Andrea Mulder-Slater

by Andrea Mulder-Slater When I was younger, I had a moderately effective way of managing my anxiety. I would find a nice cozy spot, smoke a few Matinee Extra Mild ® Menthols, lie down and have a nap. Then, my high school principal would barge into the second floor girl’s washroom trying to find out who set off the sprinkler system again. Like he didn’t already know. Through the years, I have developed different ways of coping. For one thing, I haven’t smoked a cigarette since September 7, 1990. At 9:57am. Also, my 4-year-old daughter has tracking skills far superior to those of good old Mr. Nielsen. May he rest in peace. Unless he isn’t dead. In which case... awkward. Since becoming a mother, my bathroom retreats typically end prematurely with me hiding in the corner (not so different from high school) while my daughter shouts “Maaaawwwwwwmm! Are you pooping?” as she successfully executes a MacGyver-worthy locksmith move involving pennies, butter knives and a handful of g...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater Life is funny. As in, feet sometimes remind me of giraffes. Also, you never know where one hello will lead. Case in point... Several months ago, Geoff and I were contacted by a Hollywood producer-slash-art director-slash-clearance manager. He was looking for talent and had heard about Geoff's line paintings from a friend of a friend of a friend. You get the idea. One email led to several Google searches, which led to a few phone calls, which led to a pile of paperwork, which eventually led to this: And this... Four paintings (three of mine, one of Geoff's) were shipped off to Hollywood last week, in the hopes that they will be chosen and used as background decoration on film or television sets. Another of Geoff's paintings is scheduled to leave next week. I know, right?! I'm super stoked. Which is Hollywood-speak for excited. And, by the way, if - while you are flipping through channels, or sitting in a popcorn scented ...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater Geoff, the 4 year old and I were sitting in the car, waiting in the parking lot,  while Jantje shopped for snow pants in the store. The air outside was cold. I knew this because my window was down – so I could get a better view of the moonrise. I glanced back at my daughter who was busy tracing virtual letters with her fingers. “Can I have the ipod?” I asked. “ Sure ,” my little one chirped as she handed me the first real handheld smart device our family has ever owned. Well, the second, if you count the painfully large electronic organizer I carted around with me in my twenties. It was black, had lots of tiny buttons (despite it’s gargantuan size) and had just enough memory to hold four, maybe five addresses. Six if you left out the postal codes. It was the perfect match for my Motorola bag phone – you know, the one with the curly cord.   It was the 90s. I was awesome. Obviously. As I took a few photos of the bright yellow ball hanging lo...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater Christmas is just a few days away and, well here's the thing. I didn't get you a gift. I started to do some baking but after making several batches of cookies for my neighbors, I ran out of cinnamon and honestly, going to the supermarket to buy more is just hard. Here for you instead is a list of my most read posts from 2012. By most read, I mean that they were viewed by more people than you might find in a grocery store. On a Saturday.   Except for this one particular Publix in Tallahassee. A LOT of people shop there. Enjoy. Maybe? And Merry Christmas. Everyone. Also, I lied. I did get you something. It's at the bottom of this list. You're welcome. How to out-crazy a school bus bully Cozy up while I explain how apeshit is way worse than batshit. Is that a stye in your eye or are you flirting with me Where my eye took a leave of absence from my head. Tampons are not toys Seriously. They aren't. What kind of parent are you an...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater It was supposed to be an enjoyable afternoon of crafting. The 4 year old and I decided to make homemade play dough – as we so often do. The ingredients are few: water, salt, flour, cream of tartar and oil, with a touch of food coloring thrown in for fun. The play dough making process goes a little something like this: Me :   Ok, now pour in the salt. Careful – don’t touch the pan. The pan is hot. Don’t touch the pan! The 4 year old : Ok mommy. I won’t touch it. Me : Perfect, now pour in the flour. The pan is hot. Don’t touch the pan! The 4 year old : I won’t touch the pan. And on it goes. Until I burn my hand on the hot pan and my girl eats a handful of salt, hoping it might taste like sugar. There are times when I look at the wise little person before me and see the mature grown up she will soon become. Then, there are times that send me hurtling head first into the imaginary corner of my mind where bluebirds sing, ladybugs da...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater When I'm not busy trying to be funny, I'm busy making art. Which reminds me... I have two little paintings (8" x 8") currently available for sale (hint, hint) on Etsy. Where the River Meets the Sea is an acrylic on canvas painting of the mouth of a river. The actual location is where the St. Croix River meets St. Andrews Harbour - Passamaquoddy Bay (part of the Bay of Fundy) in St. Andrews by-the-Sea. It can be yours for just $60. I know, right?! http://www.etsy.com/listing/116429849/where-the-river-meets-the-sea-acrylic Moody Weathered Lighthouse is an acrylic on canvas painting of a lighthouse. A really old lighthouse. The actualbuilding  is Pendlebury Light in St. Andrews by-the-Sea - prior to restoration. It too is only $60. What a steal. Seriously. http://www.etsy.com/listing/116428944/moody-weathered-lighthouse-acrylic?ref=v1_other_2 Thanks for looking. No, really.

