Andrea Mulder-Slater

by Andrea Mulder-Slater I was in the kitchen, baking a loaf of artisan bread, while clarifying butter and extruding rigatoni pasta from my noodle machine. Probably. Or, I might have just been drinking a glass of water. Ok so I was only sneaking a handful of chocolate chips but really that’s completely irrelevant to this story. I was in the kitchen. That’s when I saw it. Something small and wild was sitting on the deck, peering in through the sliding glass door. By the time I tiptoed over for a closer look, the long tube of white sped off in hot pursuit of a gust of wind and disappeared around the front of our garage. Me : Are rats white? Geoff : What? Me : Or maybe it was a ferret!? Jan : Maybe WHAT was a ferret? Me : The thing that was just on our porch. It was white and long and fast and… The 5 year old : Is it an animal? Can I keep it?!! Pleeeese?! Geoff : Maybe it was a mink. Me : There are no minks around here. Wait, are there minks around here??  ...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater For those of you following my crow adventure , you may be interested to know that Merle (or Haggard) is back. With a vengeance. We might need some more roadkill...   No, really.

by Andrea Mulder-Slater We were under attack again this morning, this time on Jan's end of the house. THUNK. Tap tap-tap-tap. THUNK. THUNK-THUNK-THUNK. Caw. Caw. Caw. Caw! It began innocuously enough last autumn, with one solitary, emotionally damaged crow hurling himself repeatedly against one of our basement windows. The stunt ended as soon as it began, and so we just chalked it up as one of those peculiar things that only happen to us. Like stalkers in a foreign land , blindness brought on by Omega-3 pills and turtles that move like roadrunners . Fast forward to the winter, when not one, but two crows began taking turns dive-bombing our double paned glass, at 5am. Not long after, I watched them case our house. That’s when I named them. Here’s the thing… Crows are smart. Really freaking smart. I know this because I’ve watched The Nature of Things. Crows can make tools. Tools! In addition, they have remarkable memories and possess the ability to recognize fa...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater I'm presently working on a blog post that is borderline revolting. Not unlike my time in 9th grade. But before I share it with you, I thought I would share something completely unrelated I recently found while digging through old boxes. It's a poem I wrote for my dad's father, when I was 9 years old... and (evidently) enamored with poultry.  Which, now that I think about it, actually makes this poem marginally related to what I'm currently writing. But that's another story... Enjoy! No, really.

