Pass the mustard please...

Sandwich generation. That is where I am.

Earlier this week I was celebrating the birth of our new granddaughter, babysitting for other grandkids, picking up my oldest grandkid from shool. Today I was cutting, washing and setting my mom's hair and feeding my parents supper for the second time this week. Our grandchildren are learning new things daily; my parents are forgetting things daily that used to be day to day normal Me? I am right in between. Still learning new things and forgetting things I didn't really need to know in the first place - or just forgetting things and pretending I didn't need to know them in the first place.

But that isn't what they really mean when they call us the sandwich generation. I am caring for my parents - spending as much time as possible with them, feeding them, caring for them. I am caring for my children, celebrating all the high points of their busy lives and being there to help when they need a sick child taken to the doctor or maybe when they need a weekend away or when they need that new pair of trousers hemmed.... well you know... just when. Now that is what I call a sandwich.

But I think many forget that there is more to the sandwich then the two pieces of bread on each end, squishing what is inside. The meat. That is me... the meat. I am being pulled in all of these different directions because I am strong enough to take it.

So, pass the mustard, please. I feel a little spicy tonight!