Throwback Thursday Stories: Mean, Green, Soccer-Playing Machine

Today we are participating in The Mom Creative's Throwback Thursday Stories! Every Thursday she posts a throwback picture and tells the story behind it, and then has a link-up at the bottom of the post for others to share their stories too! If you enjoy today's post and would like to see more, feel free to click over to her post and check out more stories by clicking here. If you are a new reader from The Mom Creative, welcome! Feel free to click around, we are glad you're here.   :)


My older brother was an awesome soccer player. He wound up getting a scholarship because of his athletic ability, so naturally, when I was a little girl my parents enrolled me in the local recreation department's soccer program. My nephew and little brother were both enrolled in the same team as me, so we had tons of fun doing soccer-things together.....like daring each other to eat grass and throwing dirt at each other (the grass tasted weird, if you were wondering.)

I am relatively certain that for the first two seasons I did nothing but dance in circles, pick flowers and sing throughout every practice and game. I seem to remember my Dad lovingly shouting across the field: "Sarah, put down the flower and kick the ball." I am almost positive that I did not listen to him. Because flowers.

Due to my amazing soccer/dancing abilities, my parents also enrolled me in ballet.....where I pretended to crawl on the floor like a lion anytime they played a Lion King song. *ahem*

Eventually I did get serious about playing soccer though. Maybe a little too serious.

 

I want you all to know that my mom has both of these pictures on her fridge. It never fails, anytime we have a large gathering at her house someone has to bring up my face in this picture.

 

Listen guys, the photographer told me to look like a mean, green, soccer-playing machine. So I was a good little girl and did exactly what he told me. I'm good at following orders!  ;)  That phrase also caught on really well too, so I repeated probably a million times that I was a mean, green, soccer-playing machine over the rest of the season.

 

But in all seriousness, my childhood soccer teams hold some of my best memories. It was so awesome to play on a team with both my nephew and my little brother. My Dad and older brother even volunteered as coaches one year, which was awesome. As I grew up and continued playing I discovered my love of running, which led me to my extensive running career throughout middle school and high school. So Dad, I suppose all the money you paid so I could dance and pick flowers on the soccer field was worth it!  ;)

 

And for the record, I still consider myself a mean, green, soccer-playing machine. I just don't wear the pigtails anymore.  :)  

 

“Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow up in your salvation, now that you have tasted that the Lord is good.” ~1 Peter 2:2-3

 

 

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Extreme Over-Sharing

This week has been a truly crazy week for Roman and I. (Prayers are much appreciated for Roman; he’s got some sort of infection and is feeling really bad. Hopefully the antibiotics and the shot he got today from the doctor will start kicking in soon!)

But there are some things that are too funny not to share…..

I walked past an office earlier this afternoon and overheard a snippet of a conversation between two of my co-workers:

“Oh yea, I’ve got to show you that picture of my grandmother’s gallbladder that she had removed….”

……..

:/

O.o

I just…..I just don’t know.

I mean, I know we work together for long hours every day of every week. I know that sometimes our co-workers can start to feel like family. I know that we tend to over-share on things that really need to stay within our own personal lives. But really? Why would anyone ever ever ever want to see a picture of their co-worker’s grandmother’s gallbladder that was surgically removed? And more importantly, why do you have a picture of it on your phone in the first place???

The office world is a strange, strange place. Very strange, indeed.

“In Him you also, when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and believed in Him, were sealed with the promised Holy Spirit, who is the guarantee of our inheritance until we acquire possession of it, to the praise of His glory.” ~Ephesians 1:13-14

Smorgasbord

Is it just me, or is “smorgasbord” a ridiculously strange word?

February is zooming by, but here are some cool things I’ve been reading online that I thought was worth a second mention (some of them have already been posted to my personal Facebook page.)

I have quite a few friends that are getting ready to get married. I’ve talked a lot on here about how beautiful yet difficult marriage can be, but this article said some things that I haven’t necessarily said, yet are totally true. I really love her perspective, and whole-heartedly agree with the statements she made at the beginning. It’s definitely worth a read!

