set of tradeoffs. That’s just the deal, right?

But it shouldn’t have to be.

Marijuana—whole and natural—has been demonized in this country for decades. We were all raised on the “This is your brain on drugs” campaign. We watched the egg sizzle in the pan and were told that’s what would happen if we ever touched a joint. Meanwhile alcohol stayed legal, profitable, and deadly.

Let’s not forget: alcohol is a drug.

It’s wrecked more lives in my family than marijuana ever could.

Addiction runs deep on my mother’s side, and I’ve seen firsthand the damage it causes. I enjoy a good glass of wine or a smooth bourbon, but I’m also aware of my limits—because alcohol and depression are a dangerous mix. I monitor my intake because I have to.

And yet marijuana is the one with the bad reputation?

Here in Georgia, I can’t legally access what could help me more than anything. What grows in the ground. What’s been used by cultures around the world to heal, calm, relieve, and restore.

I’ve been to California. I’ve toured outdoor and indoor grows. I’ve visited dispensaries where the people behind the counter knew more about what would help me than half the doctors I’ve seen. These aren’t just “stoners.” These are educated, passionate professionals who believe in the power of the plant.

And don’t talk to me about regulation. Legal growers go through mountains of red tape—licensing, safety checks, lab testing, environmental compliance. These are not backyard operations. These are legitimate businesses trying to help people legally, while the rest of us are stuck waiting on lawmakers to pull their heads out of the 1980s.

You want to know who else marijuana could help? Our veterans.

My stepdad was a Vietnam vet. The best of men. Loyal, rough around the edges, but gentle with those he loved. He didn’t talk about the war much. But he carried it—always. You could see it in the way he disappeared sometimes—not physically, but emotionally. He’d check out. He’d go silent. That was PTSD talking.

He passed a few years ago after battling cancer. My stepsister told me that in his final 20 minutes, he was back in Vietnam. That gutted me.

His journey has allowed me to better understand my son’s battle with PTSD and depression as a result of his own military service… And I am thankful for it. It is not an easy thing to watch the battle in a persons mind control life.

PTSD is not a weak man’s issue. Depression doesn’t only come for the fragile. These are real, raw battles—and marijuana could be a lifeline.

Not a cure. But a comfort. A way back to peace, even for just a moment.

So why is that illegal?

Now before you start throwing links to all those so-called “scientific studies” in my face, let’s be real—many of those are scare tactics. Sure, marijuana has downsides. Everything does. But let’s stop pretending that a few cherry-picked risks make it worse than the man-made pharmaceuticals that can destroy your liver, ruin your gut, and mess with your brain chemistry. I’ll take the occasional dry mouth or case of the munchies over suicidal thoughts and organ damage, thank you very much.

I’m not saying everyone should use it. I’m not saying it’s harmless or magical or perfect. But I am saying it should be an option. A legal, natural, educated choice—not something you have to sneak around to get.

And to the ones still clutching their pearls at the idea of someone lighting up a joint?

Sit down. Shut up. If you haven’t lived in this kind of body or this kind of mind, maybe just… listen instead of judge.

The war on marijuana has gone on long enough.

Let’s stop rewriting nature. Let’s stop acting like people who use marijuana are criminals.

And let’s finally legalize a plant that’s helped people long before we ever decided to criminalize it.

I don’t want permission to get high.

I want the freedom to choose what helps me live well.

XOXO, Jani

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Whoever Left You Doesn’t Deserve the Rest of Your Story – Let’s Talk About It…

July 5, 2025

The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

There’s a quote I came across recently that stopped me in my tracks:

“Whoever abandoned you in the middle of the ocean has no right to know what the sharks did to you—or how you managed to get to shore.”

Whew. Let that sink in for a minute.

Because if you’re anything like me, you’ve been tossed into some deep waters more than once in your life. And let’s be honest, some of those times, you weren’t gently set adrift. You were shoved—hard—by the very people who claimed to love you. Left alone to tread water in chaos they helped create.

But somehow… you’re still here.

You figured out how to swim with sharks snapping at your ankles. You patched yourself up with duct tape and sheer grit. You built a raft out of broken pieces and paddled toward a future you had to envision all by yourself.

And now—NOW—they want to circle back around and ask how you’re doing? What you’ve been through? They want the backstory, the tea, the details. Nope.

