#victoryday – Quillan Kelly-Dunn

#freedom, American, Mental Health, PTSD, Trauma, Veterans

FUBAR

November 11, 2021November 13, 2021 quillankellydunn

Have you ever been through something extremely painful or traumatic and thought “I can’t handle this” or “there is no way I am going to make it?”

Perhaps you are dragging yourself through the day, barely keeping your head afloat, and spend the entire day dreaming about the moment your head hits the pillow. Praying sleep will be an escape from the nightmare you are living through.

You somehow get past this pain a little bit each day. Before you know it, you notice that you got through one minute without thinking about it. Eventually, you went one hour or one day without crying. As you keep pushing through the pain, the days turn into weeks, the weeks turn into months, the months turn into years.

You may even find yourself able to mention this event or loss without getting choked up. Hopefully, you are mindful enough to recognize this feat and reflect on it. It could be “I said their name today without tearing up” or “Someone asked me about it and I was able to respond.” 🤯

Eventually, you realize that you somehow survived a traumatic event and just blew your own damn mind.

Peace shows up around the time you have embraced the person you are now. Acceptance of this means that you are now a changed person forever, you cannot change back.

Change, Loss, Pain, and trauma of any kind is difficult.

Obviously some individuals have been through more than others.

As human beings, we have to provide empathy and compassion not only to each other, but to ourselves. This pressure to “get back to normal” after a loss or a traumatic event-only prolongs the process.

We also have to remember that we are not here to judge or compare each other’s pain. Example: “who endured a worse situation.” Or “who deserves special treatment”. Trauma and Loss are not grounds for a competition.

However, there are a precious few who deserve an automatic level of honor, respect, empathy, compassion and an immediate win in the unspoken competition of “who is entitled to special treatment.”

These precious few are not celebrities or professional sports players.

This is a group of individuals who have had to go through MANY of those painful, traumatic events over and over and that most likely took a lifetime to process. Everyday, these “regular” people probably said “I can’t do this. I can’t handle this. How am I going to get through this?”

They did it anyway, for us.

These courageous men & women provided us with an example of the sheer resilience that human beings possess. These resilient members of our society have sacrificed years of their life for our freedom and to serve our country…

VETERANS.

Yesterday, my patriotic side got fired up after I listened to my favorite podcast, Smartless, with guest Tom Hanks.

(This podcast is a comical escape hosted by Sean Hayes, Jason Bateman and Will Arnett. What I enjoy the most about this podcast, is the real, open-ended conversations and the quick-wit of the hosts/guests is captivating. Basically, they all rip on each other whenever they have the opportunity.)

Teacher & Baseball coach-then sent to fight in a War 🤔😢

Anyways, Tom Hanks was asked about his role in Saving Private Ryan and what was the source of his passion and fascination with being a “war guy”. Tom disclosed that during his “formative years every caregiver & adult would make reference to the war as this dividing line” that everyone collectively went through. “Another aspect is that a big chunk of their lives, they had no idea where they were going to be in the next week, month, six months. This was a time loaded with all sorts of problems that we are still dealing with.”

“I’m a schoolteacher. I teach English composition… in this little town called Adley, Pennsylvania. The last eleven years, I’ve been at Thomas Alva Edison High School. I was a coach of the baseball team in the springtime. Back home, I tell people what I do for a living and they think well, now that figures. But over here, it’s a big, a big mystery. So, I guess I’ve changed some. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve changed so much my wife is even going to recognize me, whenever it is that I get back to her. And how I’ll ever be able to tell her about days like today. Ah, Ryan. I don’t know anything about Ryan. I don’t care. The man means nothing to me. It’s just a name. But if… You know if going to Rumelle and finding him so that he can go home. If that earns me the right to get back to my wife, then that’s my mission.
Captain Miller, Tom Hanks: Saving Private Ryan

Will Arnett then points out to Tom Hanks that “What I love about this movie and is that your character is a school teacher, he is just a regular guy NOT a guy born to be a military officer. He had to go to the war, because that is what he had to do. This movie provides reverence for the bravery of these people who did extraordinary things. Captain Miller was an example of one of these regular guys called to do extraordinary things.”

