Tuesday, April 28, 2009

My Glow

Many of you asked after viewing my pictures, "Kasie, how did you become so glowingly pale?  Is that something you work hard at or did your sister photoshop the blinding whiteness into your skin."  Okay, so none of you asked it because you're all too nice.  But I know at least half of you (who am I kidding, all of you) were thinking it.  So I will answer that question.  

Yes.  I work very hard at being  pasty.  Reclusiveness is a skill that takes a lot of creative excuses to maintain.  For example, today my husband was taking the kids on a walk and he asked, "Kasie, did you want to come with us?"  

Now, I knew I had a lot of editing to do and what better time to edit than when all four kids and husband are out of the house (a rare occurrence) so I breathed in through my teeth (which added dramatic tension) and said, "Sorry, honey, the swine flu is going around.  Don't want to catch it."


Sunday, April 26, 2009

Before and After


Well, I've been talking about doing it for like a year now.  My long hair was driving me crazy.  Most days it just hung there.  So, I went drastic.  Not only did I cut it, I went dark for the first time in my life.  My sister, Stephanie, took these pics.  She always talks about how she's the "uncreative" sister.  But, uh, hello, she is amazing behind a camera.  I think she's full of creative genius.  

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Hypothetically speaking...

What would you do if this completely and totally made up story happened to you.

Imagine if you will that you took your daughters to go see Hannah Montana the movie, not because you thought the male lead was cute or anything, but because you were a caring mother and knew your daughters would enjoy it. In the same ‘wonderful mother’ attitude you let your darling children pick out some candy. Daughter number two picks gummi bears. You happen to like gummi bears and after devouring all your junior mints (completely hypothetical remember) you lean over and ask your daughter for a few bears. Come to find out, she only likes the clear gummi bears (who knew?) and anything that wasn’t clear she took a few chews of and spit back into the bag. (gross, never mind, you decide you don’t want them after all.)

At the end of the movie you stick the bag of half chewed gummi bears into your purse and promptly forget they are there. (like you do with most things you stick in your purse. Oh, wait you don’t? That’s only me? Well, it’s just a story anyway, so no need to get technical.)

A few days later you walk down the stairs and see your husband sitting on the couch with an empty bag of gummi bears. Having forgotten that your husband has a nose for all things gummi, you didn’t think to warn him about the regurgitated nature of the gummi bears residing in your purse (plus you had forgotten they were there anyway).

“Um, did you eat all those gummi bears?” you ask.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry, did you want some?”

“No, no, not at all. Uh…were they good?”

“Yeah, they were great, thanks.”

At this moment you know you should tell him, but at the same time you think, ‘what’s done is done.’ So my question to you is: Do you tell him?

This isn’t a real scenario remember. I’m just preparing in case something like this ever happens. You can never be too prepared.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

I have the coolest friends

And quite frankly, most of the time I have no idea what I did to deserve them. I sit in my house and practice my hermit-like behavior and am surprised time and again that I have friends at all, let alone the coolest ones. So, my friend Natalie surprised me Saturday by drawing the main character in one of my stories. Check it out here. I love her. I have shamelessly begged to take possession of the drawing and Natalie has agreed to give her to me. Yippee!! I can't wait to frame her and hang her on my wall next to my real life children.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Deep Breath

Sometimes I just have to step away from everything and focus. That was this last week for me. And it was good. I got my second major edit of my book done and now it's time for more waiting. Waiting is beginning to seem easier than it used to, especially because it means taking a break from editing.

In other news, I saw the movie "17 again" tonight starring Zac Efron. It was adorable. The theatre was full of teenagers, but I honestly think this movie was more for those who wonder what it would be like to be 17 again, versus those who actually are 17. And if you happened to grow up in the eighties, it's even more hilarious. I found myself relating to his character a lot (not the whole 'middle aged man who wants to go back to his glory days' thoughts, but his parental concerns and all the funny things he says to the high school kids). I'm not sure the teenagers watching related to Zac as much, but I don't think they minded because they were too busy squealing every time he came onto the screen (I'm not kidding, they really did. They also clapped. [Okay, I was squealing and clapping too, shh.]) Anyway, very cute. Not only funny, but a feel good story as well. I highly recommend it.

