How to take a compliment. By Missy Manners.

Everyone loves a compliment.

Even me. But we don’t

always know how to take it.

Why is that?

Is it because of embarrassment?

Humility?

Or do we believe the deliverer

to be insincere?

I say enough of that.

We need to embrace every

compliment.

A simple thank you will do.

Here are some real life examples

from Missy Manners.

1.

Giver: “You have pretty eyes.”

Missy: “Thank you.”

2.

Giver: “Your hair looks nice. Today.”

Missy: “Uh. Thank you.”

3.

Giver: “ Your kids usually are so well-behaved.”

Brief moment of silence

Missy: "Thank you."

Now these are true life examples of

compliments that I 

 have received at some point in my life,

but the next one I will

never, ever forget. Ever.

I was 16. My future mother-in-law

was the giver. I didn’t know

how to respond to it then.

Still don’t.

Future MIL: “You remind me of  Sissy Spacek.”

Sound of crickets.

Now, don’t get me wrong, but at 16 the only

thing I knew about Sissy Spacek

was “Coal Miner’s Daughter”.

And all I could think about was

her playing the guitar while barefoot

on the front porch

with kids running amuck around her.

This was most definitely NOT

a compliment to 16 year old me.





I remembered this not long ago, as I am

prone to do, and so I asked

my mother in law about it.

MIL: “I’ve always thought Sissy Spacek was cute.”

Missy: “Thank you.”

What's on Missy's phone? - Courtesy of the kids.

It’s that time of week again.

WORP Tuesdays with  Jessica
at Lowe Family News.

I’ve missed the last couple

of weeks

because I’m ghetto.

I don’t really use my phone’s camera much.

But true to usual fashion

the kids have not let me down.

I have some really great, or odd, or no

words can describe it pics for you.

Like this.

I HATE spiders! Who would ever

eat a sucker with a spider in it?

One guess.

Yep this guy.

When I first saw this picture.

I laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

So, I asked him about it.

“What are you doing? Stripping?”

(Well what did you think?)

“O vat? Chicken Dance.”

And then I got a demonstration.

Huh. Who knew?

And this is a lovely picture

of your friendly Midwest Elk.

No, they’re not indigenous here.

We’re just lucky to have them as neighbors.

This guy greets me most mornings

when I come home from work.

“Morning Hank.”

“Morning Missy.”

“Tough night?”

“Nah. You?”

“One of the deer got out, but Farmer Tim

wrangled her up when a looky-loo spotted her.”

“Tough times.”

“Yep”.

Well sadly, or maybe not, that’s it till next time.

Just for the record,

the above conversation

never really took place.

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas.

Christmas is such a special time.
My kids get sOoOo excited when I
drag out the boxes of Christmas decorations.
They like to help decorate the
tree, but usually loose interest quickly
once they've searched for, and found
their favorite pieces.

I LOVE Christmas decorations.
But I refuse to pay a lot for them.
Here's a fact for ya
Most of my decorations, if they haven't been
given to me,  come from

Goodwill or I've bought them

super cheap after Christmas.

Let me know what you think.





 

 

 

 

 

Merry Christmas.

Missy



The Recipe.




photo courtesy allrecipes.com

 

Hub's family came to our house for Thanksgiving this year.

Since his Mother left us for the Land of Disney

we had no other choice.

What were we to do?

It was my idea really.

But Hubs thought it sounded grand.

So, phone calls were made and invitations extended.

Let the planning begin.  

I am not a cook.

But every once in awhile I aspire to be one.

Wanting to release the inner chef within me

I searched the Pioneer Woman's blog for the perfect recipe.

(She's practicly my best friend and loves to share all of

her tried and true recipes with me.  Cause she loves me.)

Anywhoo..

That's where I came across The Recipe for

Cranberry Pomegranate Sauce.

It was perfect.

Fresh cranberries, pomegranate juice, sugar.

What could be simpler?

So I trought off to the store with my little

Thanksgiving Feast list in hand and Hubs in tow.

As I'm searching for the necessary ingredients

the following conversation takes place

(or at least something like it).