I wrote this In honor of Veteran’s Day, 11/11/21, and “a regular guy that did extraordinary things.” He is the only person that I am privileged to know personally that served in a war. Except he served in a different war and a different time. A time when people were not proud of their veterans. When he arrived home after serving our country, he was treated cathartically. He was humiliated and shamed; he was told to take his uniform off.

Thankfully, on October 27, 2021, he received vindication and a moment of the honor he deserves, through a non-profit organization dedicated to honoring WWII, Korean War & Vietnam War veterans by flying them, all expense-paid, to DC for a day of honor, thanks and dedication.

His wife, children and grandchildren were also able to witness a glimpse of this priceless moment at Midway Airport before he boarded the plane. This beautiful and long-awaited experience was provided through the generosity of http://www.honorflight.org http://www.starsandstripeshonorflight.org.

On this momental Veteran’s day, 11/11/21 and in honor of all the “regular guys called to do extraordinary things” please donate to this brilliant organization to do our part in honoring those who served our country.

To Donate:

https://secured.honorflightchicago.org/np/clients/honorflightchicago/donation.jsp?forwardedFromSecureDomain=1

This listen to the podcast: 👇🏻

https://open.spotify.com/episode/0X7CI0m8VikarcpoRXOSyi?si=KBh5pv4dQGmftVPLwABP-w

The Stocking is Half-Full

December 29, 2020October 12, 2021 quillankellydunn

The biggest fights I had with my mother were about her relentlessly forcing me to watch old movies.
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It was so “unfair”! I wanted to watch “normal” stuff like everyone else. I would fight her to the end.
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I was SO stubborn! I STILL am! Right now, I am gritting my teeth like these defiant toddlers & teens below.👇🏻🤬.🙈

I’m not moving, what you gonna do about it?

I haven’t watched THE BISHOPS WIFE since I was an eye-rolling teenager- too busy scowling to see the magic. Even if I did, I wouldn’t admit it.

To keep from slipping into that Charlie Brown-what-is-Christmas-all-about-depression this year; I needed something bigger than Buddy or the Red Ryder BB gun.

So I made a point to watch The Bishop’s Wife over Christmas weekend, remembering how much my mom loved it.

Watching this movie now at 46, in 2020, was like fuel for the soul.

How did I miss the sweet snowball fight scene? (Or my favorite kid of all time- the young George Bailey—Bobby Anderson). Probably because my mom was trying to tell me to look.

George Bailey I’ll love you til the day I die. (Just don’t tell my mom or I’ll have to kill you,)

I didn’t appreciate the ice skating scene; probably because my mom gushed about it; which in turn made me think it was “dumb”.👇🏻

In pouting and covering my ears, I also missed the story about the shepherd and the empty stocking.🥰🥲😢🤩
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I see it now. I feel it now.🙈👇🏻

White Christmas- I dreaded this one too- “I hate musicals!” is all I would defiantly scream.

My Mom: “You don’t hate musicals. You love Grease, West Side Story, Wizard of Oz, The Sound of Music & Mary Poppins.”

Me: (grrrrrr🤬) “Those aren’t musicals, shut up and don’t talk to me!”

Over the last few years, I finally swallowed my pride and let myself enjoy White Christmas. Fine!

Ok! The songs are kinda catchy. 😜

Who am I kidding? I love all of them. 🙈
I get the true meaning of the story now.

That General Waverly chokes me up every time😢…

I now appreciate the insane dedication, practicing and hard work that went into this movie: the real dancing, the real singing, (not computer generated ) the lighting, and the dresses! Perhaps it’s because we live in lounge wear & jammies now but I never truly noticed THESE outfits!

I mean…who wouldn’t feel sexy AF in this?

