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A Moron with a Mouthful of Magic

by Andrea Mulder-Slater

I love the online health food store because where else I can place an order for Vitamins B, C and D while lounging in yoga pants and eating chocolate - snapped into bite-sized pieces because fewer calories – without being judged by 25 year old yogis drinking beet juice behind the counter. These chips are organic Sasha. I'm hurting myself if I don't eat them.

Then there are the random free samples offered at time of checkout.

Once I received a minuscule tube, inside of which was just enough eye cream to moisturize my fingertips. Then there was the tiny bottle of zinc ointment, which - to this day - I still carry around in my purse (because I can’t find it). Not long ago, it was a trial size teeth-whitening system, including magic minty toothpaste. Because I’ve always been curious about people with glow-in-the-dark incisors, this freebie made me a little more excited than usual.

FALLING. YOU'RE DOING IT (and other things) WRONG

by Andrea Mulder-Slater

When I was a kid, I broke my wrists.

A few times.

In fact, I was so good at collecting casts in the emergency room, I once fell and sprained my left wrist while my right arm was wrapped already in plaster.

Falling off a chair, scratching my back while jumping into a pile of leaves and slipping on a pillowcase while running down a hallway are just three of the ways I wounded myself when I was between the ages of 5 and 7.

The Best Damn Gluten-Free Ginger Snaps. Ever.

by Andrea Mulder-Slater


I've been eating (mostly) gluten-free for about four years now. It all started after I had my daughter. During pregnancy, I had three basic cravings: vanilla (steamers, milkshakes, pudding), french fries (McDonald's) and saltine crackers (Premium Plus). In fact, during my first trimester, I gorged myself on anything and everything wheat-based. By the time my baby was born, I was back to eating in a healthy, balanced way. But, I had developed a penchant for breads, cookies and crackers.

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.”

An Open Letter to My Feet

by Andrea Mulder-Slater

Dear feet,

I’m sorry.

I mean, here we are in Florida and there you are, completely and totally naked.

But here’s the thing. I forgot your warm-weather shoes at home. In the closet.

As you know, our exodus from the snow-ravaged north was rushed (what with the back-to-back storms heading our way) and as a result, so many things were left behind. My favourite black Capris, that cute sunhat I ordered online, the poolside read I had picked out specifically for this trip… All of it, forgotten. In the cold.

So here we stand, on this gorgeous salty beach, next to my happily barefoot daughter. Exposed.