I am vehemently against abortion. That’s one of those topics that really strikes a nerve with me. (Quick note: If you have ever had an abortion, you can be forgiven. This is not meant to make you feel ashamed.) Matt Walsh is an amazing blogger that writes fifty times better than me, so I really (really) loved his article, “‘Pro-choicers’: Here’s why you cannot support abortion while opposing puppy murder.” I’ve often wondered myself how people can so aggressively support abortion, while also being vegetarian or petition for whales and stuff like that. Makes. No. Sense.

Something that will always be big on my heart is missions. Going on my mission trip to Peru when I was fifteen rocked my world and forever impacted the way I see poverty. But sometimes, we forget that poverty is right at our back door as well. Kristen’s article, “The Two Questions Every North American Christian Must Ask Themselves” reminded me once again that you do not have to search far to find people that desperately need us to be the hands and feet of Christ.

On a much less serious note, this spoof had me laughing for a really long time. Roman read the first paragraph and said he couldn’t take it anymore, but I read the whole thing and almost died laughing. What was so funny was me and my co-worker were just talking about how it seemed like no one had any writing skills anymore…..even the big-wigs that get paid the big bucks. (Note: not talking about any of my bosses, just America in general.) Right after she left for the day, I stumbled across this article. Perfect timing! And now I'm re-reading this post so that I'm not hypocritical with numerous grammar mistakes.  ;) 

I’ve mentioned a few things that I’m scared of, but I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned the one animal that truly terrifies me. As in, don’t even make me walk close to the enclosure at the zoo because I'm so scared. And that animal would be the crocodile. Something about an animal that hides really well in the water, has enough power to snap your body in two, and likes to finish killing its prey by dragging it under the water and drowning it just gives me the creeps. I seriously have a plan of action on how to get away from one if I ever see it: run as fast as I can until I can get to a tree and then jump in the tree and hide there forever while cry-screaming hysterically. And then I read this article today on Fox News, “Crocodiles are able to Climb Trees, Study Says.”

This is the worst news ever. Now, anytime I’m near a body of water I’m going to have to look up to make sure a crocodile isn’t chilling out on a tree limb waiting to jump down like a ninja and take my arms off. #worstfear

And just a nice reminder to all my dude-readers: Hey guys, Valentine’s day is tomorrow. Be sweet to your ladies, m’kay? Don’t forget!

“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” ~Philippians 4:4-7

The Worst Thing EVER

If you’re friends with me on Facebook, then you probably saw my status a couple of week ago. If you’re not friends with me on Facebook, then you probably should be here is what I posted:

“Just got bit by a weird spider whose bite stung like fire. Prayers that I do not die or lose a finger are greatly appreciated. My greatest fear has become a reality today. #iHATEspiders”

Because I know all of you are deeply concerned about this horrific incident and desire to know every detail, I decided to accept your over-sharing request and get you all the terrifying specifics.

What kind of spider was it?

No idea. But here’s a picture of it all smushed up:

I tried doing a quick Google search to see if it was a popular poison one, but no such luck. I did save it in a plastic bag though, so if my finger starts to rot off I can take it to the doctor and they’ll know what it is.

Speaking of which, how is my finger?

Good, so far. It stayed swollen for a good week and up until a few days ago you could see a red dot where it bit me. But now, you can barely see it and the swelling is gone. Still not throwing the smushed up spider away though…..not until it is 100% gone.

How did I get bit?

I was washing dishes and apparently the tiny demon was hiding on the bottom of a bowl. I was placing the bowl in the sink when it suddenly felt like my finger was getting burned off I got stung by a bee. I threw the bowl down, slammed my hand up against the side of the sink (in order to kill the suspected bee), yelled really loud, and then got Roman to get a piece of ice out of the freezer so I could squeeze it against my finger. It wasn’t until I finished whining about how bad it hurt that I realized it wasn’t a bee, but a spider. Actually, first I thought it was a bee, then we thought it was some sort of bug, then we realized that the dead bug in the sink had eight legs which meant it was a spider. Then I freaked out. Then I got some Benadryl cream and slathered it on there. Then I proceeded to complain for the next ten minutes until it finally stopped burning.

How much more do I hate spiders?

A lot. I’ve had two nightmares now where the spiders were following me around the house. Every room I walked in there was a spider on the wall. It was terrible. TERRIBLE, I tell you!

Have I washed any more dishes?