Let me be real clear: if someone had the nerve to walk away from you when things got hard, they don’t get a front-row seat to your healing. They don’t get the highlight reel of how you came back stronger. That’s not their story anymore. It’s yours.

I’m not saying it’s easy. I’ve had to forgive people who weren’t sorry, mourn relationships that were never healthy, and release the idea that closure would ever show up wrapped in a bow. But one thing I’ve learned in this beautifully messy life is this: you don’t owe anyone a tour of your survival story—especially not the ones who handed you the anchor and walked away.

So if this hits close to home for you, know this:

You don’t need to justify your journey.

You don’t need to explain your scars.

And you sure as hell don’t need to entertain the curiosity of someone who watched you drown.

Keep your head high.

Keep your circle tight.

And if you had to fight tooth and nail to reach the shore, don’t you dare let someone question how you got there.

You did it.

On your own terms.

With strength they’ll never understand.

And that? That’s the part they don’t deserve.

As for me, I put it all out there.

Not for them.

For me.

And for you.

—

Until next time, keep journeying forward, my friends.

With love and grit…

XOXO, Jani

#JourneysWithJani #Resilience #Boundaries #Healing

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One Nation: Let’s Not Burn the Whole House Down Just Because the Paint’s Peeling

July 3, 2025

The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

It’s 2025, and we’re still yelling over each other like toddlers who missed naptime.

But today, I’m not here to yell. I’m just here to remind.

Have you stopped for even one second and asked yourself:

Why are people still begging—desperate—to get into this country so many Americans seem to hate?

Why do families cross borders, oceans, deserts, and dangers to stand on our soil?

Because this country—flawed, complicated, messy, and magical—still offers something most of the world does not:

Freedom.

Opportunity.

A fighting chance.

We’ve got problems. Big ones.

We’ve got injustice, inequality, and political insanity on both sides.

But we also have the ability to speak freely, to protest, to vote, to build, to fail, and try again. You think people are willing to risk their lives for just anywhere?

Let’s be real:

America isn’t some shiny ideal from a textbook. It’s a gritty, evolving, melting pot built on ideas—some beautiful, some broken, all worth examining. But tearing it all down in a blind rage isn’t progress. It’s chaos dressed in self-righteousness.

The Constitution? Not perfect.

The Declaration of Independence? Not flawless.

But together, they gave us a foundation—one you’re standing on right now with your Wi-Fi and venting rights in full swing.

We are not supposed to be clones of one another. We are supposed to be one nation made stronger by our differences.

And no, that doesn’t mean blind loyalty or pretending problems don’t exist. It means you show up, you work, and you fight the good fight together. Not against each other like a bad family reunion that never ends.

“One Nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

I left out “under God” on purpose—just like I did in 2019 when I first said this. That phrase was added in 1954 during the Cold War and the rise of communism. It’s a historical fact. Doesn’t mean you don’t get to say it if you want—it just means I believe in knowing the whole story before shouting about it.

If that offends you?

Well, that’s your right.

And it’s my right to be a proud, thinking, freedom-loving, truth-speaking Marine Mom who doesn’t sit quietly while folks burn the whole house down over cracks in the drywall.

This is still America.

And I still believe in her.

#JourneysWithJani #Let’sTalkAboutIt #SemperFi #OneNation

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Side Effects May Include…Well, Everything. Let’s Talk About It…

June 30, 2025

The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

I don’t know about y’all, but these Big Pharma commercials? Whew, they are something else. I’m just sitting there, minding my business—maybe watching a little true crime, maybe catching the local weather—and suddenly here comes a slow-motion commercial showing people skipping through wildflowers and kayaking with their grandkids, all while a soothing voice says, “Side effects may include nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, internal bleeding, loss of vision, confusion, dizziness, suicidal thoughts, sudden death, and bloating.”

Bloating? That almost feels like a blessing compared to the rest of it.

And let’s not skip past this part:

“Do not take Bliztravax if you’re allergic to Bliztravax.”

Um… HOW in the ever-loving world would I know I’m allergic to something I’ve never taken before?!

That’s like saying, “Don’t step in that puddle if you’re allergic to drowning.” Ma’am. Sir. Whoever is in charge over there—you’re gonna need to be more specific.