Friday, April 10, 2009

I know, I shouldn't laugh

You know, when I was a teenager, there were a lot of things I thought would just magically happen when I became an adult. For example, I thought all adults liked to clean. I thought it was just part of the transformation into adulthood--the desire and propensity to clean instilling themselves into your psyche. Yeah, uh, that never happened. I also thought adults had endless amounts of time. I mean, I was soooo busy as a teenager, but when I was an adult I would sit around more and do boring adult stuff and therefore would be able to devote my time to studying and bettering the world. What was I thinking? I have less time now. And finally, I thought adults had the ability to control their fits of laughter at inappropriate times. Especially during important parenting moments, like the following situation.

My eight year old daughter was wearing my ten year old daughter's shorts (using the excuse of no clean laundry or something of that nature [seriously, who isn't doing the laundry?]). The ten year old upon seeing them, complained, "Mo-om, she's wearing my shorts."

"It's fine. I'll do some laundry later, just let her wear them," I, being the perfect peacemaker, said.

The eight year old chimed in with, "They're so huge they could fit a hippo's bottom."

My ten year old promptly responded, "No wonder why they fit you perfectly."

I know, I know. I should've said, "You will have time to think about how to be nice to your sister while you sit in your room for ten minutes." That's what a responsible adult would've done. But instead, I thought, wow, when did my ten year old learn such good come backs and I laughed. Mom of the year award, right?

Tuesday, April 7, 2009


My ten year old daughter is writing a book. Yes, I have to brag because I am extremely proud. She is 6,000 words in. 6,000 words! That's like twenty pages. What's it about? I have no idea. She won't tell me. Why? Because I won't let her read any of my books. I told her she had to wait until she was thirteen because they're a little more romantic than I want my ten year old reading at the moment. (well, aside from BFF Notebook, which she is reading) So now I'm being punished.

In an effort to find out what her book was about my friend Candi (who she also refuses to tell because of above reason) and I were asking her questions the other day.

"What genre is it?" Candi asked.

She scrunched up her face, "Genre??"

"You know," Candi continued, "is it a mystery, does it take place on a distant planet?"

She shook her head no.

"Is it a fantasy?" I suggested (because I am very partial to fantasy) "Or could it happen in real life?"

"Oh, yes, of course it can happen in real life." Her tone implied 'duh.' But then she lowered her voice an octave, brought her hands up, and as her fingers danced across the air she added, "If the whole world were magical."

Candi and I laughed. She shrugged her shoulders as if to say, 'what?'

If the whole world were magical a lot of stuff could happen in real life. I think I like her genre. Real Life Fantasy. My books fall into the same category: Real to me.

Friday, April 3, 2009

Say Ahhh

Dental hygienist=hard job. Why? Well, because not only do they have to deal with yucky teeth and bad breath (not mine, of course, I have perfect teeth and breath like the scent of fresh rainbows), but they have to carry on a witty, one-sided conversation. My dental hygienist is the best at this. While her hands are in my mouth she chatters away, keeping me very entertained. But I have to wonder two things. One, does she really expect me to answer the few questions she asks me? Because she doesn't take the tools out of my mouth after she asks. So, I am stuck with one of two responses, either smiling at her with my eyes, as if to say, 'I completely agree with everything you say and hopefully you are versed in eye smiles to understand this.' Or, starting to talk with tools in my mouth, which is probably less understandable than the eye smile. In fact, yesterday, I started to talk with the sucker thing (yes that's the official name) in my mouth and it literally sucked the words right out. It was the oddest sensation.

The second thing I wondered yesterday at my appointment, happened at the very end. When she was all finished, the dental hygienist pulled out my chart and said, "Just let me take a few notes and then I'll walk you up front," at which point she proceeded to write for a good 3 minutes. When she was done, she quickly flipped the chart closed and smiled at me. I wanted to say, "Uh, what did you just write?" What did she just write? Did she write that the patient became extremely defensive when asked about her flossing habits? Did she write that my breath did not smell of fresh rainbows? Or maybe that I actually tried to answer her questions with the tools in my mouth. I demand to read my chart. (although maybe I shouldn't because then she'd write that in there) But why couldn't she just wait until I was out of the room to write about me?

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

My Other Half

The editing half of me and the creative half of me can not coexist. You see, the creative half of me thinks all my ideas are brilliant, funny, and worth writing. The editing side is self-doubting, critical, and thinks all ideas are ridiculous and laughable. So the editor in me has taken over for the last few weeks and refuses to let me post. I'm dying here. Now please excuse me while I read this post 5 times and cut out all the dumb parts.