Peanut butter or jelly? The Sandwich Squeeze
Balance, what's that? I believe that several months ago I was confused or happily unaware of the "balance" issues that overtake most women of a certain age. Well, I'm no longer confused. Now I'm in the thick of it. Most days I feel like either peanut butter or jelly oozing out of a sandwich with my mother on one side and my kids/day job/small business/passive-aggressive ex-husband on the other. That's why they call it the "Sandwich Generation", one is squished between two sets of interests needing nearly constant attention.
On a good day, the sandwich filling holds. These are the days when my mother does not call five or six times--usually just when the Boss is about to ask me for something--to say that she is lost--again. The babysitter does not call at 3:15 to say that one kid or the other has not turned up at home and is there something I forgot to mention? Oops, there is often something I forgot to mention.
This year my son has the same teacher my daughter had in one of those past grades--I forget which one. When my daughter was in her class, I was the typical suburban bored Super Mom. I never forgot a permission slip or a promise of home-baked cookies, etc. I was the perfect goody-two-shoes parent. Shoe boxes, magazines, library books, nutritious snacks--they were all sent in on time and usually early. This same 30-something teacher probably thinks that I've taken up heroin as a hobby to keep my days interesting. My son's permission slips are generally left at the bottom of his backpack until a day after the field trip. His library books are often missing and never mind the rest of it. The irony is--I don't really care. I don't have time to care.
On a bad day, that sandwich filling just oozes and dribbles and generally ends up on one of my sweater sleeves or worse, staining the front of my blouse. On these days, my daughter starts off with a tantrum proclaiming that she is not getting enough attention, the cats are fighting, my son is refusing to get dressed and my mother is not picking up her phone--again. When she does call, she is confused and I am dragged into conversations that seem loony even to me--never mind my co-workers. "You misplaced the cat? Have you checked under the bed? She may have gone out the window?" or "Where is your car? I don't know, where did you park it? No, it's not in my driveway..why would it be in my driveway?" On these days it seems as though either my mother or her cat are lost and I feel lost as well.
I bought her a GPS system for her car but it's incomprehensible to her unless I am driving and she is in the passenger seat. Most of the time it sits on the dashboard covered with a hand-knitted mitten that's a bit worn at the cuff. "The Sandwich Generation" sucks.
On a good day, the sandwich filling holds. These are the days when my mother does not call five or six times--usually just when the Boss is about to ask me for something--to say that she is lost--again. The babysitter does not call at 3:15 to say that one kid or the other has not turned up at home and is there something I forgot to mention? Oops, there is often something I forgot to mention.
This year my son has the same teacher my daughter had in one of those past grades--I forget which one. When my daughter was in her class, I was the typical suburban bored Super Mom. I never forgot a permission slip or a promise of home-baked cookies, etc. I was the perfect goody-two-shoes parent. Shoe boxes, magazines, library books, nutritious snacks--they were all sent in on time and usually early. This same 30-something teacher probably thinks that I've taken up heroin as a hobby to keep my days interesting. My son's permission slips are generally left at the bottom of his backpack until a day after the field trip. His library books are often missing and never mind the rest of it. The irony is--I don't really care. I don't have time to care.
On a bad day, that sandwich filling just oozes and dribbles and generally ends up on one of my sweater sleeves or worse, staining the front of my blouse. On these days, my daughter starts off with a tantrum proclaiming that she is not getting enough attention, the cats are fighting, my son is refusing to get dressed and my mother is not picking up her phone--again. When she does call, she is confused and I am dragged into conversations that seem loony even to me--never mind my co-workers. "You misplaced the cat? Have you checked under the bed? She may have gone out the window?" or "Where is your car? I don't know, where did you park it? No, it's not in my driveway..why would it be in my driveway?" On these days it seems as though either my mother or her cat are lost and I feel lost as well.
I bought her a GPS system for her car but it's incomprehensible to her unless I am driving and she is in the passenger seat. Most of the time it sits on the dashboard covered with a hand-knitted mitten that's a bit worn at the cuff. "The Sandwich Generation" sucks.
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