If high school taught me anything, it wasn’t from a textbook. It didn’t come from the periodic table or diagramming sentences in English class. Nope. What I learned came in one of those hard, jarring, buckle-up-buttercup kind of ways:
Life turns on a dime.
When I was 14, my dad went to prison.
Not county jail. Not a weekend stint. Prison. And not for a year or two—he served 28 years. That alone should give you a pretty big clue about the kind of turn I’m talking about.
Before that moment, we were that family. The one people saw and probably whispered things like “must be nice.”
Big beautiful home? Yep. With a pool.
Farm? Yep.
Mercedes and Jaguar in the driveway? Naturally. My dad’s shiny new truck was the cherry on top.
We had a condo at the beach every summer, and money? Well, it flowed. Until it didn’t.
When the gavel dropped, it was like someone snapped their fingers and said, “New life. Figure it out.”
We didn’t lose everything, but enough to feel like the rug had been yanked right out from under us. We went from “Oh wow, the Aylsworths” to “Oh… those Aylsworths.”
I moved in with my maternal grandparents, which kept me on a somewhat steady course. Now—let’s be clear—“relatively normal” still meant my dad was in prison, my mother was a whole trainwreck, and my stepmother could’ve given Nurse Ratched a run for her money. But I survived. My little sister stayed with her mom (that’s a whole other messy novel I’ll save for later).
But back to high school—while other kids were worrying about prom dates or their GPA, I was learning that nothing, and I mean nothing, is guaranteed. One day, you’re just some teenage girl with the world at her feet (or so it seems), and the next… someone shakes the snow globe and you’re stuck watching the flakes fall in a completely different direction.
So yeah—life turns on a dime. And that lesson? It stuck.
Stay tuned—there’s more to this story. There’s always more.
When your kids are little, loving them more than anything just comes naturally. You hold their sticky hands, wipe their tears, pray over them every night, and hope you’re doing it halfway right. And of course, sometimes you aren’t. But even in the fumbles, they learn—grit, grace, and a good sense of humor.
My two boys, Jake and Jarrett, were 12 and 14 when life shifted. It wasn’t always easy, but we figured things out together. We grew. We got stronger. And somewhere between the chaos of school mornings, teenage moods, and late-night heart-to-hearts, I blinked—and they were grown.
Now here I am, watching these men I raised navigate life and fatherhood, and let me tell you—I genuinely like who they are. Not just because I’m their momma, but because they’ve grown into kind, capable, funny-as-hell humans. People I love being around.
Me w/ Jarrett and Jake
Blended, Blessed, and Beautifully Ours
Years later, I married Greg. By then, all our kids were already grown, but blending our families still felt like coming home. Mitch—Greg’s son and my bonus boy—was raised by Greg with a little help from his amazing parents. And even though I didn’t raise him myself, he’s very much mine now, too.
Three boys. Three very different paths. One big, blended family that just works.
Me and GregMitch w/ me and Kenzie
Jake: The Chef with a Margarita Welcome
Jake, my oldest, is a phenomenal cook. I’m not talking “spaghetti in a pinch” here—I’m talking full-on restaurant-worthy, pour-you-a-margarita-when-you-walk-in-the-door kind of hospitality. He’s warm, welcoming, and thoughtful to his core. He is the one that people are drawn to and the one who will always have your back. Solid! And he’s got my heart and my appetite wrapped around his finger. Did I mention my grans, AJ and Harvey!?
Jake w/ Harvey and AJ
Mitch: The Calm in the Middle
Mitch, our middle son, lives close by. He drops in for dinner, chats on the porch, and heads off fishing with Greg like it’s just another Tuesday. He’s steady, loyal, and effortlessly kind—the kind of person who makes everything feel a little more relaxed just by being around. Plus, my grand-boys, Wyatt and Wilson add a little more sweetness.