Absolutely not. I’m still too traumatized. I may claim emotional damage and never wash another dish again. Roman, I’m looking at you buddy. Jk, yes, I’ve washed dishes. Carefully. Very carefully.  

Have I turned into spider woman yet?

Not yet, but I’m remaining hopeful. I’m thinking about testing out my jumping skills pretty soon because I think by now the poison should be good and sunk in. Maybe try jumping off the couch? Off the bed? Off the kitchen counter? Off the porch?

"The fear of the Lord is clean, enduring forever; the rules of the Lord are true, and righteous altogether." ~Psalm 19:9

Shopping Weirdness

Today was my first day back to work after four furlough days, a week long vacation, and then Columbus Day. Dear mister Columbus, thank you for sailing the ocean blue and giving me a day off work. That is all. Dear Congress, thanks for nothing. I lost $537 out of my check last week because of you.

Ahem.

I had every intention of writing this post on my lunch break, but my first day back after two weeks away was kind of like throwing a marriage party for a tornado in a tiny room. See? I'm even writing terrible metaphors because my brain stopped working three hours ago. ANYWAYS, I wound up leaving for lunch because sometimes it is a good idea to step away from the chaos. So here I am at 5:30-ish in the afternoon with a *very* funny story from last week. Well, I think it's funny. If you don't think it's funny, just be gentle and give me a courtesy laugh.

So last week we did a little shopping. We heard of this A-mazing store called Gabriels and decided to check it out. Basically, take a store like T.J. Maxx and make it three times bigger and fill it with cooler, cheaper stuff that is better organized and doesn't smell funny, and you have Gabriels. I think we spent at least two hours in there. Maybe not. I don't know because I was in a time warp surrounded by two dollar shirts that actually fit and lots of cheap jewelry. I am relatively certain I lost track of what day it was.

I'm walking through their home-y stuff and marveling at all the different ways I could decorate my house, when I pass by a row with a young woman pushing a buggy. While she was shopping, she was also talking on her cell phone. I managed to walk by at an excellent time and managed to overhear this "jewel" of the conversation:

"Guess what??!?!?? I talked to my lawyer today. They wound up dropping one of my charges, so now I'm facing only one felony instead of two! Isn't that awesome!??"



:D

:/

:(

O.o



People, generally speaking, it is not good to talk about how many felonies you are facing while shopping. I don't know, it might, like, be sort of weird if an innocent blonde girl overhears you and then shared it on her blog.  O.o

I think I'll go eat some ice cream now.

Smart Things People Say

I know I've posted before on a certain co-worker who enjoys calling 1-800 numbers every day. Well, that post was written over eight months ago, so allow me to bask in the glory of my wonderfully intelligent co-workersm for a moment.

Please understand, I love people. I love my co-workers. But sometimes they can say some pretty dumb stuff. (And yes, I realize that I can be that person sometimes too.) Then there are others that kind of make you turn your head sideways and wonder where their brain ran off to and if it plans on ever returning.

Case in point:

My workplace has decided to replace the sinks with automatic faucets in an effort to "conserve water and be more sanitary." Read: it's the end of the fiscal year and somebody has some extra money they need to spend. Anyways, they started with our training office before making their way to my building. While attending training last week, a certain fellow employee made the following comment to me, "Don't put your purse in the sink, it'll get wet. Everything that goes in that sink gets wet."

O.o   Huh???

In my past experiences, sinks are used to wash things....with WATER. So in their natural environment, they generally are a little wet.

I of course just politely nodded my head and thanked her for the warning. I then promptly wrote a Facebook status about the incident.

To make things worse, a few days later I was back at my building using the restroom when the same employee entered the bathroom with a friend. "Oh no, they've installed the automatic faucets in this bathroom too. Now I won't be able to put my purse in the sink in here either. You better make sure you don't put yours in there, it'll get wet." 

Please understand that it took every ounce of my self-control to keep my reaction at an unhearable level. I then exited the bathroom and then wrote another Facebook status. Also, please know that the bathroom counters in our bathroom are ridiculously large, so it's not like you would require more space for your purse to sit. Unless of course, your purse is the size of a school bus.