And then they always show these people doing things that have absolutely nothing to do with the actual condition. Like, here’s a guy hang-gliding with his golden retriever while the narrator gently reminds us that this new miracle pill is for toenail fungus. Meanwhile, the list of risks is so long I need a snack break halfway through.

I swear, if the list of side effects is longer than the Cheesecake Factory menu, we might have a problem.

Now listen—I’m not knocking science. Modern medicine has done wonders for a lot of people, and I’m grateful for the advances that help folks live better, longer lives. But can we talk about the absurdity of how it’s all delivered? Like, you’ll get 15 seconds of promises and 45 seconds of possible doom. I don’t know about you, but that ratio isn’t working in my favor.

And the truth is, we’ve gotten used to it. Like, numb to it.

“Oh, this helps with seasonal allergies but may cause memory loss and spontaneous dancing? Worth a shot.”

And don’t even get me started on the way they say it. All hushed and calm, like they’re reading you a bedtime story instead of telling you your liver might fall out.

“If you notice uncontrollable bleeding from your eyeballs…”

Say what now?!

Look, I’ve had my fair share of prescriptions over the years—and with an autoimmune condition in the mix, sometimes I have no choice. But even then, I want real talk. I want a doctor or pharmacist who says, “Hey, this might help. Might also make you feel like you’ve been hit by a small bus. Let’s weigh your options.”

Because here’s the thing: I don’t mind making informed decisions. I just want to be informed before I’m halfway through a 3-month trial and find out I can’t taste strawberries anymore or I’m allergic to my own shadow.

So yes, Big Pharma—thank you for your efforts. But maybe just maybe let’s start with telling people what something does before giving them a scroll of side effects that would make Stephen King nervous. And for the love of all things holy, don’t tell me not to take it if I’m allergic to it unless you’re also offering allergy tests in the drive-thru.

That’s all I’m saying.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk—sponsored by no one, especially not anyone with a prescription drug ending in -zema.

XOXO, Jani

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Rethinking Semaglutide: I Know, I Know—I Said That… But Now I’m Saying This

June 29, 2025

The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

Let’s Talk About It…

Okay y’all, before anyone digs up the receipts from my last blog—yes, I did say I was moving forward with semaglutide. I meant it. I was organized. I had a whole plan, a checklist, a food schedule, water reminders, and my “let’s do this” attitude strapped on tight. I was ready to ride that wave straight to my goal weight and a new closet full of sassy size 10s.

But life—oh, life. It always has a way of showing up just when you think you’ve got it all figured out.

First came the coffee (w/ loads of cream) mishap. I drank it right before my bloodwork and the lab folks looked at me like I’d just eaten a cheeseburger on the way in. That little moment made me pause. Maybe it was just a random mistake. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was trying to tap me on the shoulder like, “Hey girl… maybe slow your roll?”

So I did what I always do when I feel that tug—I looked at it from all sides.

My general practitioner? She’s on board. No worries. She knows my history, my goals, and she supports me if I decide to use semaglutide. But my neurologist? Different story. He isn’t exactly waving red flags, but he’s got concerns—especially about the long-term effects. And not just for me and my MS, but for anyone using these meds long-term. And I respect that.

Truth is, I’ve had some nagging worries too. The potential for hair loss and muscle loss? That’s not nothing. But what really makes me nervous is the nausea. I already live with vestibular migraines—basically vertigo and nausea’s evil lovechild. I’ve had days where just getting upright feels like an accomplishment. Add medication-induced nausea on top of that? Pass.

So for now—I’m taking a step back. I’m going to focus on the plan I already made: eating clean, eating enough, eating with intention. Hydrating. Moving. Resting. Rinse and repeat. It won’t be as easy as having an appetite suppressant doing some of the heavy lifting, but I’m not afraid of hard. I’ve done hard before. Hell, I am hardwired for hard.

And if I change my mind again down the road? That’s okay, too. This isn’t me quitting. This is me pivoting. Listening to my body, my doctors, and that quiet little voice in my head that sometimes sounds like my Gramma saying, “You already know what to do.”

So no, I’m not jumping on the semaglutide train just yet. I’m staying on the Mary Jane plan. Because life is too short to pass out while tying your shoes. And if I’m going to go down, let it be from dancing in the kitchen or chasing a grandbaby—not because I couldn’t keep my breakfast down.