Mitch w/ Wyatt
Jarrett: My Forever Sidekick
Jarrett, the youngest, is my movie date. About once a month, we grab popcorn and lose ourselves in whatever’s playing—his treat. We laugh, we cry, we occasionally whisper, “What in the world did we just watch?” did y’all even see Cocaine Bear? He’s got a soft heart and a cold streak that reminds of how much like me he is. He keeps us entertained and grounded all at once. Jarrett blessed me with Swayze, Urban, Liberty and Seger. Yes! Four! He’s the one who is smart but at times, I have questioned the military entrusting us to him. LOL.
Jarret w/ Libby
Watching Them Raise Their Own
All three of these boys are now raising families of their own. They’re doing the whole parenting thing with heart, humor, and a whole lot more patience than I probably had. And the best part? They like me. As an adult. As a friend. As someone they call up just to chat—or to share a margarita and a moment.
Three Good Men. One Lucky Momma
I loved them when they were little. I adored them through every awkward, angsty stage. But now? Now I get to see them in their full glory—grown, grounded, and good.
Three boys.
One beautifully blended family.
And a momma who wouldn’t trade this chapter for the world.
Yep. He was flat. Like, bless-his-heart kind of flat. Poor little guy. But the moment I saw him, a quote I heard years ago popped right into my mind:
“Be decisive. The road of life is paved with flat squirrels who couldn’t make a decision.”
Ain’t that the truth?
Whether it’s a squirrel trying to decide which side of the street is safer… or me trying to choose between tacos or pizza (okay, tacos win 90% of the time), we’ve all been that squirrel at some point—frozen mid-decision, unsure, overthinking, and WHAM. Life hits ya.
Now, I’m not saying we’re all doomed if we pause to think. There’s value in pondering. But honey, sometimes life calls for pedal to the metal—especially if you’re driving through Atlanta. I don’t care what the speed limit says, if you’re not going 80 MPH and praying at the same time, you’re basically that squirrel. You hesitate, and next thing you know, a tractor-trailer with Florida plates is riding your bumper while someone in a Tesla zips around you like you’re parked.
So here’s the lesson I took from Mr. Flat Squirrel (may he rest in peace under that patch of Georgia asphalt):
Stop second guessing yourself.
Pick a lane.
Punch the gas.
Make the dang decision.
Whether it’s booking that dream trip, saying yes to a new opportunity, or finally choosing what to order off the Cheesecake Factory menu—decide. Don’t sit in the middle of the metaphorical road waiting for life to choose for you.
After all, no one wants to be a speed bump in their own story.
Now go be bold today. Be brave. And if you happen to be driving through Atlanta… keep it at 80 and stay in your lane.
Describe one positive change you have made in your life.
If you had asked me ten years ago what I’d be doing now, I would’ve said something like, “Probably still up to my elbows in fur, vaccinations, and explaining (for the 843rd time) that no, your dog cannot take human ibuprofen.”
Veterinary Medicine was my thing. My heartbeat. My calling. I adored my furry clients, loved their humans (mostly), and prided myself on being that fierce advocate for those who couldn’t speak for themselves. But somewhere along the way, that love started to fray at the edges. It wasn’t the animals — it was the weight of the job. The 24/7 responsibility. The emotional toll. The burnout that silently crept in and made itself right at home.
Did you know that Veterinary Medicine has one of the highest suicide rates of any profession?
Let that sit with you for a second. I mean, it seems like it should be all puppies and kittens, but the reality is a lot heavier than that. I was still “me” — but a version of me that felt stretched too thin, worn down, and barely hanging on some days.
And then, one day, I just… stopped.
I took a leap.
After a six months sabbatical of sorts, my dear friend Tammy called and asked, “Why don’t you come work for me? It won’t pay what you were making, but I think you’d love it.”
And just like that, I traded in the chaos for calm (mostly), exhaustion for excitement, and needles for… passports?
I started part-time at Take Time To Travel, just answering phones, pitching in here and there. It was honestly refreshing not to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. And slowly — so slowly — something started to bloom again.
Me.
