Andrea Mulder-Slater

by Andrea Mulder-Slater Dear Immune System, I’m sorry to have to write you this letter. It’s Andrea. Your partner - or landlady - whichever designation makes you happy. Because, immune system, I do want you to be happy. Really, truly deep-in-the-gut happy. This is why for years, I’ve guzzled a green drink. Every. Single. Morning. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that - if given the choice - I would select chocolate covered coffee beans and Doritos for breakfast over liquefied spinach, celery and cucumber (let’s not forget the flax seed). Liquefied vegetables. That’s how much I care about you. And, nothing says I love you like yogurt. Real yogurt. You know, the homemade 24 hour stuff. You do realize that we’re talking about fermented milk, right? FERMENTED. I don’t think I need to bring up the vitamin pills. Or the sleep. Or the exercise. Or the kelp . I did it all for you. Up to now, we’ve had a pretty good relationship. I gave you the best I had and y...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater I was a weird kid. I liked my parents. Although, things did get iffy when I was thirteen and both of them went through a non-stop polyester-pants-wearing phase. But I liked them before that. And after, you know, once they were introduced to denim. When I was in my early twenties, I declared that even if I weren’t related to my mom and dad, I’d still choose to hang out with them. I didn’t find out until years later that this statement made my father so proud, he shared it with damn near everyone he met. It’s been four years since my dad passed away . Unexpected loss. Four years of sliding headfirst into a new normal. Four years of mom, Geoff and I getting used to it. My dad was a tall, handsome, witty and thoughtful man who made an instant impact on everyone he met. He was a teacher – not by trade, but by behavior. He always seemed as though he would have been right at home in ancient Greece, wearing robes and flip-flops as he engaged in discussions wit...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater Geoff and I were passing through the safe streets of a small town near the rural area where we live. That’s when it hit me. “If we lived in Los Angeles, we’d be dead by now.”  Geoff nodded at me from his position in the driver’s seat. He knew immediately what I was talking about. “Or we’d be kidnapped.” I continued, “Or someone would be plotting an invasion of our house. At the very least we’d have a dead body in the trunk.”  Geoff laughed. “If we lived in LA, I’d be the dead body in the trunk – and - I’d still be driving.” Here’s the thing. We’ve been watching a lot of back-to-back crime dramas on Netflix , the majority of which are set in LA. And, if our calculations are correct – going by the approximately 13,214 minutes of footage we’ve seen over the past several months – there are only 4 people still breathing in the city of angels... and two of them are buried alive. In North Hollywood. Another one bites the dust. Meanwhile,...

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. ...