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Saturdays in Cartersville: Crepes, Coffee & a Little Bit of Fudge

June 29, 2025

The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

Let’s Talk About It…

The Mama Mia Crepe

There’s something magical about Saturdays in Cartersville. I don’t know if it’s the smell of fresh-baked bread in the air, the hum of neighbors catching up at the Farmers Market, or just the fact that nobody’s in a full-blown hurry. Either way—this little town of mine knows how to do a Saturday right.

I started my morning like every good Southern gal with caffeine and carbs. The Maui Mocha from the market is basically what dreams are made of—chocolatey, creamy, and just enough kick to remind me that I do in fact have things to do. (More on that later.)

Then came the Mama Mia Crepe—spinach, avocado, and havarti cheese folded up into a little savory pocket of heaven. Y’all. I could’ve cried. That crepe was brunch, lunch, and probably a spiritual experience rolled into one. I’m not saying I would fight someone for the last one, but I’m not not saying it either.

After I licked the last bit of melted cheese off my fork, I meandered around the market picking up all the things I didn’t know I needed:

🌸 Fresh flowers—because they make any space feel softer

🧴 Magnesium lotion from my girl, Tooter—because I believe in local magic

🧀 2 tubs of pimiento cheese from Suga’s—because hello, Georgia

… and okay fine, maybe another bunch of flowers. It’s called balance.

Kilwins is Magical

I had parked over by the tracks across from The Cellar, which means my path just happened to take me by Kilwin’s. And you know I’m not walking past that place without a detour. Candy didn’t even have to pitch hard. One whiff of that fudge and I was sold. No shame, no regrets, just fudge.

After all that goodness, I popped into the office for a few hours to finalize a big Disney-SeaWorld-Universal trip for some sweet clients. (Because even on a Saturday, the pixie dust doesn’t rest and neither do I.)

Now, I’d love to wrap this up with some inspirational thoughts about productivity and balance, but truthfully—I’ve got a yard full of limbs waiting on me. The storm didn’t ask for my permission and neither did those trees. But I’m choosing to not think about that right now.

Let me sit in my market-happy, fudge-fueled bliss for just a little while longer, okay?

Because Saturdays in Cartersville? They’re sacred. They’re sweet. And they are everything I love about this town.

Until next time, y’all—take time to travel, even if it’s just down to your local farmers market.

XOXO, Jani

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The 50 Best Airports in the USA (Yes, Some of Y’all Made the Cut)

June 29, 2025

Travel Advice

Let’s Talk About It…

Let’s be honest for a second—airports can either make or break your trip. One minute you’re sipping overpriced coffee while feeling like a jet-set goddess, and the next you’re sitting on the floor near Gate 48C, clutching your phone charger like it’s life support and praying your flight isn’t canceled… again.

But not all airports are created equal. Some actually get it right—clean restrooms (hello, miracle), decent food options, short security lines, and even places to sit without fighting a stranger for an outlet. So today I’m giving y’all the real scoop on the 50 Best Airports in the USA—from big international hubs to little hidden gems that feel more like a spa day than a security nightmare.

✈️ Jani’s Airport Criteria (because duh, I have standards):

Cleanliness & layout (Can I find the bathroom without hiking 3 miles?) Food options (I’m not living on a $14 bag of pretzels) Navigability (aka: I don’t need a GPS to find my gate) Amenities (lounges, nursing pods, pet relief stations, etc.) Vibes (IYKYK…some airports are just ✨chaotic✨ and some are peaceful-ish)

So grab your boarding pass and let’s count down the best of the best!

🚨 The Big Leagues: Best Major Hubs

These are the airports you’ll likely fly through at least once in your life—and honestly? You could do a lot worse.

✈️ Atlanta (ATL) – My home state has the busiest airport in the world, and somehow they make it work. Efficient, tons of food, and the Plane Train is my cardio.

✈️ Dallas/Fort Worth (DFW) – Big as Texas, but shockingly smooth once you learn the layout. Great lounges and solid BBQ.

✈️ Denver (DEN) – Conspiracy theories aside, it’s bright, clean, and that train is speedy.

✈️ Phoenix Sky Harbor (PHX) – Shockingly chill for such a big airport. And the art? Chef’s kiss.

✈️ Seattle-Tacoma (SEA) – Windows for days, solid coffee, and surprisingly quick security (most days).