What I really want to know is, why would it ever be a good idea to put your purse in the sink? I understand what this woman was saying, because you can't put anything in front of the sensor because then the sink would come on. So placing your purse in the sink would activate the sensor thereby causing your purse to fill with water and flood out your make-up. But still, even with a manual sink, the bottom of it is still wet (and kind of gross sometimes.) Does she typicall wipe out the inside of the sink so she can put her purse in it? Does she have an empty sink at home that she keeps her purse in next to the front door? Are purse-holding sinks a new design fad I am unaware of? Is there ever an item that you can place in the sink that does not get wet? Water repelling purses? Rapid drying purses?

Maybe I'm just reading into this a little too much. MAYBE.

Perhaps there is a 1-800 number I can call about this new phenomenon of wet sinks. I'm sure my other co-worker would know.

"For the Lord gives skillful and godly wisdom; from His mouth come knowledge and understanding."  ~Proverbs 2:6

Weekend Warriors

Let me tell you, I am very fortunate to have married a man who cuts the grass. Because I totally HATE cutting grass. But y'all, I'm concerned about my husband's love relationship with his new lawn mower.

Meet Larry the Lawn Mower: 

Larry was given to us by some good friends. He's an older guy, and he's definitely not the prettiest, but he runs and cuts grass and that's all we need. Notice the blade guard fashioned out of license plates.....

 Also notice the lack of engine cover.....

Unfortunately, Larry was not quite in working order when we first got him, so Roman had to do some work on him before he started working properly. As in, until recently he could only turn one direction, so Roman had to cut the grass in crop circles. Pretty funny to me, pretty aggravating to my OCD-with-yard-stuff husband. So for a few days my garage had stuff like this in it.....

Y'all. Roman stayed out there until ten-o'clock one night working on the lawn mower. In his words, I have no idea how awful it is for a man to have to borrow another man's lawn mower because his is broke. And I have no idea how awesome it feel to have my own lawn mower. I guess this is one of those "differences between gender" things, because I would love to never own a lawn mower so that I would never have to cut the grass.

But after a few parts and a few hours of tinkering, my husband excitedly entered the house and declared that the repairs were complete and he was about to cut his grass for the very first time in our married life with his very own lawn mower.  A true declaration of manhood, to be sure. Here he is, living it up.

I will keep you all posted on the creepy love status of my husband and Larry the Lawn Mower. In the meantime, I'm just excited that I don't have to cut the grass. And that we no longer have crop circles in our front yard.

Progress folks, progress.

"The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of our God endures forever." ~Isaiah 40:8

The Tale of Ms. Lauren

Meet Lauren.

I normally over-share about Duke, but rarely about this *ahem* darling kitty of ours. My friend calls her the "oil spill kitty". I call her a muskrat.

I am fairly sure she at least a cousin to a muskrat. 

Guys. I know all cats are kind of weird, but this cat goes a little bit beyond the general cat-weirdness. For one, she actually looks like a muskrat. You can't really see it in any of the pictures I have of her, but her body is really chunky, and her legs are really short. This gives her a general muskratty appearance.

This also impairs her from doing normal cat-like things. 

Take jumping for instance. Sometimes she is able to jump on top of the cabinets. Sometimes she halfway makes it and then falls down. Sometimes she runs really fast and forgets to jump at all and just headbutts the cabinet. 

She's just really really weird.

For the past several weeks, she has spent most of her waking hours staring out one of the windows in our bedroom. 

Our house has plenty of windows, but apparently this one has suddenly become special. When I wake up in the morning, she is there. When I come home from work, she is there. 

We thought she was staring at a tree that was growing out of the bush right in front of that window, but Roman cut it down over a week ago. And she is still sitting there. She's probably sitting there as I write this post. 

I'm telling you guys, when my mom rescued her out of our barn when she was just a tiny kitten, I'm certain that she suffered brain damage from malnutrition. I just wish I had known that I was adopting a muskrat. A muskrat that should spend her time staring out of one window and shedding a bucket of fur every day all over my house. A muskrat that would eat the heads off of roaches and leave the rest of them on my floor during the night. A muskrat that never wanted to be petted, but wanted to gnaw on your fingers and toes instead. 

I'm telling you guys, she goes beyond the general level of cat-weirdness. Even Duke doesn't want to chase her. Oh, and did I mention that she likes to chew on his dog toys? (see above)

Weird. Really weird. 

