Sandwiches

I love sandwiches.

Turkey. Roast Beef. A classic PB&J. Grilled like a panini or cold with crispy lettuce. I don’t care.

At least 4 days of the week, if you ask me what I’m having for lunch, I’ll tell you I’m eating a sandwich. Sometimes, I get really crazy and have chips with it. Other times, I pretend to be healthy and have a side of cottage cheese. All.The.Protein!!

However, there is a particular type of metaphorical sandwich that I don’t love or want any part of right now…the sandwich generation. This is a term that’s been around for decades, used to describe this time in my life where I am parenting BOTH my own children and my parent, in this case my dad. (I already saw this movie when I was the mother of a newborn while parenting my mom; this is the sequel). Being sandwiched between moody, hormonal teenagers and a surly, forgetful old man is much like being the worst of the lunchmeats. Mortadella. Nobody likes that shit.

It’s a strange dichotomy, switching from one role to the other. Managing the school assignments, sleepover plans, and friendship drama and then pivoting to the cognitive assessments, falls/injuries, and plans for long term care is enough to make your head (and your heart) explode. It sucks to have uncomfortable conversations with your parent about their behavior, yet not be able to really do anything about it. What do we do, ground them? Forbid them from seeing their friends? Take away their car keys and cell phone? Actually, yes on that one.

I never thought there’d be a day when I had to add an 85 year-old to my Life360 family circle, but here we are. Lately, I’ve found myself checking his whereabouts more than my 17 year-old, and that’s saying a lot. Thankfully, he hasn’t figured out how to turn off location services on his cell phone. But, who’s to say that he hasn’t outsmarted me and left it on the kitchen counter? Right next to his unworn Life Alert bracelet. For all I know, he could be out causing a kerfuffle in the neighborhood.

On top of the mental load of being a sandwich, is the physical aspect of caring for both sets of people. On a recent day, I left my house in the morning, drove the hour and a half to take my dad to a physical therapy appointment. We grabbed some quick groceries, then I quickly checked his house to make sure there were no faucets running or stove burners left on. From there, I hopped back in the car to make it home in time to take one of my kids to mental health therapy. At the end of the day, there was no time left for therapy of my own, so I booked a session with my favorite therapist of late, Kim Crawford.

I know that I could have it a lot worse. I am grateful to my brother, who shoulders the majority of the day to day tasks for my dad. Also, there are many people in my position who assume full-time care of their parent in the same home with their kids. That would be a lot. I am also grateful that I have three healthy and happy children, who are growing up to be kind, smart, and self-sufficient. I really hope they like sandwiches too, because there’s a good chance they’ll be part of generation sandwich. I can only hope to be so lucky.

Someday, I hope to love sandwiches again. But, I also know that means that I will no longer be parenting my parent, and that’s very sad. I also know that you never stop being a parent to your children, as they’ll need you in different ways throughout their lives as they navigate the challenges of life…marriage, parenthood, loss, grief. Hopefully, my love of all things sandwich, in combination with my own life experiences, will make me a good resource for them.

In the meantime, I’ll just eat salads. Yuck.