Whiskey Jac

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D: January 20, 2012

Filed under: gone mental,Uncategorized — whiskeyjac @ 2:30 pm


Was anyone else afraid, when they were kids, of the sun going nuts and roasting us all alive? It was on regular rotation during the quiet hours I spent in bed, thinking of all the many horrible ways in which I or everyone I loved might die.

So, I mean, this is cool it’s really interesting. But I’m kind of uneasy, hearing about it! Hahhhh, ha… heh. Yeah, I still can’t laugh about it.


Gifted August 9, 2011

Filed under: assholes,gone mental,Help,My Child Is Terrifying — whiskeyjac @ 3:30 am

A few days ago Stephen had kiddo on his lap while I had a bath – they like to watch random youtube videos together. THIS ONE came up, and apparently this is all that she took away from it.


You know all those books and shows about kids having tantrums and the consequences of them? Yeah she watches and reads those, too. And then she quotes them when she flips her shit in the store the next time we’re out.

Quick study.


Emails With Cat June 30, 2011

Filed under: baby2,family,gone mental,My Child Is Terrifying — whiskeyjac @ 5:27 pm

Jac says :

hello hope you are feeling better today!

Cat says :

Well good morning. Crazy busy morning. Hope you had a good sleep, yeah so sorry for belly trouble sure makes you want it OUT!!!!! How is bumbleina this morning?

Jac says :

bumble is very good! she stole my shoes right off my feet, then threw her arms in the air and said “I SO GROWN UP!” and also pooped in her little cooking pot. sent you a picture of that, she has been trying to do that for a few days now. ha.
just puttering. going to go to the park later, and we’ve got the hospital tour tonight, i’m kind of excited about that – and not having to put baby to bed 🙂 never not done that before!
the other baby turned, not cross wise today, and i’m feeling much better. 🙂

glad to hear from you i was wondering!

Cat says :

Well I feel so grown up I think I will poop in a pot today too!!


Rant March 24, 2011

Filed under: gone mental,parenting,RANTS,swearing — whiskeyjac @ 5:36 pm

Ok. Words. Tinkle, booboo, wee wee, ouchie, hoohaw… and it grates on me. It’s not just shows, obviously people do this too, and I don’t understand this.

Mystifying. Give the kids some credit.
I have a hard time stomaching giving names to your genitals – Jesus, I see ADULTS doing this – on the covers of magazines there it is : VAJAYJAY.

REALLY. You are a grown woman and you… Really?

Here is where I’m coming from. My parents taught us to say Pitoune for vagina, and Pissette for penis. These words make me *intensely* uncomfortable because I equate that with my parent’s inability to be comfortable teaching us about our bodies. I equate that with the attitude that rubbed off from my mother onto me – that I should be shy and ashamed of my body and never be able to talk about it honestly and freely.

Cat – I LOVE you. I understand. You grew up in the fifties, man. You grew up with that kind of attitude times ten and it’s hard to shake and you did the best that you could – which was way better than a lot of parents can muster. But you can’t deny that you had trouble talking to me about this stuff – and when you did you were always visibly uncomfortable and I knew it from a very young age.

You could call this an “issyoo” complete with air quotes. I’m being honest here, because ok maybe using cutesy name for your genitals or for your kids genitals is harmless. I don’t know, I’m not a psychologist, and I’m talking about my own experience and feelings here. But I think it might be counterproductive. My kid loves to be naked, and at playgroup she’s started noticing dolls and taking their clothes off and then dancing them around in joy – the way she does – because they’re so happy to be naked. Some of the dolls are anatomically correct and it made one of the women there titter and she told Éowyn that it was called something… I can’t remember what. Éowyn thought about it and then came back to me and said “MAMA! Wook issa ___!”

Ok. So… NOW. My kid thinks that a penis is called a ding dong or something. Like… actually thinks that that is what it’s called AND OH MY GOD IT MAKES MY BRAIN HURT. Why… would you even do that? It’s dumb. It’s a penis. And that’s what I told her and that’s what she went off chanting and singing to the baby.