I am grateful that my mom is still here for me to tell her THANK YOU for being so annoyingly persistent. It only took 30 years+a quarantine for me to come around.

Read this true story about Irving Berlin. It will break your heart even more about this song, the story and the👇🏻 movie.

https://www.countryliving.com/life/news/amp45720/white-christmas-song-history/

THE ULTIMATE GIFT

This year, I recognized the greatest gift I have ever received. The gift of this knowledge presented itself on Christmas Eve and was about as welcome as Ebenezer’s three spirits.

A old friend casually joked with me “at least you got to believe in Santa Claus.”

I never thought of “believing in Santa” as a gift or that having the “chance” or “opportunity” to believe in Santa Claus was a privilege.

It makes me sad that my friend did not have this opportunity.

I realize now how much effort is put forth into having your child “believe”. Perhaps some parents don’t have the energy, imagination or faith to keep this alive; or maybe some parents do not know how.

The innocence, imagination and simplicity of a child’s mind made the magic of Christmas easy to pull off.

Their excitement over little things made me excited; which in turn made me WANT to make it fun and magical.

The last two years have been opposite for me with two teenagers. I honestly had no clue what to do for them because they are genetically predisposed to be selfish, ungrateful assholes.

The vibe & statements I received from them was, “Christmas isn’t as fun anymore mom, it’s no big deal. It’s okay.”

The message I would give back, “It’s okay kids. I have nothing left to give anyway you life-sucking punks. I am empty.”

Which in turn caused me to NOT WANT to do anything for them this year. I didn’t care.

However, this is the year they needed me to care the most.

Then I remembered what my mom would do. Despite what we said, she would do it anyway. My mom still did everything the same even when we were teenagers and early twenties. She still put presents out from Santa on Christmas morning and put stuffed animals in our stockings despite the eye rolls. It was as if she could still see our inner child; kinda like this commercial.👇🏻https://youtu.be/QJntbYytPz8

She had the ability to be where we were at… yet she still knew what we still wanted; even though we were too stubborn to admit it.

I did what my mom did and I did it anyway. I stayed present with where my kids are.

I had no expectations of them or their reactions. Instead of being mad about their lack of excitement, I rolled with it.

I made my kids wait until after church to open gifts.

I stalled a little longer to finish wrapping gifts for others. Even though “it’s not fun like it was, mom” they may have accidentally displayed some anticipation and a glimmer of childlike-Christmas-morning-glow.

By expecting them to be as they are instead of what I hoped them to be; I was pleasantly surprised by their pleased reactions and gratitude.

It was a beautiful Christmas and my kids were grateful, sweet and thoughtful.

My mother gave me this gift to me…

My mother “showed” me how to “do” Christmas.

Mom, I should just wrap you up and put you under the tree every year because you are truly a gift. 😢☺️

And you were right about everything.🤬😂 (Inner Teen: Thrashing defiantly inside.)

Well, almost everything….

I refuse to stay up til 4am wrapping – that shit is done way ahead of time while kids at school or out with friends. I also learned from this SNL skit to ask for exactly what I want, buy it for myself if I do not get it and to stuff my own stocking!. 😂

#doitanyway, #freedom, #homeschoolingrealshit, Find A Way, parenting struggles

District 2020

August 28, 2020October 6, 2020 quillankellydunn

We had a 13th birthday party for my daughter last week; decided to make it an 8th grade kick off as well. This means we invited the whole class, all genders, hoping the class would possibly get along…together. (This class has not worked since day one.) We also rented a dunk tank assuming this should be a hit; and perhaps they would forget they can’t stand each other😂.

My daughter kept warning me about the boys, she said “Mom, they have no consideration for anyone but themselves.” (Probably repeating what she had heard year after year from the teachers.)