Hubs says, "Why are you making that?  You don't even like cranberry sauce."

"Yeah, I know, but other people do.  And with this great recipe I may change my mind."

(He was seriously interfering with my inner Julia Child.)

"Yeah well that pomegranate juice better be worth it costing that much for that little."

Yeah. Yeah. 

Fast forward to Thanksgiving morning.

2 chocolate pies, a pecan pie, a Robert Redford, and a load of peeled potatoes later

 I begin to prepare The Recipe.

I wash the cranberries, as instructed.  Leave them in a pan of water,

add the 3/4 cup of sugar and poor in the pomegranate ju...

when I realize, a little too late, that

The Recipe didn't call for water. 

Every bit of the pomegranate juice was now diluted.

Gulp.

I was sick. I just ruined The Recipe.

 I looked around for Hubs. 

He was no where to be found.

Did a happy dance.

Then drained off most

of the fluid and proceded on. 

And guess what?  No one ate any of it. 

Not one bite.

I didn't even take it out of the fridge.

I'm not telling Hubs.  He hasn't even noticed it yet.

It's for his own good really. 

He would never recover.

I mean who messes up Cranberry sauce?

Next year I'm gonna volunteer to make the stuffing.

What could be easier?  Some bread.  Some spices.

Easy peasy.

Insomnia Cured.

Today I was super lazy.

I slept most of the day away.

Working third shift has played havoc

on my sleep this week and it finally

caught up with me.

But I don’ t care.

For a little while I got to 

cuddle with this little guy

as we curled up to watch

Harry Potter, but fell asleep instead.

Later, after dinner my big guy

cuddled up next to me on

the couch. He doesn’t do that

very much anymore. We sat next

to each other for awhile. Until his

ten year-old orneriness took over and
I was forced to shoo him away.

I saw a wall hanging once, before the

boys were born, that said

“Mothers of little boys work from

Son up until Son down.”

I didn’t know it was prophecy.

Blog ya later, Missy



What's on Missy's phone?- Rainy Day Fun

It's that time of week again.
WORP(whats on R phones) Tuesday.
I hooked up with the "Hussy"
if you wanna know what the rest
of the paparazzi's been up to.
And since I've been a lazy blogger
this week- I'll get right to it.

Today it rained.  This is the view from my kitchen window
just before I went to bed.  I like it when it rains.
Especially when I've worked the night before.
Then I don't feel guilty sleeping the day away.

This is Katie.  She sleeps with me when I get home from work.

All day.  She should feel guilty.

This is kids making a run for it after getting off the bus.
I was glad they were hurrying because I was
afraid they might melt.


Blog ya later, Missy

What's on Missy's phone? or better known as "Signs of the Times."

My phone is a kid magnet.
No kidding (pun not intended).

Olivia used to have it all. the. time.
Now Owen does.

They like to listen to the cool music.
Cause I know how to rock.
And they like to text.  Oh my, how they
LoOoVe  to text.
And lastly they like to take pictures.

Boys and girls do not take
pictures of the same things. 

Would you like to see?
Do a little comparison?
Night and Day.

                 Girl                                                                                Boy

      Vs.



                Girl                                                                                  Boy

       Vs.            

              

                    Girl                                                                            Boy

  Vs.


Now, I must say, and surely you do as well,
that there are some obvious differences in their subject matter.

I don't understand it.
I don't even get surprised
when I look at my pictures anymore.

This is the life of a mother with girls and boys. 
I must admit that I kind of like it though.
We sort of balance each other out.

I'm linking up with the "HUSSY" for
what I like to call, woRp Tuesdays (what's on R phones).
Head on over there to see what
everyone else is taking pictures of.
We won't seem so strange anymore.


Oh.  I saved my favorite pics for last.
I took them.  About a year ago.
But I chuckle every time I see them.

They were two signs the boys' posted
on their bedroom door.



Translation:  The boys are mad at Olivia and have

kicked her out of their room.  Again.

But, we better not include Mom in this.

This next one is a bit dark.  Sorry.

It reads:  NO Girls Allowed!!!