It’s not the biggest fucking deal in the world but it’s a big pet peeve of mine, especially when someone gets her to latch on to some dumb baby word before I can teach her the real thing. Drives. Me. Nuts.


Spring Prep March 21, 2011

Filed under: depression,family,fluff,gone mental,videos,Yard Work and Gardening — whiskeyjac @ 4:53 am

Stephen’s laptop died, and since I have a prepaid phone and all calls coming in or going out cost 25cents a minute we haven’t been able to talk much. I didn’t take the video chats for granted by any means, but yeah they did mean a lot. We got to relax and he got to hear the baby talking – she’s talking a lot more now than when he left, and he didn’t have much time alone with her during our visit and what time he did have was filled with lots of other people and noise and the kid herself was constantly tired and distracted. I feel bad that he’s missing out on stuff. Things are pretty great – the baby is lovey and smart and funny and her sleeping has started to even out again, though she does wake 5 or 6 times a night and need me to go tuck her in, there are no tantrums or sad hysterics or demands that she sleep with me. She’s feeling much better and it shows in her behaviour during the day. She’s able to play on her own a bit more, and she pretends more, she enjoys her time outside more – though she absolutely has not wanted to go to the park – and we have lots of hugs and kisses.

So anyways, we had fun outside today. I’m teaching her how to walk distances – so far going up and down the hill to the plaza is hard on her and on me, but today was much better than the day before. I think partly because I timed it better, and we weren’t gone for so long. She was wanting to crawl on the last hill though, so I know she was having trouble because she’s tired. Well… That’s ok, I mean. She has to learn to listen and she needs to get strong, walking won’t hurt her. I’m just not feelin the whole push-the-baby-carriage-the-groceries up the hill thing anymore – and I’m not blaming a big belly or anything. I’m just tired. That 33 pounds less makes a HUGE difference. Now that she realizes that she gets tired on the big walks, it might make her more open to actually sitting IN the carriage again, which would be nice for us both. I don’t mind her walking but she’s been fighting it a lot lately and when she have to get somewhere it’s not ok.

She IS learning. We still argue, and the house is a hurricane tonight, the laundry is all clean but unfolded in mass quantities – but we hug and kiss and dance and go out every day and at least the house is CLEAN whether or not it’s tidy. We started working on the yard again, and it already looks a lot cleaner. I got the water turned back on so I put down a bag of grass seed again, and watered and raked, and planted a flower bed with three kinds of flowers – don’t ask me what kind, I don’t really care – turned over my neglected compost and added some brown materiel, and picked up most of the garbage. I have a huge load that needs to be taken to the dump – Stephen’s job – I have about 5 bags of recycling that need to be taken… somewhere…and the sheds need to be emptied, too. :-/

Well, we’re enjoying what we have and I’m going to bed now! And not worrying about the house cleaning until tomorrow. Fiddle dee dee or what ever. Huzzah.


Day 3 Cabin Fever February 28, 2011

Filed under: depression,gone mental,please?,swearing,videos — whiskeyjac @ 11:15 pm

This has a LOT to do with my shitty inner mood today. I’m not feeling well and the child and I have been stuck inside for 3 days now. Today I was supposed to take her to meet a woman who will be able to look after her for a few hours once a week. Instead, we woke up to this. I can’t fucking walk in that shit. No. No. *I* could walk in that shit. I could walk in that shit just FINE. I can’t take the fucking baby out in that wind and snow and push 40 or 50 lbs of baby and carriage in that shit. That’s what I can’t do.

I better be able to get to that fucking appt tomorrow – even if I DO have to bundle her and put her in the shitty sled we found in the shed. I need milk, I need eggs, I need baby Tylenol, I need a phone card, and I need cash – and I have to walk to the plaza to do that. If I can just. do that much. I will be happy. It’ll be enough.

Please stop snowing. Please. PLEASE.

Ok. Now I’ve had my rant here and on twitter. I’m going to finish my tea and clean up from our morning of indoor FUN FUN FUN and start again.