I was getting the yard (arena) ready the night before. I ripped a piece of shipping tape off the side of the pool (kids tried to ghetto-ly hang some rope lights next to the filter. 😂) Suddenly, I feel a sharp, shooting, burning pain on side of my head. I thought for a second I electrocuted myself. Then I see a wasp flying around. I look under pool edge and there is a giant a yellow jacket nest.

I considered spraying it and removing it myself. However, when I googled what to use, it strongly advised not to do this alone. Then found some websites for bee removal services and “Swarm removal.” 😬 (Usually, I would ignorantly underestimate the situation and fearlessly proceed. Then I had a momentary flashback of THE HUNGER GAMES’ tracker jacker scene and….it is 2020.

The hive has probably been there all summer. Adults & kids have been here swimming almost daily; no one saw it or got stung. I email some of these services, receive some prices and then they explain this is a 3 step process that needs to start at dusk .

The party begins in 14 hours, there won’t be time for someone to do all these steps. I hope, pray and assume no one will see the hive. I am then distracted by a past winner, “Haymitch” who graciously drops off a cooler of Gatorade and cookies.

12pm: I notice on my phone the temperature outside is a perfect 84 degrees; I look out the window, not a cloud in the sky. The most perfect day. Despite the temperature on my smart phone, stepping outside is a different story. As I slowly slide the door open, I am hit with a humidity blast that feels like 110 blazing degrees.

I am pouring with sweat setting up the bean bag boxes and volleyball net. I stop to wipe the sweat from my brow that is stinging my eyes. As a stand still, I feel the sun searing through my sun-screened, pale af, freckled, perimenopausal skin.

12:30pm: Most of the “tributes” have arrived. The girls remain on the deck, staring wide-eyed at the boys who are violently shoving each other into the pool and holding each other underwater. The floats are mangled and destroyed within seconds. The girls remain shocked & terrified; unsure if they should enter the pool or get blistered in the sun.

1pm: The dunk tank has been delivered. As I am pulling our hoses to fill the tank, I hear “It’s a Yellowjacket!” “Omg there’s a yellow jacket nest!” “Awesome!!!”

To my horror, all the boys are now surrounding the backside of the pool armed with bean bags, a ball, whiffle bats, and a broom (where the hell did he even find that?) Immediately, I demand they drop their weapons and step away from the hive.

“You guys are going to get stung!“ I exclaim. The boys playfully reply, “No we won’t!” Or “We don’t care!” I try another tactic: “Would you care if I record you and send to your parents?” Most freeze and give that you-wouldn’t-dare-look. I glare back at them👇🏻.

All except one take the bait and retreat. The last is still laughing maniacally as he is shoving the broomstick into the heart of the tracker jackers lair. I remove the broom from the boy, he mopes away with his head down, temporarily defeated.

1:30pm: I witness the girls still standing on the deck with their mouths hanging open. I gently encourage the girls to go in the pool while boys are out. Thankfully, “Peeta” shows up with lunch!

While kids are eating, I hide the “weapons” in the basement. Then I hear a loud, thumping sound. I run outside and see a heckling boy sitting on the dunk tank seat. The boys have already begun throwing balls at the dunk tank target. The Problem is there is only one inch of water in it. I envision a Tom & Jerry episode (pic below).

Before I plummet into debt from a kid requiring extensive dental work or sustaining an injury in the empty tank; I completely over-react with a loud, shrilling, scream. Everyone looks at me, stunned. *Side note: My reaction is amplified due to the dunk tank manual boldly stating SEVERE injury should occur if dunk tank is not full or “damage to the tank will result in responsible parties assuming cost of repair.”😱🙈

👆🏻Me: Visualizing myself having to listen to my husband’s lecture about adulting and “dunk tank repair” is not being financially responsible. 😜

2pm: I regained composure and tell the kids how high the water needs to be in the tank before they can use it. I assured them I have three hoses going and it should be full in 20 minutes. This answer pacified them and the boys retreat back into the pool, while sporadically antagonizing the bees. I notice The grass around the pool is flooded (Tick Tock Tidal Wave).