by Andrea Mulder-Slater In the time it took for me to wrestle a Brazil nut out of its shell, my three-year-old daughter stealthily transported 7 rolls of toilet paper from the bathroom to the living room.  When I pulled myself away from the nutcracker, it was too late. She had created a pathway of "wipe-away" in the living room, around the corner and down the hall. She even used tape. The amazing thing was that all of this had taken place, in a matter of mere minutes. It was highly creative – and really, I couldn’t bring myself to scold her for such an imaginative performance. Instead, I let her continue to play – to see what else developed. After the path, the toilet paper morphed into a dog named Max. Later, it became ribbon “like the ballerinas use”. Eventually, my daughter became a orchestra conductor - throwing Charmin shreds in the air with gusto, while singing the Wonderpets theme song.  I was reminded of when I was a kid and my parents and I flew out t...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater So I was sorting through some boxes today and came across one of my mom's old go-to guides. The book is called "Your Freezer and You" and it contains tips and suggestions on how to properly handle and freeze your groceries. It was written in 1974, which might explain the publisher’s cavalier approach to food safety. I mean, just look at the cover. Do you notice anything - oh, I don't know - unsafe? Here's a hint, or two... Muffins and apples are touching a piece of RAW STEAK. And, oh hey. Look at the loaf of bread situated on top of a BLOODY ROAST. And what is that round thing under the strawberries? Shrimp pie? Please let it be apple. Nevermind. Whatever it is, it's in contact with the uncooked meat too. Of course - as Jantje pointed out - this book was printed during the days when folks didn't think twice about sticking raw ground beef in their mouths to see if more spices were needed for the burgers. Raw eggs we...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater Geoff and I were in Paris. It was getting late and we were hungry so we decided to venture one street over from our hotel to the Champs - Élysées because someone told us that the Champs - Élysées is where everything happens in Paris. Also, it is the street where vacationing pedestrians provide motorists with comic relief. I've heard. It was early November – slightly cool but mild enough for lightweight jackets. Still, we walked quickly so as not to catch a chill. The street was busy and in spite of the late hour, there were people all over the place and every shop and restaurant was open. As we walked along the sidewalk, we came upon a particularly large crowd. Because I am paranoid cautious, my first instinct was to run as thoughts of murders, robberies and rumbles (yes, rumbles) entered my brain.  The Champs - Élysées - but not on that night because on that night we had no camera. Or common sense. Geoff explained to me that ...

This is kind of like a sequel to my previous post about boobs . That is, if my posts were movies and I was an actor – or a producer or a screenwriter. Which I’m not. But I do have boobs. This is relevant.  I’m the first to admit that my body is not what it used to be, y’know, before the giant baby. That and the getting older. And possibly the consumption of massive amounts of chocolate. Whichever. Either way, I’m 20 pounds heavier today than I was in college. This is not entirely a bad thing considering that back then, I was once mistaken for a feather that had fallen off of a 3rd year jewelry student’s boa. Drinking coffee nonstop and eating nothing but dry popcorn will do that to a girl. My friend Sharon agrees. She too followed the supermodel waif diet back in the day. Caffeine and air with a side of nicotine. What were we thinking? Not much, because as it turns out, the brain requires fat in order to function properly. This might explain several of my choices during the 90s. ...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater I first saw the word babymoon printed in a guilty-pleasure - trashy magazine - along with photographs of a bikini-clad celebrity gallivanting in the sand during a pre-labor getaway with her pelvic affiliate and her diminutive ankles. It's kind of hard to ignore the concept, what with circulars like this shoved in every other newspaper.    But here's the thing. The babymoon trend has me feeling completely unconvinced. I’ll be honest here. When I was pregnant, the furthest thing from my mind was cherishing together time while experiencing a romantic fling on the beach - or anywhere for that matter. Reason being,  I was far too busy working out the logistics of ejecting a small-but-mighty organism through a part of my body I hadn’t been able to get a clear visual on for months. Between my ever-expanding feet, my wildly indiscreet chest and my puffy reality-television-star pout, I was more concerned with just trying to appear human while...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater Yesterday I called my local Walmart store to see if it was open. Walmart is always open, just like gas stations, amazon.com and that guy named Slippy who sells acetaminophen at cost. Still, I felt the need to call because I am philosophically skeptical. Unlike Slippy. I held the phone to my ear. There was no ring – only some muffled noises somewhat reminiscent of the sound a cocker spaniel makes when he licks a goldfish. I’m only guessing here. As so often happens to me, I was dialing out, while - at the exact moment -  someone else was doing the same. Only, the man on the other end was not aware of this phenomenon and instead thought I was his wife. Or God. Whichever. I on the other hand, grew up in the country - with a party line - so hearing confused strangers on my telephone line is nothing new to me. ME : Hello? Is anyone there? Voice : Margaret? Is that you? ME : Are you at Walmart? Voice : How did you know I was at Walmart? ME : ...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater My husband and I were in London, waiting to board the Eurostar train to Paris. We were happy to sit - after making it through customs - and with the pause had a chance to scan our travel mates. Some were sleeping. Others were reading newspapers. A few were deep in conversation with imaginary cats. One gentleman in particular was doing all three at once. My husband offered to get me a snack in an effort to help ease my fears of traveling deep beneath the English Channel with potentially delusional companions. He returned within seconds. "Show me our tickets," he hissed. " Why?" I questioned, " Are we at the wrong station? Did we come on the wrong day? Are we going to train jail?" " Just show them to me, will ya?" I did, and from there, our trip took an exciting turn. We had First Class tickets, which meant we would be fed during our journey and possibly secluded from the masses. Wh...