Yeah we made crowns and she was a princess and I was too, and we danced and made music and played blocks and had tickles and a nice bath and some good picnic food and some tv shows and… I don’t know all the goddamn boring shit we’ve done for the last three days. Can I just be honest? This stuff is boring me to tears. I’ll have fun with it, with her yeah. Sure. It IS fun, it’s great to listen to her and watch her and see how she does things and play. I enjoy that sure. But not when I have to do this for hours, for 3, 4 days back to back. I will never make a child care worker. That sounds like an outer circle of hell to me. Kids all day with the fighting and the arguing and the whining and the reptetitiveness and. Jesus really? REALLY? You’re going to make me argue with you for a fucking HOUR about getting dressed to go to the park? When I’m only doing it so YOU can go to the park? AGAIN WITH THIS SHIT?
Bored. Oh my god, ya’ll, bored. I need a break.

So there you are. That’s the kind of mom I am. I’ll make her a crown sure, I’ll dance with her and make vanilla pudding so we can have a picnic in the middle of the living room with books and a treat, I’ll even do the goddamn arguing for an hour thing just to take her out when all I want to do is sleep. But I’m not. going. to pretend. I like it. Not here, not in the real world, not where she can’t hear me.

Don’t think I’m Suzy Sunshine just for her, though. I held shit together pretty well today – to be honest so did she, no major tantrums or arguing or blow ups – but the whining when I wasn’t quick enough to find her paints got to me and I YELLED right before I found them. And made her cry! Which is always fun for us. I love how I’ll yell “STOP WHINING” and she stops only to cry. That… man. That’s the badge of Great Parenting right there, fuckin A.

That will be a lot easier if she wakes up in a decent mood, but. Hhh. I am not. going to take this out on her.


Bad Dreams and Angry Mama February 5, 2011

Filed under: assholes,depression,gone mental,swearing — whiskeyjac @ 12:16 am

I have vivid dreams. I feel things, I smell things, I taste them. I know backstory. I remember what I dream in minute detail. I have night terrors and I have trouble waking up sometimes – sleep paralysis I think it’s called. I have nightmares – Stephen knows about that shit and he’s really. fucking amazing about being woken up in the night by a semi coherent clingy and freaked out hedgehog. Thanks, buddy.

When I was pregnant the dreams were not dialed down, no. They weren’t any worse but of course they were about baby. Any new parent is going to have questions about competence and shit like that, I think. I had never ever had a kid around me before, never mind a baby. I didn’t know *anything* about them, not even how to hold one. And I had a history of alcoholism – HAVE a history, I have a history and I always WILL have that history and predisposition towards alcohol addiction – of S.I. – or S.H. or S.M. or whatever the fuck you call it. Personally, I call it cutting and so that’s what I’ll say from now on. Self Injury/Harm sounds to tame and poofty and and Self Mutilation still makes me give you the evil eye – I never thought of it as mutilation and I never look at my arms and think they’re ugly or mutilated. They’re scarred, and they’re scarred because I cut. So.
I just basically had a history of being fucked up, taking frequent breaks from reality, of living in squalor with my girlfriend – who I loved but who did nothing good for my mental well being, of being broke and scared and fat and dirty and ugly. Of being depressed and angry and going in and out of the hospital and talking to mental health fuckers who either sucked at what they did, or who couldn’t help me because I wouldn’t let them and didn’t know HOW to, of 2 suicide attempts that landed me in the hospital. That was, and that is, and that always will be my history. That was what my teens were like.

I have to remind myself of that sometimes. I broke up with my GF when I was 19, moved out of our shared apartment and into my own place when I was 20, got a clean job that got me talking to people and learning new things and brought me out of my comforting schlub zone, and yeah – I kept drinking. Sometimes I was bare broke because I drank so much. Sometimes I missed work because I was hungover or just having a day of panic attacks brought on by the drinking. I wasn’t cured, but I was getting better. It took time. There were still panic attacks. Still nightmares and psychotic breaks. Still fuck ups and fights with my parents and fear and loathing. But I was getting better.
When I was 21 I met my husband. We’d been talking online for a long time, and knew each other from when I was younger – 15 or so, and lemme tell you if he initially thought I was an asshole with mental problems, he was right, I was peaking right about then – but we’d both changed. Lots. He didn’t fix me and he didn’t try – he’s not like that, he let me be who I was and deal with my shit. But knowing him, and living with him, and seeing that he saw worth in me – that helped me along, too. We got together December 2006, he moved back to Whitehorse in June 2007, and in December of that year we found out I was pregnant.

