Anatomy of an Instagram Photo…

20180422_122224I have an Instagram account.  Mostly just because I am trying to keep up with the technological world and felt that I should.  I like it.  I am not super active – but I find it fun to post pictures and write little snip-its of what comes to mind to suit the moment or the shot.  I try to keep it real and unpolished.  Recently though, I stumbled into the realisation that I could achieve some cool yoga postures that I have always loved but never thought I would be able to do.  Wooed by excitement and pride – romanced by the setting we were in – and inspired by the knowledge that these accomplishments had come NOT from pressing and forcing but through patience and riding my breath until strength and flexibility came along…I asked my husband to take a photo for me.  Like EVERYONE ON THE PLANET…I chose the nicest one and posted it on my Instagram account.


That was not what my post was about and not what I want to put out to the world.  I don’t want to show my best side, my best angle, my prettiest lines and all my successes!  I want to show my reality!  I want to create connection and a sense of being “OK” by relating the beauty of imperfection.  The joy of navigating a clunky, clumsy ,chaotic existence and the power of self acceptance.  SO…in the name of honesty, humility and above all HUMOUR.  I give you….the anatomy of my Instagram photo.

We begin with ‘‘the approach’‘.  Note how I descend, with all the grace of an arthritic turtle and my sweater apparently tucked partially into my pants.  (At least it’s not my skirt caught in my panty hose – this time! 😉 )


Next I give you “phase one” wherein I attempted to move into position only to realise this was ”my stiff side”.  Note the look of wild disappointment after all my work to get down on the ground!  What did not get caught on camera was the moment when I actually tipped over like a little tea pot because I can not hold my balance on this side. 😀


The third image, now resting on ”my good side” – Oopps!  Glasses…wouldn’t want the world (AKA my 100 or so Instagram followers) to see me like THIS! 😉


Ah…ok…next shot, not sure why he zoomed in – but here you have the glasses free re-entry.  This is me pulling my foot into position before I grip it with my elbow.  Not quite so elegant now am I?


Annnndddd….just hang on a minute…I just gotta’ get my arm way up and back – and as long as I can hook my other hand I will be golden….”


“I’m there!  Ok babe!  Take the shot!  Take it!!  Did ya’ get it??”


“OK, I’m good here, I won’t fall again…try one with me smiling.”


Did you get the back ground?  No?  Babe – It’s all about the shot – one more please!  Get the river in it!”

YA….put THAT on Instagram 🙂

20180422_122224Just keepin’ it real folks.




The Skunking


It all started early one Friday morning (as it typically does). My husband (Eric) was leaving for his week away at work. My children and I were just rallying for the day.  We were all a little rough and ragged, having just gotten through a pretty dramatic bout of stomach upset that started last week at the park and involved a porta’ potty that would never be the same again. (GAG!)  Regardless, we were trying to be chipper – it was Friday after all!

Eric headed out to pack the car and upon opening the front door discovered that our crooked little cat Hiway had been forgotten outside and arrived home SKUNKED. Eric had to be out and gone by 7:30am so there was no discussion, no question of who would be dealing with this.  I groaned, I cursed, we locked poor Hiway in the basement to be dealt with later and we got on with the morning.

Since Trystan was on his way back to school and we were a little nervous about his belly on the bus  I was driving him. Of course we were running late and things were hectic.  By the time I had Trystan to school and Loukah at daycare I had completely forgotten about the little bundle of nasty awaiting me at home.  Walking through the door was like walking through the perfume department in the devil’s department store.  An mystic creature of stink hit my face, then wrapped its tentacles around my throat and crawled up my nose.  “Oh God…the SKuuuunking!!”  I turned on my heel and headed back out.  I hustled to the nearest pet store looking for something to save us all.  To my great delight there was a big bottle marked in bold letters on the first shelf. “SKUNK OFF”.  A clear statement, such confidence.  There was no doubt in my mind with a name like that it HAD to work!  I chatted cheerfully with the lady at the cash thinking I had just solved my dilemma and would soon be on to other more important tasks , like a bubble bath and a cup of coffee!

Once home it took about 20 minutes to capture, and another 20 to thoroughly soak my miserable, squirmy, uncooperative patient.  I don’t know who was more upset about the process but when it ended neither Hiway or I were feeling very snugly. She looked like a drowned rat and smelled indescribably horrible.  I smelled pretty much the same.  It was a confusing sensory experience. A mix of wet cat, skunk and that perfume they sell for preteens.  That kind of chemically floral head-achy stuff!?  Ya’ you know it. It’s generally sold in brightly coloured boxes and features images of teen heartthrobs. I think it’s called – SHOOT ME NOW!

Let me say this.  It’s not because of my experience that this product is automatically junk. Maybe Hiway encountered a particularly repugnant skunk.  Maybe her skunk had been eating cabbage.   I don’t know.  All I know is that for me, SKUNK OFF did not live up to its label. In my experience it basically just redefined my understanding of the word ‘malodorous’.   One could argue it was meant to mask the skunk smell with a more pleasant deodorant type of scent.  Even at that I would have to say EPIC FAIL. Disappointment, sadness, frustration, nausea.  I was feeling it all.

