My Teenager and the Silver Lining Inside of the Pickle Jar

The other day as I was perusing Facebook (as I do much, much too often) I saw someone post this meme:

I mean, how cute is that? Ok, some people don’t think it’s cute, they think it’s manipulative or whatever, but I happen to think that if you don’t OVERthink it, it’s pretty cute. That may be because my husband allllways has to open the pickle jar for me and I have said out loud multiple, multiple times that “If Bobby Rapson ever bites it before me, I’m going to have to remarry if I ever want to open the pickle jar ever again.”

I love pickles, so this is kind of a quality of life thing for me, you guys. As a matter of fact, my mother likes to recall that my very first sentence was, “I want a pickle.”

There you have it. Pickles = LIFE.

So, I thought the meme was cute. But the truth is, SOMETIMES I can get the pickle jar open by myself, especially with a handy dandy jar opener I bought years ago for just that reason. I mean after all, my husband works long hours, and sometimes a girl just needs a gherkin when he’s at work.

Recently however, I’ve been on a really long jar-opening hiatus—pickle or otherwise.  You see, I’ve got a recurring injury to my left hand called DeQuervain’s tenosynovitis and it makes my thumb and wrist hurt A LOT. I actually got it postpartum when I had my first child – my teenager – most women who get it, get it postpartum apparently. I can go years without it bothering me, but I’ve been in the throes of a flare-up for about a month and I’ve been fairly miserable. I’m a writer for a living, see…so having an injured hand complicates my professional life.

Jenny Rapson
Jenny Rapson
Jenny is a follower of Christ, a wife and mom of three from Ohio and a freelance writer and editor.

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