I started drinking when I was what – 14? Stealing my parent’s booze. By the time I was 15 I had older friends and money and I was drinking nearly everyday. I’d say the bg problem started then. So it was like, BOOM. After 6 years of heavy drinking and more or less functional alcoholism I was pregnant, I was so happy, and I never even craved the booze for one second of the whole 9 months. Sure, sometimes I wanted a beer. Or I’d have a drag of my friend’s cigarette – I stopped smoking almost immediately but took a drag here and there for the first 3 months – and think “Man, a rum and coke…” but no cravings, no mental itching until it hurt for some booze. HA! The cure for the addiction: pregnancy. I’m a lucky one, I know it isn’t easy for many women.

But the dreams. I had all this behind me. And then the dreams came. The nurses at the hospital – who knew me from my past hospitalizations – wouldn’t let me have the baby. In many dreams, I’d have the baby and it would be whisked away and hidden and I’d get a doll to look after. I remember desperately trying to nurse the doll and failing and being told my baby was being put up for adoption because of my failure. I used to wake up crying and aching and scared. I would dream that the doctors would tell me I wasn’t really pregnant, that I’d dreamed it or forgotten what “real” was again. I’d dream that I’d accidentally leave the baby in the house, that it would start crying and a neighbor would call CPS – so many many times I arrived back home to see my crying baby being loaded into the back of a van REACHING for me, crying until they were sick for me, but not being allowed to touch her or even ride in the back with her. I dreamt of the baby being born with FAS – I saw her being handed to me by very solemn and dark eyed nurses and looking down to see that she had no philtrum. I remember the look on my husband’s face when HE saw. I dreamt that I’d forget about her somewhere – in the car, under the bed, in a closet – and that I’d find her days later, dead, cold, stiff. My fault.

I still have those dreams. Not as often. And they don’t scare me as much. Remembering them and how scared and guilty I was at times really upsets me – I haven’t really thought about those dreams I guess. I’ve joked about them to my husband, I know that. But that was surface – I don’t actually feel flippant about them in the slightest.

So knowing all that now – assuming you’ve read this far – how the fuck do you think it made me feel when I was wheeling around my newborn daughter and someone who “knew” me from back then stopped me in amazement and proclaimed themselves shocked SHOCKED that I was a mother. That I had a baby. One asshole actually asked me if I had custody of her and baby, that fucking broke my heart and made me feel like a cockroach. This bitch who I’d seen messy drunk and high on cocaine while caring for her two young daughters asking me if she was Mine or if I was just allowed to take her for a walk today. Bank tellers who would pat me on the hand patronizingly and tell me how glad they were that I wasn’t “off in my own little world” anymore and that I was taking *such* good care of my daughter.
How the fuck do you think that makes me feel NOW when I’m 25 and have had this happy, sweet, smart, and sassy kid for 2 and a half years and some asshole finds me on facebook and tells me they are AMAZED that I settled down and found someone who fixed me and had a little girl to save me. You fucking patronizing asshole. You didn’t KNOW me then. No one did. You saw the cuts, you saw the drunk, you saw the shaved head and filthy clothes but you did not see the REASON for any of it. You didn’t know what was going on in my head, or what went through it when I fucking fixed myself and made choice after choice that led me HERE to where I am today and not into cirrhosis and destitute kitchen servitude. You don’t know dick shit and you have no fucking right to act like you do – you who came from stable family and money and self-worth. You think people can be fixed because you’ve never had to fix yourself and I’ll be fucked if I’m going to try to explain it to you.

I don’t worry about my kid being taken away from me anymore. I worry about cleaning my house before dinner guests come tomorrow, about how much tv my kid watches, about whether or not the meat will thaw for the lasagne I want to make. Coz I was a fucking kid when that shit was my life. And I’m not a kid anymore. If there are people who judge me based on what I was when I was 15, honestly I have no use for them. I can’t help you. And no. I’m not your friend.