I began learning the travel business, planning trips for people, and even took my first cruise (to Alaska, no less — go big or go home, y’all). Three years later, I feel like I’ve hit the joy jackpot. Not the make-a-bazillion-dollars jackpot — let’s not get crazy — but the wake-up-smiling, love-your-job, soul-deep-joy kind.
I work with a group of women who are family. Our office feels more like a sitcom than a workplace most days — in the best way. We laugh, we fuss, we support the hell out of each other. Our fearless leader is like a mom, keeping her wild daughters in line (and trust me, that’s no easy task).
I get to help people dream big, then turn those dreams into boarding passes.
I get to explore this beautiful world.
I get to keep learning every single day in a business that is always evolving.
And most of all?
I got me back.
So yeah, describing one positive change I’ve made in my life?
Hands down — changing careers midstream.
And if you’re out there wondering if it’s too late, too hard, too risky to chase joy — honey, it’s not. You just have to believe you’re worth the change.
This morning I sat down with my coffee, still shaking off the sleep, and flipped on the Today Show. I didn’t expect to get pulled into something so real, but when Michelle Obama starts talking, you just listen. And this morning, she brought it.
She spoke openly—candidly—about her marriage, about politics, and about all the tabloid nonsense that’s been swirling around lately. People have been speculating that she and President Obama are getting divorced just because she chose not to attend the inauguration this year or President Jimmy Carter’s funeral. Her response? “I’m simply doing what I feel I need to do for me.”
That hit me. Hard.
In a world where everyone expects you to show up a certain way, especially as a former First Lady, she’s choosing peace. Rest. Space. And maybe even boundaries. Imagine that. A woman, choosing herself without apology. I respect the hell out of that.
But what really got me was her honesty about marriage. She admitted that there were times she literally could not stand Barack—especially when their daughters were young. And let me tell you, if Michelle Obama can’t stand her husband sometimes, the rest of us don’t stand a chance of floating through marriage like it’s a damn rom-com.
It made me stop and really think: maybe that is one of the big problems in marriage today. We swing too far in either direction—we’re either blasting every miserable moment on social media or we’re painting some Pinterest-perfect picture that isn’t real. But marriage? Real marriage? It lives somewhere in between.
There are seasons—sometimes days, sometimes months—where it’s just plain hard. Where you look at the person you married and think, “Who are you and why are you chewing so loud?” And honestly? That doesn’t mean you’re headed for divorce court. It means you’re human. It means you’re married.
And sometimes, the struggle has nothing to do with the marriage at all. Life throws weird curveballs. Sometimes you’re both in a funky place at the same time, and neither of you knows how to say it out loud. And it’s in those moments that we need more patience, more grace, and more love—not more pressure to perform or more fear that something’s broken.
What I loved most this morning was the clip they showed of President Obama himself. He said he realized that he was in a rough patch in his marriage because he wasn’t doing anything fun—everything was serious, political, and exhausting. And it made him pause. It made him want to do better.
And that’s the takeaway, isn’t it? Just try. Try to love each other through the weirdness. Through the quiet spells. Through the loud arguments and the eye rolls. Sometimes you need counseling. Sometimes you need space. Sometimes you just need to laugh again.
Look, this isn’t about politics. I don’t care which side of the aisle you’re on. I’ve always liked the Obamas—not necessarily as politicians, but as people. I admire their grit, their loyalty, their willingness to admit when things get tough. I admire that they keep showing up—for each other and for their kids.
So today, I’m just reminded that love isn’t always pretty. It’s not always easy. But if two people are willing to try, there’s beauty in the mess.
Today I’m dishing up something that’s near and dear to my heart—a Deep South road trip that will leave your heart full, your belly happy, and your camera roll bursting with beauty.
We’re talking magnolia trees, soul food, Civil Rights history, antebellum architecture, sweet tea with a whiskey kick, and that warm, slow drawl that makes you feel like home—even if you ain’t from around here.