              EXPECT if Needed.



Translation:  Olivia keep out.  Mom you
                   can come in to put our clothes up.


Blog ya later,
Missy

                    
   
                                               

The Sugar Bowl Scandal of 1979.

Or at least I think it was 1979.

I'm not really sure.  I just know I was
really little.  Like 4. 

It was summertime and we were getting
ready for a trip to the lake.
Our family had a boat and it was a popular
summertime escape. 

You can imagine the excitement that my
siblings and I felt as we waited to go.
Nothing was better than going to the lake.
Nothing. 

( Disclaimer:  I'm gonna improvise a little cause the
first parts of the story are a little sketchy.)


Mom was packing the coolers.  Dad was readying
the boat.  And us kids were running amuck.
(I'm pretty sure that part is true.)

When Dad suddenly comes out of the house
 mad as a hornet!  He lined the three of us up in the
garage and began to question us, as if he
were Joe Friday.

(The remainder of the story is exactly
as it happened.  Because I remember it
very well.)

"Which one of you spilled the sugar bowl
all over the kitchen floor?"

Silence.

"Did you?"  he said pointing a menacing
finger at my 8 year old brother.

"No Dad.  Wasn't me"

"You?"  he said to my twin.

"Uh uh."  She said shaking her head.
Not appearing at all intimidated by him
as he towered over us.

Then he looked at me and narrowed
his dark eyes.  I swallowed hard,
but decided to be brave because I knew in my
four year old heart that I was innocent.

Now, this is where I should tell you
that as a child, I was a wimp.  And a
cry baby.

"Then it was you."  He said  staring me down.

"No Daddy.  It wasn't me."  I said, all wide-eyed,
 shaking my little blond head back and forth.

"Now someone spilled the sugar bowl and I
want to know who!"  He said a bit too loudly.

Still no one spoke.  The silence was killing me.
The minutes ticked by.  I began fidgeting under
his Superman-like stare, all the while hoping
and praying that the guilty culprit would
speak up.

I should have known better.

Then he dropped the bomb as he paced back
and forth in front of us, "We aren't going anywhere
until someone admits to spilling the sugar bowl."

Again, he begins to single us out.
"Darin, did you do it?"

He shakes his head.

"Mandy?"

"Uh uh.  No."

Oh no I thought.  Our day at the lake is
in jeopardy.  If no one admits to it we
won't get to go.

"Missy?"

I thought quickly, wanting desperately to save
the day.

Then I had an idea. In my four year old wisdom I
decided I'd admit to the crime. Claim myself
guilty, but innocent as well, and save our trip to the lake.

(I'm pretty sure angels began to sing.)

"I did it Daddy, but I..."

And before I knew it he snatched me up, so
quick that my sandals were left behind,
and I got a spanking!!  For lying!!!!

I couldn't believe it.  I was heartbroken.
I didn't even get to tell him that I was only
admitting to it just so we could go to
the lake.

The injustice of it all.  I was after all,
saving the day for him too!

I remember sitting
in the back of the boat while the
rest of the preparations were made, and
the rest of the family arrived, including
my Aunt Kim, who is just a few years older.


She asked, "What's wrong Missy?" 
And before I could answer Mandy says,
"She got a whippin' cause she spilled the
sugar in the floor."  And Darin chimed in,
"and she lied about it."


Brats.


Fast forward about 30 years, when this memory
resurfaces at a family get together.  I retell all
of it, even the part of me being completely innocent,
and that I should have been named queen of the
day because I saved the trip, when I begin to hear
little snickers escaping from the lips of my brother.

"What's so funny?" I ask.

"I did it."

"What?!"

"Yeah I was climbing on the counter to get
a glass out of the cabinet when I hit it with
my foot and knocked it off."

"Then why didn't you admit it?  I got
spanked for something I didn't do!"

"Cause I wasn't stupid like you."


Then I killed him with my evil eye.



Blog ya later,
Missy

A Ghetto Day.

Yesterday, was not our day.

I had a stomach bug and spent the
morning in bed. I didn’t even get to
enjoy my day off.