"A glad heart makes a cheerful face, but by sorrow of heart the spirit is crushed." ~Proverbs 15:13

Creepy Crawly

I hate creepy crawly things. Snakes. Spiders. Alligators. The entire bug species. Except caterpillars, those are pretty cool….only because they turn into butterflies. But there is one particular bug that has earned my particular hatred.

Roaches.

I hate them. I hate them more than anything. I pray all the time that God would simultaneously kill every single roach on this planet in the most awful way He can think of. I think He doesn’t because He likes to laugh at the funny dance I do every time I see one.

I’ve always hated roaches, but after my incident at our first home my hatred increased. We were living in a trailer (read: really hard to keep roaches out of them), and we were having some issues with roaches in our cabinets. One day while Roman was at work, I decided it would be a good idea to clean out the cabinets in the kitchen island and give it a good spray with some roach killer. I drug everything out and washed everything and got ready to spray. I was really excited because so far I had not seen one single roach.

That’s because they were lying in wait for me.

I stuck the spray can inside the cabinet, pointed it at the upper corners and pressed the trigger.

When I say that the next ten minutes were the worst ten minutes of my entire life, I am not joking. They were worse than any illness I’ve ever had. They were worse than any migraine. They were worse than any tragedy I’ve had to endure. The. Worst. At least fifty roaches came pouring out of every opening in my cabinet. They were flying at my face. They were crawling on me. I am 100% certain my neighbors probably thought I was getting violently murdered, because I was screaming louder than I’ve ever screamed before. Seriously guys, I’ve had nightmares since then. It was AWFUL. Roman was at work, so I called my parent’s house. My dad answered the phone to his daughter sobbing on the phone about how much she hated trailers and roaches and living next to the woods and summer time and how she was going to live in her car where it was safe. When he finally understood what I was talking about, he drove to my house with some heavy duty bug killer and caulk. He spent the next two hours sealing up the cabinets and killing every roach he could find. I have the best dad ever.

I tell you that lovely little tale so you can have a very deep appreciation for my roach hatred. And to ask if there are support groups for traumatizing roach event victims. The bad thing is Roman hates roaches just as much as I do. So every time we find one in our house, the conversation goes something like this:

Roman: I killed the last one. Your turn.

Sarah: I can’t do it.

Roman: It’s your turn.

Sarah: No really, I can’t do it. Please kill it.

Roman: You.

Sarah: You.

Roman: Please???!??

Sarah: No you. PLEASE.

(I normally win, because I have the best husband ever.)

Two nights ago, Roman and I were lying in bed right next to each other talking about our day as we got ready to go to sleep.

Sarah: What was that?

Roman: What?

Sarah: It felt like a bug.

Roman: Now I feel it too. It does feel like a bug.

*move covers around, feel around bed sheets*

Sarah: Maybe it was just the pillow case or something.

So last night Roman was in the shower and I was catching up on some reading while I was lying in bed. All of a sudden, it felt like there a bug crawling along my arm. Naturally, I freaked out because the edge of the pillow case was obviously not down by my hand.

Y’all. It was a roach. I SLEPT WITH A ROACH TWO NIGHTS AGO.

I immediately ran to the closet and grabbed a shoe and when I came back, it was gone. I spent the next five minutes carefully pulling back the covers while standing in a defensive stance with a sandal in my left hand, praying desperately that God would help me find the worst thing He had ever created. I finally spotted it, and beat the crap out of it. Seriously, I hit it about ten or fifteen times. Because, you know, you can never be too sure about roaches. You have to make sure you kill them real good.

I seriously debated sleeping on the couch last night. I mean, I had a ROACH in my BED. But I finally convinced myself that he was alone and that if I slept on the couch I wouldn’t get much sleep and that I was probably safe. Of course, for the next half hour I tossed and turned because every time a stray hair touched my back I freaked out and flapped my arms around like a chicken.

If any of you actually like roaches, you are no longer my friend. Unless you can deal with the fact that I am on a personal vendetta to kill every single one of them. And don’t tell me that they serve a purpose, because I don’t even care what that purpose may be.

So if you ever come over and find me standing on top of the bed with a sandal in my hand flapping my arms around like a chicken, you’ll know what’s going on.