This two-week itinerary weaves through Charleston, Savannah, Atlanta, Birmingham, Montgomery, Selma, Mobile, Biloxi, Baton Rouge, and New Orleans. Whether you’re a history buff, foodie, music lover, or just need a good dose of sunshine and soul, the Deep South delivers.
Why Take a Deep South Road Trip?
Because the South is a story, honey—and every town along the way is a new chapter. It’s where blues and jazz were born, where the Civil Rights Movement took shape, and where hospitality isn’t a slogan—it’s a way of life. You’ll eat like royalty, meet the kindest folks, and feel connected to something bigger than yourself.
Best Time to Hit the Road
You’ll want to aim for spring (March–May) or early fall (September–November)—mild temps, fewer crowds, and all the azaleas and oaks your heart can handle. Summer is steamy and hurricane season rolls in late summer, so unless you love sweating through your linen, plan accordingly.
The Itinerary: A 2-Week Southern Soul Journey
Day 1-2: Charleston, SC
• Stay: Charming B&B in the Historic District or a luxury inn near the Battery.
• Eat: Shrimp & grits at Poogan’s Porch, biscuits at Callie’s Hot Little Biscuit.
• Do: Historic home tours, a carriage ride, Rainbow Row, and stroll the Charleston City Market.
Day 3-4: Savannah, GA
• Stay: The Gastonian or Perry Lane Hotel.
• Eat: Fried green tomatoes at The Olde Pink House, pralines along River Street.
• Do: Forsyth Park, ghost tour, Bonaventure Cemetery, and get lost in the Spanish moss.
Day 5: Atlanta, GA
• Stay: Midtown boutique hotel or The Candler.
• Eat: Hot chicken at Busy Bee Cafe, cocktails at The Garden Room.
• Do: MLK Jr. National Historical Park, National Center for Civil and Human Rights, Ponce City Market.
Day 6: Birmingham, AL
• Stay: The Elyton Hotel (hello rooftop views).
• Eat: BBQ at Saw’s Soul Kitchen, banana pudding from Niki’s West.
• Do: Birmingham Civil Rights Institute, 16th Street Baptist Church.
Day 7: Montgomery, AL
• Stay: Stay downtown near the Riverfront.
• Eat: Fried catfish at Cahawba House, peach cobbler for dessert.
• Do: Legacy Museum, National Memorial for Peace and Justice, Rosa Parks Museum.
Day 8: Selma, AL
• Day Trip Stop
• Do: Edmund Pettus Bridge, Voting Rights Museum, walk the same steps as heroes did.
• Tip: Stop here en route to Mobile. Reflect and soak it in—it’s powerful.
Day 9: Mobile, AL
• Stay: The Battle House Renaissance.
• Eat: Gumbo at Wintzell’s Oyster House, beignets at Mo’Bay.
• Do: Explore the USS Alabama, stroll Dauphin Street, visit the Carnival Museum.
Day 10: Biloxi, MS
• Stay: Beachfront resort or boutique casino hotel.
• Eat: Crawfish étouffée, po’ boys, and fresh Gulf oysters.
• Do: Beach time, lighthouse tour, a little blackjack if you’re feeling lucky.
Day 11-12: Baton Rouge, LA
• Stay: A riverfront hotel or historic plantation B&B nearby.
• Eat: Boudin balls and red beans & rice—don’t ask questions, just eat.
• Do: LSU Rural Life Museum, Old State Capitol, stroll the Mississippi River.
Day 13-14: New Orleans, LA
• Stay: French Quarter if you want the vibe, Garden District if you want peace.
• Eat: Everything. Café du Monde beignets, jambalaya, muffulettas, chargrilled oysters.
• Do: Live jazz on Frenchmen Street, steamboat ride, a voodoo tour, people-watch on Bourbon Street.
What to Eat Across the South
This is not the time to diet, friend. Expect:
• Buttery biscuits & gravy
• Fried everything
• Crawfish boils
• Sweet tea & bourbon cocktails
• Pimento cheese, hush puppies, cornbread, and collard greens
• Oh, and pie. So. Much. Pie.
