Sandwich Generation

If you are younger than 32 do not read this post.  It might frighten you and you probably cannot relate to the stuff at this point in your life.  I’m a firm believer in ignorance is bliss, so go back to Snap Chat and we’ll catch up later.

The Sandwich Generation is a description for those of us caring for an ageing parent and children simultaneously.  Most people experience this in their 50’s, but as I am an overachiever I’m starting at 40.  Today, for example, gave me a headache.

It’s the third time I reheated my coffee because I keep forgetting where I put it down.  I start at the kitchen table, prodding my daughter to do her writing homework.  Once the pencil is picked up and a letter begins to appear on the page, I leave her side to bring my mother her pills and cajole her out of her bedroom.

“Come on, Mom.  You need to do your physical therapy exercises.  You didn’t do them all weekend and you’re not going to do them tomorrow.”

“Why not?”

“Because tomorrow’s chemo day.”  It’s also parent teacher conference night.  Last year Rylee was straight A’s, but this year her work is a struggle.  Is the work too hard?  Was last year’s teacher too easy?  Am I doing something wrong as a parent?  No.  She likes to have pencil fights with Jimmy, who also makes fart sounds that make her laugh so hard she can’t possibly focus on 3rd grade fractions.

“Rylee, finish your homework!”  She’s under the kitchen table now, picking up scrapings from the pencil sharpener because she likes her pencils really, really sharp when she’s trying to waste time.  Where’s my coffee?  Oh, the microwave.  It’s cold, so I put the timer on for 40 seconds.

“Mom, let’s do those leg lifts your physical therapists wants you to do.”  She is sprawled out on the couch, staring at the wall.

“I just put my legs up here,” she gripes.

“You don’t want your legs to stiffen.  Come on, just get up.”  The microwave beeps so I walk to it.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” mom says as she escapes from me.

My son is asleep sitting at the kitchen table.  He doesn’t have homework in kindergarten, but doesn’t want to feel left out, so I have him do a Kumon number workbook that has a somnolent effect.  I’d pick up him and put him in bed, but I had stitches today for that pesky mole that turned out to be low-grade skin cancer and the doctor said I’m not allowed to lift anything heavy for a week.  At 40 pounds my son qualifies as heavy.

The toilet flushes.  I grab my hot coffee cup and wait outside the bathroom door, blocking my mother from going back into her room.  Now it’s too hot so I put it down.

“Exercises, Mom.”  She is pissed off at me.  She does exactly 8 marches in place and says she has to go to the bathroom again and leaves.  Rylee is balancing the pencil between her nose and upper lip.  Where is my coffee?

I walk in circles around the kitchen in a futile quest for caffeine and my mother sneaks into her bedroom and closes the door.  For a woman with a walker she sure moves pretty fast to avoid PT.  I walk into the bathroom and look in the mirror.  There is a bandage on my face, covering two large blue stitches.  I have my Tina Fey glasses on, thinking that it might distract others from the bandage, but no, I just look like Tina Fey after Mohs surgery.  I look hot.  Not really.

But I did here.  Look at this picture from my first (and only) pole dance competition doing a Picasso bridge move.

I did it as something crazy to do to celebrate 40 years on this earth.  It seems like a lifetime ago, but it was only 5 months ago.  5 months and 15 pounds later I’m no longer fun 40, I’m frazzled 40.  Now the only bridge I’m doing is that bridge loan I had to complete last week.  It had to be done for Friday.  Had. To.

So I scrambled, stayed up late, told the kids to watch TV, left my mom alone, got it done Friday morning and sent it to the banker because I’m Type A.  The banker’s auto message informed me he will be on vacation this week and will review the documents upon his return.  But that’s no big deal because the seller didn’t receive approval from HUD, so technically there is nothing for sale yet.  So why did I have to get this done for Friday?

Rylee’s homework is done and she hands me my coffee.  Bless that child.  It’s lukewarm, but I’m not losing that bad boy again, so I take it.  But now I’ve lost the location of my son.  He has migrated to my mother’s bed somehow. They both are watching the news and I recall doing the same thing as a child, when my mother was the meat of the sandwich and was anchored in place caring for her ageing mother, and my brother and me.

I sit next to her, cradling my cup of ambition.

“You’re a good daughter,” she says.

I smile and so does she, because even though she is sincere, we both know she’s trying to sweet talk me out of leg stretches.

Lisa 

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ShesLosingIt.com (c) 2014 Lisa Traugott. All rights reserved. No portion of this blog, including any text, photographs, and artwork, may be reproduced or copied without written permission

Lisa Traugott is a Mom’s Choice Award winning writer, fitness blogger, wife and mom of two….and Original Cast Member of AMERICAN GRIT, starring John Cena, on FOX!!!

ShesLosingIt.com (c) 2012-2016 Lisa Traugott. All rights reserved. No portion of this blog, including any text, photographs, video, and artwork, may be reproduced or copied without written permission.