2:14pm “Someone’s been stung!” I hear repeatedly by numerous girls. (Tick Tock Tracker Jackers)

As I am searching for a sting antidote in my closet, I remember something important from my kids toddler years.. At every playdate, it was chaos the first two hours; then magically the kids started to get along. The kids had to get used to and adjust to having another kid around. Epiphany: That is what is happening now! The two hour mark is in 15 minutes!

Stung tribute…Don’t say I didn’t warn ya kid.

I walk down the stairs and find the entire floor from the back door to the front is soping wet. I am blindsided with a smell of stove gas & wet dog combined with sewage. My daughter is shaking her head at me. I ask her, “For the love of God, what is that smell?” (Tick Tock: Poisonous gas) My daughters glares at me with contempt, that “mom-you’re-so-dumb” look.

“Mom! I told you this would happen! All the boys smashed into the bathroom and locked the door so we couldn’t use it! They don’t wear deodorant! Then one of them took a big dump!” My daughter exclaims.

For once, the Covid mask comes in handy as I cover my nose & mouth. I locked the front & garage door to prevent numerous, wet entries and dried the floor. I tell my daughter, “They are boys, they never hung out with you guys yet. They just need boundaries and limits; it will be okay. If not, they are leaving in 2 hours and we won’t have to do this again.”

“Two more hours of this!? UGH!” She exclaims and stomps away.

2:30pm Some of other boys have now realized that there are girls present. “Effie” shows up to help me (hallefuckinglujah!). We gather them all together to take a group picture. Immediately following the flash, the boys simultaneously charge at the girls, pushing them into the pool. The girls nervously laugh and Effie and I shrug in unison; “At least they are all in the pool together.”

The dunk tank is full. The girls huddle and watch the boys heckle, whips balls at the bullseye and dunk each other. This contained, organized activity has seemed to spark the interest of all parties. The boys surprisingly organize themselves into a line and take turns throwing and being dunked. I overhear one of the more advanced thinkers of the group (who has sisters 😂), “Aren’t we going to let the girls have a turn?”

With two other moms present to supervise, I take this opportunity to escape. I had some lunch, cooled down in the AC and changed my clothes. The fear-induced “hallucinations” begin to subside and I have an epiphany.

My yard is the “arena” and the arena in a CLOCK! Just like in Catching Fire! It’s just a GAME! Stop giving a fuck and just play the game!!!

3pm: I look outside at the “arena”. I see “Effie” & “Peeta” sitting on lounge chairs with their feet up. To my surprise, some of the kids are either playing bean bags together or making a whirlpool. What…the…

Toddler to Teen mindset: Every “play date” takes two hours for the kids to get along.
That’s just the way it is.

Haymitch shows up holding a 6-pack and provides some useful advice. We enjoy some cold, adult beverages as a team. We effin did it! It WORKED! We won!

I have a sip of the “adult elixir” and experience another revelation… “They are just kids! They are supposed to be assholes! It’s our job to teach them to not be! They do not know how to play the game yet! We have to teach them how to play!”

Peeta organized the bean bag tournament. The kids all sat TOGETHER and watched each other play. I couldn’t believe it. Haymitch periodically would make the kids stop and take cleaning breaks. They listened. It was an effin miracle! (A 2020 miracle …pssshhh. No way.)

The four of us are sitting around talking and laughing. Parents are starting to show up to pick up their kids; grateful for the long break from their kids after a five month quarantine.

My daughter whispers in my ear, “Can you text all the parents now before anyone else comes so everyone can stay later?”

“What!? I thought you couldn’t wait until this was over? Remember you were frustrated there was two hours left?” Stay later?!? She’s hallucinating; musta been stung by a tracker jacker. I still almost fall out of my seat.

Daughter: “Well that was before. It’s been SO fun. I never want it to end. Everyone wants to stay.”

“They do?”

“Yep. And…You. were. right. Mom.”

