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Showing posts from 2012

Smart and Snazzy DIY Xmas Crafts- sure to impress your friends!!

As you may well know, I fancy myself quite the little Martha.  Pop over anytime and you'll find DIM (Did It Myself) artwork, DIM draperies, DIM vinyl lettering, DIM floral arrangments, DIM treats, etc...  Upon a second glance, I'm not sure how fond I am of this "DIM" acronym...sounds a bit blond-joke-waiting-to-happen.  No matter, the point is that I enjoy crafty projects and I thought that I would share two of my new holiday faves: Felted Sweater Stockings and the No-Sew Felt Tree Skirt.  Here are directions for both and some pics are to follow once I cut down my fresh pine- another DIM!  The stockings idea came about after I accidentally shrunk the bejeezers out of one of my husband's nice wool sweaters!  Oh well!  Better to re-purpose than throw out! Enjoy and Merry Christmas! _______________________________________________________________________ Easy Felted Christmas Stockings Supplies: 100% Wool, thrift store sweaters (1 per stocking) Dollar

Duggar for a day: the experiment

My boys are good boys...most of the time.  But there are days (we all have them) when I am a mere mouse-click away from posting their pics and profiles on Ebay and auctioning them off to the first nut-job bidder.  To quell my rage and seek advice,  I used to turn to parenting books for solace, guidance and reassurance.  But as I've grown older and lazier,  I have come to realise that reading books requires effort, proper lighting and two hands to hold the book- difficult to do with an aquarium-sized glass of Sauvignon Blanc in my left...and the classy box it dispenses from in my right.  So alas, I have come to rely on the ever-dependable and always hands-free reality television as my guide to becoming a better Mom.  More specifically, I am a disciple of everyone's favourite reproductive dynamos, the Duggars from good ol' Arkansas (as seen 24/7 on TLC). First off, let's just take Jim-Bob Duggar right out of this discussion, because I think it is pretty obvious that

I'll show you a "Real Housewife"!

Maybe it's the full moon, maybe it's hormones, maybe I'm feeling just a bit bitchy today...but you know what?  I am sick to death with the surge in popularity and constant pop-culture bombardment of these ridiculous "Real Housewives" shows.  Um, hello ladies?  Have you looked in the mirror lately?  You are not a friggin' housewife!  You are a wife...with a house (albeit a monstrous mansion)...that's pretty much it.  House + Wife does NOT = Housewife!  Half the time, you're somebody's ex-wife...so you should not even be allowed on the show to begin with.  And do not even go there on the "Real" descriptive in the show title.  Unless the word "Real" is a euphemism for real...ly good plastic surgery, I do not think "Real" is the term I'd use to describe these ladies.  Correction:  Oh wait, further research yields a legal clause in the network's fine print telling me that the term "Real" may indeed be app

Forget April 1st- let's be fools year round!

Recently, I visited my hometown and met up with some friends from "the good ol' days".  You remember the good ol' days don't you?  When the term "responsibility" meant showing up to school on time and paying back the $0.50 you borrowed from a friend to buy an ice cream sandwich from the caf?   In the good ol' days, "time management" meant spending as much time laughing until your cheeks hurt as you did sleeping in.  My friends and I spent hours recalling these times of complete fun and frivolity and I took great pleasure in listening to them recount all of the unnecessarily stupid and hilarious things that I, Kasie, supposedly did for a cheap laugh.  That's when reality hit me in the face like a hot pink can of Aqua Net- I am soooo boring and soooo lame and soooo un-fun now that I have kids and a husband and jobs and carpooling duties and bills and kitty litter and wrinkles and dry hair...in strange places...  I am such a bummer so mu

The Van. The Shame.

Ah, the dreaded minivan. The auto industry's equivalent to sweatpants. Roomy, comfy, non-threatening and generally unflattering to the owner. My parenting mantra was "I will never own a minivan"...and then suddenly I found myself preggers with baby #3 and had to face facts- the only vehicle on the road able to accommodate three car seats was the very beast I had mentally battled for so long. Ugh. This was not going to be good for my image, I worried.  The mere thought of owning a van was tantamount to pulling up next to a studly guy at the lights and seeing that he drives a red Mazda Miata- strangely repulsive.  somebody shoot me... But what choice did I have?  So I went van shopping.  Entering the dealership, my stomach turned as I shuffled into the purveyors of these "sweatpants on wheels".  Did I mention that I do not even own sweatpants?  This was all so tremendously unsavory to me on a core level. But those who owned vans swore by them. So it was eit