✈️ Charlotte Douglas (CLT) – Rocking chairs. Need I say more?

✈️ Salt Lake City (SLC) – The new terminal is modern, gorgeous, and organized.

✈️ Minneapolis-Saint Paul (MSP) – Underrated and full of Midwestern charm. Plus: excellent food.

✈️ San Diego (SAN) – You’re 10 minutes from the beach. I mean, come on.

✈️ Tampa (TPA) – Florida finally gets something right. Easy to navigate, friendly, and clean.

🥂 Airport Glow-Ups (Small but Mighty)

These regional airports give the majors a run for their money.

🛫 Savannah/Hilton Head (SAV) – Feels like you’re entering a Southern hotel lobby. It’s adorable.

🛫 Palm Springs (PSP) – Outdoor terminals, sunshine, and zero stress.

🛫 Boise (BOI) – Small, clean, efficient. Also: potatoes.

🛫 Spokane (GEG) – Pleasantly quiet and just the right size.

🛫 Greenville-Spartanburg (GSP) – Sparkling clean and easy. Big win for the Carolinas.

🛫 Santa Barbara (SBA) – Quaint and coastal—like if an airport wore linen and sipped wine.

🧘‍♀️ Calm Among the Chaos: Surprisingly Chill Airports

These are the ones where you won’t want to pull your hair out.

🛩️ Indianapolis (IND) – I don’t know what y’all are doing in Indy but keep it up.

🛩️ Portland (PDX) – Local vibes, craft beer, and the iconic carpet.

🛩️ Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky (CVG) – Efficient, peaceful, and solid food options.

🛩️ Pittsburgh (PIT) – Old-school but cozy. Free exhibits make layovers bearable.

🛩️ Raleigh-Durham (RDU) – Surprisingly sleek and easy.

🛩️ Austin-Bergstrom (AUS) – Live music, breakfast tacos, and Southern charm.

🌍 International Hubs That Don’t Suck

Flying international? These biggies don’t feel like a war zone.

🌎 San Francisco (SFO) – Good food, sleek lounges, and clear signage.

🌎 Boston Logan (BOS) – Chaotic but efficient. Plus, you land in a wicked cool city.

🌎 Miami (MIA) – Multilingual, multicultural, and surprisingly streamlined.

🌎 Newark (EWR) – Terminal A has entered its glow-up era.

🌎 Los Angeles (LAX) – IF you’re in the new terminals. Otherwise… good luck.

🌎 Orlando (MCO) – Great for families. Just pack your patience—it’s Disney-adjacent.

🌎 Chicago O’Hare (ORD) – You either love it or hate it. I kinda love it.

🌎 Washington Dulles (IAD) – They’ve worked out a lot of the kinks. Decent lounges too.

🌎 Philadelphia (PHL) – Meh terminals, great cheesesteaks. Balance, baby.

🐾 Bonus Picks for My Fellow Travelers with Kids, Pets, or Special Needs

These airports go the extra mile.

❤️ Burbank (BUR) – Steps from curb to gate. It’s like traveling in the ’90s.

❤️ Honolulu (HNL) – Open-air breezes and welcoming vibes.

❤️ Jackson Hole (JAC) – You land between the mountains. Unreal.

❤️ Key West (EYW) – Casual, colorful, and calm. Like the island itself.

❤️ Anchorage (ANC) – Cozy and functional. A must for Alaska lovers.

❤️ Nashville (BNA) – Live music, Southern snacks, and friendly folks.

❤️ Detroit (DTW) – The McNamara Terminal is actually chef’s kiss.

❤️ San Antonio (SAT) – Sweet, simple, and easy to get in/out.

❤️ New Orleans (MSY) – New terminal is a game-changer. Chic and chill.

🛫 Honorable Mentions

Because I’m not about to fight the aviation gods, but these deserve a shoutout:

🌟 Fort Myers (RSW)

🌟 Columbus (CMH)

🌟 Tucson (TUS)

🌟 Hartford (BDL)

🌟 Albany (ALB)

🌟 White Plains (HPN)

🌟 Charleston (CHS)

🌟 Omaha (OMA)

🌟 Des Moines (DSM)

🌟 Wichita (ICT)

Final Boarding Thoughts:

Every airport has its quirks, and what works for one traveler might be a nightmare for another. But when I’m planning trips for clients—and yes, I do that for a living, shameless plug—these airports consistently stand out for the right reasons. Whether you’re headed off on your dream vacation or just hopping home to see your grandbabies, where you land (and take off) matters.