👆🏻HO.LEE.SHIT. Was not expecting that👆🏻Me, Mom…was…right?. Tears of joy welled in my eyes.

I really did win!

😂 #winningmommoment

#freedom, parenting struggles

It’s gonna be…Oh wait… it already is

May 10, 2019April 28, 2022 quillankellydunn

The last few weeks of April are hell for Justin Timberlake. All the memes and jokes flood social media stating that “It’s gonna be May”. (If you’re not familiar with why he hates May-here…

In a *NSYNC song, “It’s gonna be Me”, JT says the word ME in a strange way that sounds like MAY. Despite JT putting himself out there thousands of times and killing it, this one cringey flub consumes all of his massive success and talent every year during the month of May…👈🏻 Here he is, as an adult having to do it…again.

I dread May as JT does, however I have no famous memes to remind me, until it is already here, and then I remember. The end-of-the-year-last-minute chaos with all the school functions smashed into four weeks. When all the sports overlap, the parties and the calendar resembles a Tetris game. This game of a calendar is perfectly “NSYNC” 😉 to remind me on the hour that:

I. AM. A. Fucking. Mess.

I.Cannnot.Do.Anything.Right.As.A.Mom.

Every year it gets worse because the kids become wiser, smarter and catch on to how inadequate at this I really am. They remind me every 6 minutes of something I did not do or they need (Mom, you forgot to give me money for this.) Along with, Can we go here? Can we get this? Can we invite this person over on Friday? (It’s Monday). Following the question drill, I continuously put it back on them. Did do you do your homework? Did you study? Did you brush your teeth? Do you have practice? Do you have a game? Did you wipe your ass?

Daily Banter

Kid: “Mom, I asked you to make me something to eat.”

Me: “Yes and I replied …Can’t you make something yourself?”

Kid: “We have no food.”

Me: “Yes we do.”

Kid: “Like what?”

Me: (Grrrrr) Pizza, chicken strips, PBJ, We have Lunchmeat, make a sandwich. Carrots and hummus, chips and guac, apple or banana with peanut butter, string cheese.”

Kid: “I have that everyday, I had that for lunch.”

Me: “I don’t know what to tell ya, figure it out.”

Kid: “You don’t even care.”

Me: (Blood pressure rising) “This isn’t a restaurant. You eat what we have in the house.”

Kid: “Can I have some money then?”

Me: (biting lip/clenching fists) “For what?”

“Kid: “To ride my bike to Subway?”

Me: “Ummmm, NO. I just named like 10 things we have in the house.”

Kid: “Yea, but I don’t want that.”

Me: “If you don’t “want that” use your own money and go to Subway.”

Kid: “NO! I don’t want to waste my money on that! You’re supposed to feed me.”

Me: (Face getting red) Please leave the room. This discussion is over.”

Kid: “Thanks a lot! You don’t even feed me!”

May: $#&%*@%&$*@&!%#

I am sure we all remember the day when we first realized our mom’s flaws and she really doesn’t know what the fuck she is doing. I remember that day, when I first “saw” my mom without the rose-colored glasses. We all remember when our mom says stuff that makes us cringe. When you realize that she is funny-looking when she is angry and you want to laugh because she looks funny, but you know she’s angry…that realization.

I noticed my mom’s humanness in about 6th grade (same as my daughter, awesome, good times.) I was at school wearing my brown “weskit” uniform vest when I discovered my little brother’s brown socks were static-clung to the inside of my vest. Later on that day, my mom brought my lunch to school for the 45th time that year and finally my classmate asked me, “how come your mom always brings your lunch to school late?” I never even considered this as weird until someone pointed it out. Then the little realities continued to trickle in and I gradually realized my parents were frauds.

I remembered this “weskit” incident this past Tuesday when I didn’t check the hot lunch schedule and realized that morning my kids did not have lunches; AND we had zero food for them to make their own lunch. They outlandishly claim they told me the night before.

