I- am a sandwich.


G's sandwich (the edible kind)

Ok, I’m not the peanut butter and jelly kind of sandwich. I am the taking care of my 80 year old mother, and my three children, while adjusting to being widowed, sandwich.

   In the past week we have had a meltdown over furniture placement, two missed rides, one forgotten form (extremely important) a vehicle break down-out of town, a phone text it’s last btw, college budget issues, -and this is new? and, my flat-iron broke! Next week is our local school’s spring break. I sure hope I get one too…

So, I talked my mother out of a stroke over the fact the facility she lives in rearranged her furniture. Doesn’t seem like much to you and I, but to an octagenarian, it’s a big deal! It wasn’t her decision, but fire codes are fire codes and after living there three years, the management suddenly realized she was breaking them. I felt like the cop trying to talk the jumper off the ledge. She was mad, upset, not going to be reasoned with. I felt so badly for her but, even though their methods were inane, their reasoning was solid. Keep the residents safe. So the day ended with Facility 1, Mother 0, and Me…sandwiched. See a pattern here?

My son, however, is another story. Quite pleasant to live with, fun to game with, helpful (especially since my husband’s passing) and as absent-minded as my senior citizen mom.  He brings home papers from school, two weeks late, and asks me to sign them. I agree, sign, and move on. Fast forward two weeks more.  “Mom, will you sign this for me and give me the $ so I can turn this in?”  I know I already signed this, but I pull out my weapon of choice, my favorite pen, and sign. Oh, and then I have to pay the fee that comes with the form, (that is now four weeks late) So here we sit, as we always do in the mornings, waiting for his carpool to arrive- hoping he will actually turn the form in this time. Time gets late and I ask if he is sure there is no schedule conflict for pickup today.  OH NO!!! I FORGOT!!!  No ride today… Evidently he knew this yesterday but it slipped his video game, girl crazy, mind. So, it’s sandwich mom to the rescue! Out of my pj’s into something, anything,  brush passed somewhere in the vicinity of my hair and sunglasses on to cover up the fact that I have NO makeup on what-so-ever! Off we go…

  Daughter #2 (that is birth order, not preference, I don’t like one more than the other- most of the time)  She borrows our little pick up truck to take some furniture to school and while she is 99.7 miles from home, it won’t start. Fortunately our AAA membership will tow us up to 100 miles so she can have it towed here to our regular mechanic.  It’s a little more stressful to her than it normally would be, as it was her father’s pick up and she doesn’t want anything to happen to it while it’s in her care. So, it’s towed to town, my mechanic works all day on it, puts it through the diagnostic tests, drives it ,checks it out from top to bottom, and low and behold… Nothing. He called me laughing saying he thought that maybe she didn’t have it in park all the way and that’s what caused it to not start.      I guess that’s a good thing, the bill will be low. Then she tells me her phone stopped working.

So, that almost covers this weeks hysterics.  I’m sure that years from now I’ll look back on these escapades with fond memories, but, right now this sandwich is feeling a little on the squished side.

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