Tore Your What?!

Life with Justin is nothing, if not exciting. And often comical. This is entirely out of love.

You need to know that Justin has a way with words. His own special way. Whether it’s throwing down “scraw” on the scrabble board and then defending it with, “you know—pine scraw.” Or deciding on what movie “gene-ree” we should watch. In case there’s confusion, it is pine straw, and genre. I refer to it as Justinese. His own special language of greatness.

About a week before Easter, as we sat at the dinner table, Justin said to me, “so Jeremy’s wife is Episcopalian—you know where I’m going with this.” No, no I don’t. I wondered if she had some wild Easter tradition that was religiously based. Justin continued: “she only eats fish.”

Cue the uncontrollable laughter. “Justin, it’s pescatarian. Episcopalian is a religion!”

This has been discussed, and giggled about, ever since. Honestly, I think what makes it even more hilarious is the way he matter-of-factly makes these statements.

Yesterday, he outdid himself, and I love it.

He walked into the kitchen after work and said, “so, I tore my labium.”

“Wow,” I said. “Me too—when I was birthing Xander.”

Justin rolled his eyes. “Not my labia. My labium. In my shoulder.” This, of course, is the first time I’ve heard of the dreaded shoulder vagina tear. I google it. And of course, it’s actually his labrum—the cartilage in his shoulder.

Take a moment to giggle at Justin’s torn shoulder vagina. Thank you for being amazingly adamant…and so very wrong, all at once.

Watch Your Language!

Everyone with a phone knows that autocorrect is not impressed with bad language. Fucks become ducks, shit gets turned into shot. Or spot. Or Camelot…ok, maybe not (oh great, now I’m rhyming).

This evening, on our drive to gymnastics, Justin texted me—he got held up at work, and was letting me know that it was foggy out. Of course, I was driving, so I let Siri do the work: “hey Siri. Text Justin. ‘No fog at home stop. Love you.” My next response from Justin was “what?”

What? What’s so confusing about no fog at home. It’s a pretty straightforward concept—on post there is fog, and 10 miles south, there isn’t. Of course since I was driving, I decided to wait until we reached our destination, rather than try to explain meteorology via Siri.

Once at gymnastics, all was revealed. Siri has a potty mouth, and is trying to start shit.

So, what you’re telling me is that autocorrect won’t fix my blundered curse words, but Siri can go and tell my husband off?! Dang it, Siri! If you have a problem with Justin, take it up with him—I refuse to get in the middle of this!

And watch your mouth!

New Year, New Me

Just kidding. It’s more like New Year, Same Me…hopefully a better version of me? I’m trying.

In all honesty, in 37 years I have yet to remake myself in any way. I went away to college and told myself I would be outgoing. I transferred and told myself this time I would be outgoing. By my 20s I realized that was not really ever anything I would be, let alone anything I actually wanted. I embraced the introvert in me.

Organization is another issue for me. I’m a disaster. I’m a tornado in a trailer park. I really do try. Every move, every season, I try to be better at not being a train wreck. Again, this is easier said than done. Lists are made, and lost. I try every approach imaginable, and I always seem to find myself back in the land of Overwhelmed.

I can accept that I will never be the person whose home is something out of a magazine, but this year I really, really would like to be able to get it together and keep it that way. Fewer naps; more organizing.

Here’s hoping my depression and ADD are willing to cooperate. Because the excuse, “I couldn’t do the dishes–it was raining,” doesn’t always go over well…seeing as though dishes (and laundry, and most other cleaning tasks) take place indoors.

Happy 2020!