I went to the doctor straight after drop off in the clothes I slept in to get urgent meds for a UTI. I then dragged myself to target to get food, threw it in their lunch boxes and hobbled to the school entrance. Usually when I have had to do this countless times over the years, I am buzzed right in. Not Today.

This time, when I rang the bell, the woman at the front desk said over the intercom outside, “Can I help you?” She didn’t even recognize me! I assume she thought I was some homeless lunatic; not that I blame her. She even asked me my last name and kids names. Huh? Doncha know may?

This incident triggered the downward spiral of me screwing up over and over every few minutes: at work, at home, at school, with my kids, with my friends, and with my family. It was as if I turned into Mr. Bean overnight, again! Everything I touched, said or did turned to shit. #theshittouch

Which you know how that goes; the more you think about it, the more it happens. I could not snap out of it.

Today was exceptionally brutal and I could not even consider anything I usually do to end this tailspin of humiliation.I wanted to blame someone for the self-created web of hell I got myself into. I woke up late, I made about 700 mistakes before noon, was tardy for every patient appointment (I mean how can every ramp be closed at once on 90/94?) and all I could think about was crawling back into bed and hiding under the covers.

This fantasy was interrupted when my daughter called because I did not pick them up from school. I knew I wouldn’t be able to, BUT I forgot to arrange a ride. Then I receive a text about something I volunteered for at school which I had no recollection of until that moment. For the love of God! Please leave MAY alone!

I sheepishly go see another patient, (husband and wife married 60 years, who primarily speak Ukranian and Russian; they insist on not using a translator. They say “We want to try to speak to you in your language.”)I was ready to thank them for their patience with my inadequacy. Instead, I am greeted with a hug and exclaimed, “We are so glad to see you!”

(I turn around thinking there was someone else behind me.)

They continue, “We are very happy! This is a big day in our country!”

They both describe why they are so happy, adorably, in their accents and broken English about Victory Day. I am ashamed to admit that I did not know what they were referring to.

Wife: “In your country, May 8th, 1945, the war over. On May 9th, 1945.. the war over in my country. I remember I was so happy. It was so long. I was four years old when war started, my parents tell me we must move to Siberia. It was so cold there. Me, my brothers and sisters would lay down on the floor with head in knees, so scared, hearing planes. My mother would hide bread high up so we not find it and give us a tiny piece once a day. We so hungry, we beg my mom everyday for more. We were so cold. We were so scared.” Tears glaze over her eyes, her husband holds her arm. My eyes well up now. “My husband, he had to go to Siberia too and wait for war to be over, not us together (she laughs nervously), but he had to do same.”

Husband: “Yes. Excuse me. I go. Same.” (He Shakes head, becomes choked up.)

Wife: “So every year, this day, we are very happy. We thanks God. We hear on the radio, war over, my mother, my father, my brothers, sisters, we hug, we cry, we thanks God. We can go home. We remember everyone who die.” She holds her hand to her chest, does sign of the cross and looks up.

Husband: “Excuse me. We want you to have this. We are happy you and your family do not have to have war. Please. Take. We happy today.” (He says excuse me before he says anything in english, it’s so cute!)

Culturally, it is very rude not to accept gifts in their country and they insist on giving me European chocolate after each visit. Today was, well, above and beyond. I imagine if I refuse to take it, he may react the same way the Ukrainian man in the Seinfeld episode reacts to the game of risk when Kramer refers to the Ukraine as “weak”.

This Seinfeld clip of the Ukraine makes me laugh, finally. I walk to my car holding candy, feeling humble, grateful, tearful and smiling. That visit knocked me right out of my tailspin. I thought about her mother, in fucking Siberia (for real) for three years! I thought about her trying to keep her family alive and having to give her kids a quarter slice of bread per day. I thought about the guilt she felt when her children complained of being terrified, hungry, bored, and cold every day for three years. Now that is some real motherhood struggles right there. I feel foolish now for even being stressed. None of it matters.