Where to Stay
I’m a travel advisor for a reason—because no two travelers are the same. Want boutique charm? I got you. Prefer modern luxury with a rooftop bar? Done. Road trippin’ on a budget? Let’s get creative.
Let Me Plan It For You
You can absolutely DIY this trip, but if you want all the beauty with none of the stress, holler at me. I’ll handle the route, the hotels, the dining recs, and even those little off-the-beaten-path spots that make it feel like you discovered something.
XOXO, Jani
Y’all ready to feel the soul of the South? Let’s hit the road.
Take Time To Travel with me—Jani—and let’s turn this road trip into a journey you’ll never forget.
The Take Time To Travel Team – Cindy, Jani, Tammy, Trisha, Krystal
Let’s Talk About It: How Does a Travel Agency Actually Make Money?
This may surprise you, but it’s not by magic. Or tips. Or good vibes and glitter.
Travel Advisors like us at Take Time To Travel make our living through commissions paid by the travel suppliers—not by you—when you actually book the trip we’ve planned for you. That means when we create a custom itinerary and you decide to “book it yourself,” we just worked for free. Yep. Zero. Nada.
That’s like asking your hairstylist for a full color consult, style guide, and product recommendations… then heading to Walgreens with a coupon. It stings, y’all.
Here’s the deal:
We don’t charge a service fee just to work with us. We love what we do and we want travel planning to feel fun and easy for you.
BUT—and it’s a big ol’ but—when it comes to more complex trips like road trips, multi-destination journeys, European rail adventures, or anything with lots of moving parts, we may charge a planning fee.
Why? Because we spend hours crafting your custom trip—making sure it flows, booking every hotel, cruise, transfer, tour, or flight, confirming every detail, and organizing it all in a beautiful folder or a sleek Trip App. It’s curated, cohesive, and built just for you.
And here’s the best part? We’ve got your back from the moment we start planning until the day you return home.
The only thing you have to do is pack your bags and go have fun. We handle the rest.
We love what we do—but we also value our time and expertise. So if you’re ready to plan something amazing, let’s talk.
We’ll make it fabulous—and easy—because that’s just what we do.
Y’all. Let me go ahead and be real honest right out the gate: I have ZERO desire to exercise. Like, absolutely none. Been there. Done that. Got the oversized, ill-fitting t-shirt from some gym promo and a dusty yoga mat in the back of my closet to prove it.
Run? RUN? Am I being chased?? By Michael Myers? Jason Voorhees? Cujo?!
No?
Then no. I’m walking. Slowly. Like the slow southern drawl in a lazy front porch conversation. I walk with a slow southern drawl, and I do it with no shame. LOL.
But here’s the thing. You know what I will do?
I’ll dance.
I’ll dance like a complete fool in the rain.
I’ll dance alone in my kitchen with my coffee.
I’ll dance with my grandbabies until we’re all giggling on the floor.
I’ll dance with Bean—yes, the cat. (He pretends not to enjoy it, but I know better.)
I’ll dance with friends, with strangers, with my reflection in the microwave door.
If dancing counts as exercise, well shoot—I’m basically an Olympic athlete.
So what’s the most fun way to exercise?
The way that makes you forget you’re doing it.
For me, it’s dancing like nobody’s watching—even though half the time someone definitely is.
If you need me, I’ll be in the living room.
Music up. Feet moving. Heart happy.
Want to add a playlist to go with it? I’ve got ideas!
Euharlee Creek is rising, the coffee is brewing, and the bassets are already running the show.
I’ve never been a fan of rushing into the day. I believe in easing into it—slowly, intentionally, with a hot coffee in hand and a seat on the porch where the view is part wilderness, part comedy show.
Life here at our old creekside cabin unfolds at its own pace, and our pets are the stars of the morning routine.