So, next time you’re booking, don’t just look at price. Look at the airport. It might be the difference between a travel day you survive… and one you enjoy.

Where’s your favorite airport? Drop it in the comments—especially if it has a Chick-fil-A and rocking chairs. 😎

XOXO, Jani

#TravelTips #AirportVibes #JourneysWithJani #TakeTimeToTravel

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Well, That Escalated Quickly…

June 29, 2025

The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

I stayed at the office until 6:30 tonight finishing up a few trips for clients. It had been a long day, and I was ready to head home and just be done.

As I walked out to my car, I noticed the sky off toward Rome was dark—and around here, that usually means trouble’s coming. Sure enough, not long after I got past all the construction near Taylor Trucking on 113, lightning lit up the sky in every direction. The wind started pushing the trees sideways, and then the rain hit—fast and hard.

Next thing I know, hail starts falling. Real hail—not just a few pellets. I haven’t seen that many cars pull off the road in a long time. I stayed slow and steady, just trying to get home. Then, the car in front of me suddenly swerved. I slowed down and spotted the reason—a large refrigerator box sitting right in the middle of the road.

Managed to miss it, thankfully, and kept on. When I finally got to Taylorsville, tree debris was everywhere. As I turned down Main Street, a fire truck was already out, directing cars around several fallen trees.

Naturally, my mind jumped to our driveway. It’s lined with tall trees, and in storms like this, I always worry. Thankfully, it was mostly clear—just a few small limbs and the trash can lid up against the fence.

But once I got inside, I noticed standing water by the back door. The glass was covered in sandy dirt and small leaves. Looks like the storm had blown hard enough to push water through the pet door—even with the porch covered.

When I stepped outside, it was clear we hadn’t gotten off as easy as I thought. Limbs everywhere. A sheet of tin in the yard (I assume from the roof—I’ll be checking). A large tree was down and leaning across the deck rail. And the shed across the creek? Completely torn apart and scattered along the embankment.

So tomorrow’s plan has officially changed. Yard work is on the schedule whether I like it or not. Not exactly the ending I expected to a long workday—but that’s life sometimes

Real moments. Real storms. Real life.

XOXO, Jani

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If I Could Just Feel It Twice…

June 24, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

Let me be clear—I don’t want another baby (but. I will take all the grandbabies). Lord knows I’ve done my time in the trenches of diapers, midnight feedings, and the art of warming a bottle with one eye open. I’ve earned my gray hairs and my mom-strength arms. And honestly, I’m loving this season of being Momma to my grown boys and the world’s best Gramma to my grandbabies.

But sometimes, when the house is too quiet or I come across a photo of chubby cheeks and gummy grins, I’d give anything to go back and be their momma for the very first time again.

I’d do it slower this time. Softer. Wiser.

I wouldn’t stress about matching socks or whether I was reading enough board books or if I’d ruined them forever by letting them eat a chicken nugget off the floor. I wouldn’t be so desperate for the next stage. I wouldn’t race through the moments trying to check all the “good mom” boxes.

I’d just hold them.

I’d soak them in without second-guessing every move I made. I’d memorize the weight of their tiny bodies in my arms, the sound of their breath against my neck, the way they said “Momma” with their whole heart like it was the safest word in the world.

Not to fix anything. Not to do it better.

Just to feel it again.

To feel the fierce, overwhelming love that made me question everything and still gave me the strength to do it all. Twice on no sleep and with a baby on one hip and a toddler on the other.

I don’t need a do-over. I just wish I could feel it twice.

Once as the young mom I was—tired, unsure, doing the best I could with what I knew. And once more now—as the woman I’ve become. Still learning. Still loving. But finally understanding that the magic wasn’t in getting it perfect.

It was in the being there.

So here’s to all the mamas—past, present, and future. Whether you’re in the thick of it or looking back like I am—take a breath. Hold them a little longer. Feel it a little deeper.

And if you’re lucky enough… maybe you’ll get to feel it again—just in a different way, with little hands that call you “Gramma” and hearts that feel like home.

XOXO, Jani

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