by Andrea Mulder-Slater My television is state of the art. Circa 2001. It weighs somewhere in the neighborhood of 100 pounds and has a built in DVD player and a VCR. That’s V ideo C assette R ecorder for those of you born after Charles in Charge was taken off the air. I miss you Buddy. Needless to say, not a lot of TV is watched in our house. It wasn’t always this way, but a few years ago we terminated what had been a long and arduous relationship with our satellite TV provider. It had become a costly alliance and once we discovered that we were spending as much per month on the goggle-box, as it costs to import a unicorn from France, we made the decision to pull the plug on the liaison. The breakup with our entertainment pusher was messy and involved a lot of late-night, long-distance phone calls, tears and heavy breathing. They were upset too. We’ve since filled the gap with three semi-local channels. Also, a Netflix account. As a result, the 5-year old is so u...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater Happy New Year! I don't know about you but I had a pretty exciting 2013 filled with what those who run a lot refer to as "personal bests". For example, I ate a piece of candied sturgeon and didn't spit it out in my napkin. And, I successfully grew out my asymmetrical haircut, made a box of Turtles chocolates last longer than my previous record of two days and went without coffee for 16 hours. Also, my blog was nominated for a Canadian Weblog Award ! http://t.co/83Pa6hZ3ja from @amulderslater has been nominated in the 2013 @CanWeblogAwards ! — Can Weblog Awards (@CanWeblogAwards) October 27, 2013 That alone was pretty cool but then, I discovered I was shortlisted in the Humor category (along with some fantastically witty - and published - authors). Clearly, someone had made a mistake. When the winners were announced, I found out that my blog came in 4th place. Or possibly 5th. But as they say, it was an honor to even be ...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater I have a new friend. You may have met her. In fact, if you’re a woman hurtling through her 40s, then I can pretty much guarantee the two of you have crossed paths - at least once. For me, the first time we encountered one another was at the bookstore. In the children’s section. On a Tuesday. She was wearing a pink feather boa and she flipped her hair in a carefree way as she manically pointed out a young mother with her nursing newborn, cuddling together in the teacup chair. Then, she elbowed me - hard - in the left boob. Not long after, I ran into my new friend at the grocery store. Within minutes, she convinced me I was freezing to death and sent me running to the car to lay down on the seat heaters. From the day my friend and I first met, she has given me nothing but grief. And facial hair. Problem is, I can’t just shake her. She's worse than glitter. My friend is a powerful dame and her omnipotence is enough to give me heart palpitat...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater I’m the first to admit I’m not a perfect mother... I’ve fed my kid no name brand marshmallows. For breakfast. I’ve let her pee down the shower drain on the deck of an upscale hotel pool ( yeah, you knew that was us, didn't you Courtyard Marriott? ). I’ve backed away – quickly - after she wiped her nose on a fake cashmere scarf in a clothing store ( sorry Old Navy, but it's not like you’ve never sneezed ). But none of that really compares to what I did - or rather, what I bought - on Wednesday. I'd like to say that it is totally out of character for me to pay $19.95 for a plastic dog that craps itself. But I'd be lying. Mostly because there was that time I bought my kid a stuffed toy mole with poop on its head . Mind you, that was entirely by accident.  In any case, Doggie Doo - the game - is now at our house and the 5 year old is in love. And why wouldn't she be? It involves a dog, that dumps. If you're not familiar,...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater Traveling is exhausting, partly because ( as you already know ) I am unskilled in the art of packing light and so - much like an Asian Weaver Ant - I inevitably end up hauling 100 times my body weight. Only instead of dead flies, I carry luggage. Most of the time. Also, keeping a 747 in the air by using sheer mind power alone is exceptionally draining for me, especially around hour seven. As is watching each and every passenger. Did that guy ever come back from the restroom? Why is that woman pacing back and forth? Is that the pilot? Why is he back here? Where did Geoff get that croquette? Is that a child drinking whisky or is that just a remarkably petite man? Why does that flight attendant look worried? Is that man watching porn on his iPad? Did he just notice me staring at his lap? Grueling. Still, the holiday happened without a hitch ( except for the obvious ) and so we topped off our 4 weeks overseas with an additional multi day jetlag-fueled fa...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater We were visiting Volendam - a town of around 23,000 - where wooden shoe makers and cheese factories abound. It’s pretty touristy with a good amount of shops selling typical cookie-cutter Dutch knick-knacks like miniature wooden shoes, tiny windmills, carved tulips and ceramic cows that spit koffie melk through their open mouths. As we sat in the back of an open-air café/bar, eating kibbling and drinking koffie, we watched as several tour boats emptied out on the waterfront, delivering eager bodies into the tiny maze-like streets. Later on, our food finished, Geoff wandered and Jan shopped while I stood with the 4 year old admiring the big brown boats. That’s when I noticed a Japanese couple taking turns snapping photographs of one another standing in front of the picturesque harbour. Because I’m a nice girl with poor instincts, I offered to take a picture of the two of them together, using their camera. They looked at me, confused. If not slightl...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater I have a pretty terrific imagination, and by that I mean I can be a wee bit paranoid. It is this innate bent towards suspicion that recently drove me to convince my entire family that we were being followed while visiting a small town in The Netherlands. It all began when, while exiting a shoe store, I passed two smartly dressed men wandering through the narrow streets. I’m a visual person. I notice things. No more than 10 minutes later, I walked into a clothing shop to look at jackets. There again, were the men. The cheese shop, the bakery, the electronics store. The men. At first, I chalked it up to coincidence. But later, when I spotted them right beside my mother, my 4-year-old and I in the supermarket, I began to feel nervous. No, that’s not true. I FREAKED THE F*#K OUT. Me : Psssst . My mother (intrigued): What?! Me :  Don’t look now but I think those men are following us. Mom (believing me immediately): Okay, where are they? Me...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater Geoff, Jan, the 4 year old and I are visiting Holland. It’s the birthplace of both of my parents… a country where everything feels familiar, and most every face I see, is like looking in a mirror. It’s a country where my possibly abnormal devotion to all things black and brown makes perfect sense. Also, you can buy croquettes from vending machines. Croquettes! The shopkeepers address me in Dutch. I nod for a while before realizing I only understand half of what they say, and can only reply in English. I smile and tell them so. They say,   “But you look so Dutch!” It’s a compliment, I think. Which was not so much the case when a boy named Dave used to call me “Dutchie” in high school. Of course, he also called me “Inga, from Sweden”. And sometimes: “that cute but dopey girl”. On second thought, maybe he was flirting with me. I was never very good at picking up on signals, mostly because I was usually too tired to think straight. The thing is...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater There was a major crisis at our house this morning. We’re all okay, but are still reeling from the impact. I’ve since had a chance to regroup and am now able to talk openly about the ordeal. Here’s what happened… I couldn’t find my carry-on luggage. My bag was missing. Gone. For an entire hour and a half. I accused everyone in the house of stealing it. And then, I found it. The thing is, we’re about to embark on a trip that we’ve been planning for almost a year. And as a result, I’ve been impossible to live with. You know, more than usual. Full disclosure. I’m a terrible traveler. Mostly because I’m a wee teensy bit anxious. Case is point: This is me, in the car, at the beginning of a journey… “Did we lock the door?”  “Do I have my wallet?”  “Is there a roll of paper towels in the car?”  “Who has the house keys?”  “Did someone grab that red container I set by the door?”  “Is it sitting upright in the back?”...