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Andrea Mulder-Slater

Andrea Mulder-Slater

Featured on Kelly Market

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by Andrea Mulder-Slater

Just found out... one of my abstracts was featured in Kelly Market!

Have a look here: http://www.kellymarket.com/2011/06/must-haves.html

So excited! No, really.

Art

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Theme images by merrymoonmary

All text (& some images) copyright Andrea Mulder-Slater; Don't take my stuff without attribution

What Can I Draw Today?

My new book!

Popular Right Now

Full Moon Baby

by Andrea Mulder-Slater When I was 8 months pregnant, my husband and I were given the hospital tour. “The maternity ward,” said the nurse in a singsong voice, “is a wonderful place to be.” She showed us the birthing areas, the shower room and the nurses’ station, complete with flowers and chocolate bon-bons on the counter top. “It’s never very busy here,” she continued, “so you are pretty much guaranteed a private room and that way, mom, baby and daddy can stay together and be comfortable.” Reality is such a bitch. I went into labour on Monday afternoon. My daughter was born on Wednesday night. I don’t fancy doing anything that feels good for longer than one, maybe two hours – tops, so needless to say, being in labour for 48 hours was not on my bucket list. By the time it was over, everyone involved was elated, and exhausted. My parents – now proud grandparents - drove home to their beds while Geoff, the newborn and I were taken to our room – a

Calcium pills should never be swallowed at night

by Andrea Mulder-Slater Lately, between the full moon , Tim Roth and the endless stream of creative thoughts and dark imaginings that regularly occupy my mind, sleeping has been near impossible. For more than a week I've been working on five or six hours at best - when I'm lucky. This wouldn't be an issue except for the fact that when I get less than eight to thirteen hours of rest a night , I become paranoid and obsessive... far more than usual. To be clear, it's not that I can't sleep. I just can't sleep at night - or, when it's appropriate to sleep. Case in point. We were driving back from the city (Jan and the 3 year old in the backseat, Geoff and I in the front, a thousand pounds of hardwood for the new house in the truck bed) when I conked out - head titled back, mouth wide open - right in the middle of a conversation with Geoff - who was (fortunately) in the driver's seat. Could've been a far more eventful trip had our seating position

Novocaine - fun. Metal probes - not fun.

by Andrea Mulder-Slater My dentist looks like a big screen film star. His teeth make a "ting" sound and light shoots out of his mouth when he smiles - just like in the movies. Okay, maybe I just imagined that last part. Either way, I prefer to see as little of my mouth doc as possible, after having fallen for the " Really, the Novocaine needle will hurt more than the procedure, so let's just skip it, shall we? " trick more than once. Yet, every six months I dutifully make the trek to his office and willingly subject myself to the torture of a teeth cleaning. It's a ritual my husband thinks is borderline masochistic and completely avoidable. He's convinced the dentist tried to kill him once (or twice). His solution? Just don't go. No, not my mouth - but you get the idea... Me : Today is teeth cleaning day. Geoff : That's nice. Me : Don't you feel sorry for me? Geoff : I have to lift and nail 4000 sheets of plywood onto the r

You're dumber than you think

by Andrea Mulder-Slater I drove into town with my mom to do some banking. Because it was after hours, the plan was to use the machine to deposit a cheque and withdraw $200 to pay a guy for doing some work on my husband's truck. It was a simple errand. I went through the doors and walked over to the machine. Holding a cheque in one hand, I reached for the deposit envelope with my other hand. Only, there were no envelopes.

The Intruder

“Lemme out! Lemme out! Let. Me. OUT!!!” My 6-year-old was shrieking as she madly fumbled with her seatbelt in a desperate attempt to flee the vehicle. She, my husband, mother and I, had just returned to our car, parked on a small town street. It was late - past 10pm - and the sounds of the post-symphony gathering we had just departed, covered the damp grass like a blanket. As my husband helped my daughter into her booster seat, my mother spotted something scuttling up one of the black sweaters I had elegantly draped over the front passenger seat headrest (in case of a late July flash-freeze). Because the flickering streetlight on the corner provided a less than satisfying glow, the only opportunities to see inside of the car, were during the brief moments when the doors were ajar. “There,” my mother urged, “A tail.”

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Humour121 Humor119 reasons to feel sorry for me72 animals27 parenting24 health17 it's funny really15 artwork12 Art Education6 homeschooling3

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