I gave myself a reprieve.  Ever the optimist I decided to give the product some time to “set”.  I felt perhaps it needed time to permeate. I was not a skunking expert after all , they were.  Maybe there was a chemical process that needed to take place!?  Maybe the smell would sort of just dissipate as the product dried!??  Yes, I decided.  YES, I would believe that.  Off I went with hope in my heart and a belief that MAGIC would happen while I got a wash and soak in the tub.

Two shaved legs and only one plucked eyebrow later the phone rang.  Trystan was sick again and needed to be picked up at school. I hopped in the car (looking half surprised) and headed off to gather my wee man who had become quite fevered and was having a lot of throat pain.   Four hours later we emerged from the ER just in time to pick Loukah up and return home.  Knowing I still had a stink giant to slay, and wanting to squeeze a little something good into Friday for the boys, I grabbed the need antibiotics (strep throat), bought some popsicles and promised them both a snuggle and a movie.


We arrived home to find the entire house now smelling of skunk and perfume. I had never realized that a smell could hit you with such force!  It was like a solid mass!  Like, someone was experimenting with chemical weapons in my HOUSE!!  The cat was miserable.  She was skulking around like she was trying to get away from herself. She held her body low to the ground and scuffled the way cats do when you drop a towel over them and they want it off.  Poor pathetic, putrid little beast.  I set the kids up with a show and hit good ole GOOGLE to research skunk solutions.

After carefully considering and sifting through the world of lay and lame internet advice I had decided against anything to do with tomato juice.  I selected the SPCA as a credible source. They said to use vinegar, baking soda and a little dish soap. This made perfect sense to me!  It sounded quite similar to something I had used not long ago to clean the grout between the bathroom tiles and that worked great. I set myself up in the bathroom then brought Hiway in and locked the door.   By this time the kids show had finished and they had taken an interest in the de-skunking process.  They arranged themselves on the bathroom counter as if it was stadium seating. Little did any of us realise the REAL show was just about to begin.

Side note: I should mention that my children had recently entered a phase of brotherhood in which they could fight about ANYTHING, and it came on fast.  Without exaggeration I can tell you, they would be getting ready for bed and start fist fighting over who would kiss the other goodnight first! UGLY.  Tiny demons!

The following is a true account of events as they happened:

In case you’ve never done it, vinegar and baking soda create some pretty impressive fizz when mixed together. It makes a pretty good sound too.  Much like a cat hissing actually. I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what Hiway thought she was hearing as I mixed the formula and began trying to spread it over her. She was frantic! She surely believed she was being overtaken by an angry,invisible adversary!

I embarked on trying to pin my wet, writhing, terrified cat with one hand and with the other hand slather her with hissing vinegar solution.  At first the boys were calling out suggestions and cheering for Mommy as if they were my trainers and this was a paid sports event! Suddenly their attention became focused on the items on the bathroom counter.  They hooked onto the toothbrushes and  got into a debate over who was better at brushing their teeth.  Soon they were pushing and shoving each other.  Hurling the cruel-est of their childhood slurs like “poopy head!” and “butt face!”.  I was trying to get them to stop for fear one would push the other off the counter and get hurt.  It was, of course futile.  They had entered their own world of childhood conflict.  That world nearly impenetrable to mothers voice.  I pulled them down off the counter to mitigate the risk while they solved their dispute “the old fashion way”, and turned my attention back to Hiway, who by now was trying to make her escape through the tiny crack under the bathroom door.  As IF this was my life!?

As I was trying to restrain the cat and act as referee to the poopy head brothers I was mildly aware that the entire scene had taken on the look and feel of a low budget wrestling match. There was yelling, screaming, scratching, and clawing. Vinegar and baking soda froth was being shaken in all directions. It flew in clumps, as if from the mouths of rabid beasts!  The tiles had become wet and we were all sort of sloshing around the room. The cat was not just panting. She was making noises I had never heard before.  I was making the exact SAME sounds!  By the time I was supposed to “rinse” there was nothing left to do but admit defeat. HAVE YOU EVER TRIED TO RINSE A CAT!!!??? Madness.  

I opened the door and freed the beasts (all three of them).  Surrender.

I woke up the next morning to discover a trail of stinky white fluff balls littering the hallway. HiWay’s’ fur was now falling out in clumps. I felt sorry for her, and quite honestly for myself, but there was nothing to do.  She was in hiding and I had two little hooligans to wrangle.  It took a week for her fur to stop falling out.  The entire week she kept bringing me “gifts” as if trying to apologise for her stench. Or maybe they were sacrifices.  Pleas for mercy.  Offered with a hope to stave off any further intervention.  She brought me mouse intestines mostly,  some kidneys I think.  Once a head.  Every day, every time she went out.  Sometimes two in a day! I couldn’t understand how these various prey animals were getting caught!  Couldn’t they smell her coming!?  I was disgusted, but sympathetic.  I couldn’t imagine walking around smelling like that for a week.  Poor little cat.

Thankfully Hiway has never been skunked again since that event.  I must say I have NO idea how I would handle it better or differently.  I DO know that my first experience left me with NO useful insight.  Only EXTREMELY white grout between my bathroom tiles, and a good story.