Let me introduce you to the crew.
Cash, our gentle giant of a Basset Hound, is likely still in bed as I write this. He could eat the other two in one bite if he wanted to—but he doesn’t. He’s too laid-back to lead, too chill to challenge, and way too content to move unless absolutely necessary.
Shelby, on the other hand, makes her grand descent each morning like the diva she is. Her throne? A $700 ottoman I insisted on when we bought new living room furniture. It sits by the fireplace and was meant for guests—or, you know, humans. But now it has a Shelby-shaped “well” in the cushion, and she has claimed it as her own. She guards it like a dragon with its hoard, daring poor Cash to even try to get cozy beside her.
Bean, our cat and self-proclaimed explorer, is already out on his morning mission via the pet door. He came to us back when I worked in vet-med—tiny, unwanted, and just what I didn’t know I needed. I used to hang bird feeders on the porch, thinking I was helping the wildlife. Turns out, I was just setting the table for Bean. He treated them like a drive-thru. So, down the feeders came.
Out here, we live nestled in the woods along the beautiful, wide, and deep Euharlee Creek. It may rise from time to time, but it’ll never reach the house, thanks to our three-level yard. The other side is a massive sod farm, and nature usually minds her manners. Usually.
But you’d think I personally conjured the storms based on how my pets act when the creek swells and covers their sacred trail. Yes—there’s a trail. They made it themselves, winding through grass and moss, all the way down to the water. When it floods, they act as if their whole world has been upended… and that somehow, it’s my fault.
So I sit here most mornings in my favorite rocker on the porch, sipping coffee while the wind dances through the chimes and my windsock flutters in the breeze. The dogs patrol the yard (once it’s dry), Bean comes and goes like a shadow, and the creek does what the creek does.
It’s not always quiet. It’s rarely perfect. But it’s home.
And on mornings like this, with coffee in hand and critters at my feet, I’m reminded that slow, sweet mornings aren’t wasted time—they’re the good stuff.
Thanks for joining me this morning.
If you’ve got a favorite porch memory, a spoiled pet story, or your own backyard soap opera, I’d love to hear it. Drop a comment or come chat with me on socials—especially if your pets also think you control the weather.
There are a few things in life that are just good for the soul. A warm hug, a perfectly timed playlist, and—for me—Taco Tuesday with my girls.
Almost every Tuesday (okay, at least three times a month if the stars align), I gather with my ride-or-die taco tribe: Brenda and Mary. Sometimes it’s just the three of us, sometimes others drop in, but it doesn’t matter if we’re a trio or a table-full—the vibe is always just right. There’s something special about the ritual: a margarita (or two… who’s counting?), a table full of tacos, and some solid girlfriend comradery.
We’ve made it our mission to taste-test tacos across Cartersville and beyond. El Charro, El Charitto, Los Arcos, El Dorado, Tarascos, Los Palmas, Santana, La Patrona… and I know I’m forgetting a couple. Each spot has its own flavor, its own flair, and believe me—we’re equal opportunity taco lovers.
Tonight’s pick? El Dorado. Their skinny margaritas have a way of making the stress of the day melt faster than you can say “Boom Boom tacos,” and yes, those tacos made me smile all the way through my margarita!
Now, I’ll admit something here: I’ve got a soft spot for El Charro. Maybe it’s the cheese dip, maybe it’s nostalgia, maybe it’s just the way the chips hit the table right when you need ‘em most—but isn’t that the way with your favorite spot? Sometimes it’s not even about the food (though let’s be real, the tacos are solid). It’s about the memories made there. The laughter that’s echoed off the walls. The stories shared over guac and salt-rimmed glasses.
Taco Tuesday isn’t just a meal—it’s a moment. A little slice of joy in the middle of the week. A chance to catch up, let go, and be reminded that life is delicious, especially when shared with good people and great tacos.
So if you’re ever wondering where I am on a Tuesday night… just follow the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. We’ll save you a seat.
Journeys With Jani 