The gas company came to fill the gas tank
for the winter. But, there’s a gas leak somewhere.
So, we have to get it checked out.
The repairman can’t make it until Saturday.
Weather reports say snow.

On Friday.


Hubs invited friends over to watch the election
returns. But, the receiver wasn’t getting a signal.
The two other TV’s in the house worked, but not the
one where the party was to take place.
I called the satellite company. They’re going to send
a technician out to fix the problem.

Tomorrow.

This would not do.
With Clark Griswald determination, Hubs
sat about to fix the problem and quickly came
up with a solution. It was very ghetto. He ran a wire out the
living room window directly to the satellite.
Everyone was very impressed.
Nothing stands between Hubs and his politics.

Nothing.

I’m hoping for better things to come.



Blog ya later, Missy

November Terd.

It's her birthday.
She used to say it just. like. that.
Still makes me chuckle.

Happy Birthday.

Blog ya later, Missy

The Goat Chronicles: Tree + Goat = Physical Therapy.

I’m not really an animal person.
But, for some reason I seem to be
surrounded by them. They flock to me.

Maybe it’s a gift or maybe I stink and
they’re attracted to my stinch. Hmm.
Nonetheless, I’ve accepted my gift.

However, animals need to know that
it is just not safe around here.
Country life is not for the weak of heart.
You’ve got to have some banker smarts
and cowboy grit. I am convinced that
these animals have none.

This is Ruby. You met her earlier this summer.
This was her second rescue from that tree. Not
smart. This little episode led to 4 days
of physical therapy provided by Hubs.
She was thrilled with her progress.
So was Hubs.

But this is where our story turns sad.
One afternoon, during her
therapy session, her brother, Max,
turned ill and quickly passed. Just like that.
As goats are prone to do. We mourned his
loss and quickly realized that Ruby needed
a companion; and so, who better to
keep her company than her Momma?
We’ve named her Lucy. She’s very social,

but sets a bad example. 



I should have been a city girl.

Blog ya later, Missy

A Tale of Two Brothers.

Have I ever told you all the Buffalo Story?
I haven’t? Then grab a seat. You’re gonna love this one.

I’ve told you about our odd neighbors the “Walkers”, but I haven’t told
you about the one’s who live across the street. They built a house across from us
maybe10 years ago. Since that time they have added a deer farm
which also used to include a buffalo.

Now we live in a rural area, but all of the different deer and the buffalo
became quite the site to see and even today attracts all sorts of looky loos.

Anyway, about three years ago when my boys were babies (4 & 6) they became
completely enamored with these animals. I was always catching them down by
the fence trying to feed the deer, or even on one occasion taunting the
buffalo! I didn’t think we’d ever get them to stay away from them.

On one particular spring day, I had to go to the hospital for a meeting.
As I came home, I topped the hill in front of our house, and saw both of the boys hiding alongside the road, between the fence and a skinny forked tree. I assumed they were either hiding from me, or the neighbors. I pulled up to them. Rolled down the window and the best conversation ever took place.

 “What are you two doing?” I ask. Owen quickly leans out from the left side of the forked tree and states matter of factly “Twyin’ not to be seen.” And just as quickly returns to his hiding spot. “By who?” I dryly ask. This time Josh answers.  Leaning from his hiding spot on the right, and with both of his arms in the air he exclaims, “The buffawo!”  Then he too, hides again. As you can imagine, this was not at all what I expected to hear. Having looked around for the buffalo and not finding him I naively ask, “Where’s the buffalo?” Josh didn’t miss a beat and just the same way as he did before exclaims “In our yawd!”

Didn’t see that one coming either.


Yep. That buffalo had gotten loose and had been wandering around our
yard. But thankfully, at that point he’d been contained by my father in law.
But my boys, they weren’t taking any chances.

I love that memory. It still makes me laugh when I think about it. I hope it made you
laugh too.




Around the time of the buffalo story.


Blog ya later, Missy



Not for the faint of heart. Viewer Discretion Advised.

The Victim



The Casualty





The Guilty

The end.