Seriously, there’s got to be a support group somewhere for this.

“Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: ‘It is Mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.” ~Romans 12:19

TGIF Friday

Thank. God. It's. Furlough. Friday. 

Life in the Casterline household has been hectic at best and slightly chaotic at worst over the past two-ish weeks. I will be the first to say: it stinks not getting paid every Friday, but I totally needed today off.

My washing machine and dryer are busily humming away and I am trying my best to get caught up on all the household stuff that needs to get accomplished.

• Six (!!!) load of laundry
• Dirty dishes
• Grocery shopping
• Balancing the checking account
• Vacuum/Mop
• Clean the bathrooms 

And all the women across America nod in understanding.

What makes the six loads of laundry sound really bad is when I tell you that I stayed up until 1 a.m. Wednesday night doing two "emergency" loads of laundry because my husband was out of socks, and I was out of clean pants and underwear. Lovely. TMI? I'm sorry. 

But sometimes, that's just how life goes. I'm sure you understand, right? Please tell me I'm not the only one who gets behind on housework. Because as much as we would like to say that our houses are Pinterest-worthy clean and tidy and organized and spotless and perfect, I would guess that more than half the time they are anything but. 

But gosh-dern-it my house is going to be clean by the end of today if it's the last thing I do. And then tomorrow afternoon I am going to be a complete bum and maybe go to bed at seven o'clock at night. 

In other news, my dog decided to mark his spot on top of the litter box. Yes, as in, he peed on it. So that was a fun experience to clean up. That's also how I came to the conclusion that I should probably mop my floors today. Nothing reminds you how badly you need to mop your floors than when you have to get down on hands and knees to clean something up.

And all the women across America nod in agreement.

I hope all of you lovely peeps have a great weekend. Word to the wise: get some laundry done. Because two loads of laundry on a Saturday is a lot better than six loads of laundry on a Friday. That sounds like something that should go on a fortune cookie. Ahem. 

Here's to a better weekend (after I dominate my to-do list) and a less hectic week next week (as well as more consistent blogging!).   :)   :)  

"For your Maker is your husband, the Lord of hosts is His name; and the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer, the God of the whole earth He is called."  ~Isaiah 54:5

Warning: My Dog Might Pee On You

I always take Duke running with me. For the most part, he is a good running partner and listens extremely well. So well, that I hardly ever put him on a leash. This way, he’s not forced to stay under my feet, and he can run in a zigzag pattern down the road without pulling my arm off.

When it’s just me and him though, he is really protective of me. We have to walk through the back of my neighbor’s yard to get to the little neighborhood next door. Recently, the neighbors just got a Chihuahua. A really yappy Chihuahua that thinks he’s some hot stuff. Duke does not appreciate this little thing yapping at me, so he does the best thing he can think of to tell the little guy to back off: he marks his spot on everything.

He learned this from a country dog that belonged to our good friends (may he rest in peace). Don’t worry Mater, your spirit lives on every time we cross through our neighbor’s yard.

Duke will always squat like a girl to pee, except when he decides it’s time to get territorial. Then he hikes his leg like a man.

Oh wait, except he never actually pees. He’ll just go around the yard hiking his leg over everything while staring at Mr. Tiny Yappy Dog. “Take that, mister. I just waved my leg over your flower. And your blade of grass. And your owner’s golf cart. And your bush. And your tree. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO NOW, HUH? HUH??”

Ahem.

I feel so protected. NOT. Although I much prefer Duke pretending to be territorial than him actually being territorial. Because if he ate my neighbor’s dog, they probably wouldn’t appreciate it very much.

So to my neighbors: don’t worry. You’re flower garden is not going to die. Neither is your grass. Or your tree. Because my dog isn’t really peeing over all your stuff, he’s just pretending. Oh, and bring your dog inside. He’s annoying for such a tiny thing. Also, I don’t like Chihuahuas.  

“Better a bread crust shared in love than a slab of prime rib served in hate.” ~Proverbs 15:17

WFMW: How to Get Your Husband to Do Stuff

It’s Works for Me Wednesday here at Life with the Casterlines. This is where I share little tidbits of *hopefully* helpful information. And please feel free to leave your own tidbits in the comments! Today’s post focuses on how to -ahem- get your husband to do stuff….

The Problem: My laptop continually freezes up and crashes. Not a good thing when you need it for your ministry or when you’re trying to do a blog post

The Solution: Hubby needs to wipe laptop clean, re-install operating system, and possibly do a dance around a campfire so laptop will continue to work

****Problem persists for over a year….with no Solution****

Step One: Over-exaggerate your reaction every time laptop messes up. If that doesn’t work, proceed to Step Two.

Step Two: Find a $1,200 laptop and request it for your birthday which is coming up in *one month*

Step Three: Explain (again) why the new laptop is needed

Step Four: Watch your laptop get repaired the very next day and admire your handy work.

Done.

This method will work for almost anything that needs to be accomplished. Hubby forgets to change the oil in your car? Start sending him prices for a Mercedes. Need him to give the dog a bath? Dump dirt all over his pillow and blame it on how dirty Fido is. Tired of ironing his clothes? Accidentally burn a hole through his favorite shirt.

Any questions?

;)

Note: This is 100% not-godly behavior and was meant as a joke. Ladies, let’s please not be conning our men into doing all of the housework. But seriously, if it’s been a year and your laptop/car/dishwasher still isn’t working…..well, you have the game plan! Hop to it!

Also Note: Thanks for the fixed laptop, darling!  Xoxoxo

Functioning laptops work for me! :)  :) 

“She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness.” ~Proverbs 31:27

OfficeLyfffe!!!!

Working in a cubicle maze sometimes gets a bad rap, and although I’ll be the first to admit that sometimes the rows of cubicles and their inhabitants can be *ahem* stressful, sometimes it can also be downright funny.

One of my co-workers never wears shoes. I’m pretty sure she takes them off as soon as she gets inside the building. Me and another co-worker like to hum “Ain’t nobody got time fo’ shoes” to the tune of “ain’t nobody got time fo’ dat” every time she walks by.

I swear I heard one of my neighbors bark today. It was like a low growl followed by a “woof”. Promise.

The same barking coworker also wears an eye patch on random days. I sometimes wonder if he actually has eye problems, or if he just likes looking like a pirate. I don’t think that’s fair, because I want to dress up like a pirate too.

Woof!!!

“May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us; establish the work of our hands for us-yes, establish the work of our hands.” ~Psalm 90:17

Caution: Husband in Training

I’m travelling a little bit today, so this post will be super short. I hope you all have a great weekend! :)

My Pastor’s wife once gave me some great advice: “If you can just try to not kill your husband until he turns 30, then I promise you things will get a lot better.” I think that is excellent advice, personally.

I must admit, I married a good one. He is romantic and kind and I rarely have any problems when it comes to helping out on housework and things like that. But you know, just as I am not perfect, he is not perfect, and sometimes I just have to smile and remind myself that if I can hold off on killing him until he reaches thirty, then we should be in pretty good shape, ya know??  ;)

I was reminded of this on Wednesday evening, when I realized that there were a couple of small holes developing around the pockets of my favorite jeans. Now, please understand this: the clothes I buy are generally cheap. I found this pair of jeans at the mall, they were an off-brand and they were on clearance, but they fit AMAZING. So I bought three pairs of them, two in a dark wash and one in a lighter wash, because all women know that good jeans are hard to find. For some reason, the lighter wash fits better than the two dark wash pairs, so I wear that pair A LOT. Like as in, at least two times a week. And I go horse-back riding in them. I even painted in them. I tell you this so that you will understand: I wear this pair of jeans a whole lot and even though I haven’t had them a year yet, I’ve already had Roman patch a hole in the back pocket area once. So when I noticed that there were a couple of small holes developing close to where Roman patched the first hole, I casually turned to him and said something like this: I need you to patch up a couple more holes in these jeans. I’ve got a few more holes developing close to that patch. And that is when I realized that he is still in training.

“Your butt must be getting bigger.”

……..thank you, Roman. Please hold while I go grab a steak knife. Must. Wait. Until. He’s. Thirty.

Men across America: never tell your wife her butt is getting bigger. Also, never follow up that statement by trying to explain yourself: “I mean, it’s getting rounder and more plump. I like it.” Because that also is not wise. I’m just trying to help y’all out here.

“Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave Himself up for her.” ~Ephesians 5:25