This weekend I snuck out for an hour while my kids were napping. I returned to my mother and my 4-year-old screaming at each other, my mother attempting to discipline her and my daughter refusing to listen. I kept hearing, “But Grandma!”

My mom was traumatized by the interaction. She was overwhelmed by the fact that my daughter didn’t do what her grandmother told her to do and that she was rather vicious in her refusal. (Hello, welcome to my life!)

But here’s the thing. My mom is 65. My daughter is 4. Yes, my daughter needs to remember to be respectful of elders and learn to listen when she’s told to do something. But again, my mom is 65, and I was gone for one hour.

I stepped in, got the situation under control and sent them to their respective corners. I was informed by my mother that my daughter is hateful, that my mother doesn’t do anything but try to be nice, give them reasons to love her. She questions why my daughter is so challenging. We discussed it some, but I walked away thinking I needed to work harder on my daugther, teaching her how to behave for her grandmother. It seemed like the only way to make it work.

Then I brought my husband up to speed on the situation when he got home. I was trying to explain that we needed to work on our daughter, remind her of proper behavior. I was prepared for his reaction, which is that it’s my mom’s fault. My mom doesn’t have it in her to discipline. She herself has no self-discipline, so how on earth is she supposed to discipline others? For some reasons, she thinks that just letting a 4yo and 2yo do what they want is reason enough for them to listen to her when she decides they need to mind. This was exactly what my husband pointed out.

If she allows the kids to walk all over her, then how is she supposed to expect them to listen to her when it’s necessary?

So I took my husband’s concerns and readdressed them with my mother. I told my mom what I expected in terms of discipline, including a warning and then timeout. If my 4yo refuses to go to timeout, I instructed my mother to make her go.

My mom proceeded to tell me that she’s never encountered a child like mine and that I should take her to a doctor for evaluation. She insists that something is wrong with my daughter. Because it can’t be my mom.

Now, I’ve wondered from time to time if my daughter’s resistance to authority and boundaries are a real problem or a normal behavoir. But whenever I’ve implemented a discipline strategy that uses rewards, reasonable punishments and plays into the way a 4yo thinks, I have success. So I’m pretty sure it’s the disciplinarian, not the 4yo. I realize I am not objective. However, until a qualified professional such as a teacher calls it out as a problem, I’m not going to take the concerns of my mother very seriously.

And I’m going to try and not be hurt by the idea that my mom would rather blame an innocent 4yo for her own inability to cope and manage.

The issue is many layers deep, but one of the biggest concerns to me is that my mom is unable to cope with confrontation with a 4yo. The whole experience traumatized her and sunk her for the weekend. She was anxiety-ridden, reclusive and behaving strangely.

As much as I want to pretend that my mom is hunky dory, incidents such as this make it clear that there is a real underlying problem, whether it’s a physical issue with her brain or clinical depression.

I’m hopeful the doctors can give us appropriate attention in the next couple of weeks so that I can begin to work on a solution that works for all of us.

My daughter has always been strong willed and challenging. At times, she runs me ragged. I’ve wondered how I will ever get through to her. But I do. My husband does. Her teachers do. Should I be concerned? I don’t know.

Yes, you could say that.

My reason for her going to the doctor: “I’m concerned about her erratic behavior, memory loss, panic attacks, anxiety, migraines and lack of social interest.”

Interesting.

So it looks like I’m officially charged with her health care since she has no perspective on what’s really wrong with her. The doctor said he wouldn’t do anything until my mom saw a neurologist for testing. One of the concerns is that she could be having mini-strokes/TAs.

We won’t know until the neurologist tells us more.

I was hoping the doctor was going to have all the answers to all my concerns.

This weekend wasn’t a good one in terms of the care of my mom and the sacrifices my family is making. And who do I put first? Everyone tells me I have to put my husband and my kids first. But not knowing if my mom’s health is really at risk or if she’s just in a clinical state of depression makes juggling the priorities impossible.

I can only hope the doctors take my concerns seriously and put a priority on diagnosing her issues.

I have two beautiful, healthy children, and I consider myself blessed. When I had my second baby, I was certain she would not be my last. I just felt like I wasn’t done.

Since she was born I’ve gone back and forth several times on whether or not I will try for a third baby, and whether I’m for it or against it usually depends on how challenging my two children are at that moment.

But as much as I really want a third baby, I look at my current family makeup and wonder if that would really be the best thing for everyone.

Although I haven’t become a full-time caregiver in every sense of the word, I have added another life to my list of people for whom I’m responsible. My mom can still take care of herself physically, but mentally and emotionally, she’s drowning. I don’t think I’ve fully embraced the role I have with her in my life.

Which leads me to the family planning notion. Once I really get my arms around all that I can and should be doing to help my mom, I’m going to have the equivalent of three children. So by adding another baby, I’m taking on the responsibility of four others’ lives. And that count doesn’t even include me or my husband.

It’s an example of where taking on the responsibility of a parent forces you to make sacrifices in your own life.  I welcome the responsibilty of my children because it’s something I planned and something I wanted. I can’t say that same thing about my mother.

She is living with us because of her lack of planning and responsibility in her own life.  Yes, she has some mental issues, but you can’t tell me these aren’t somehow correlated to her lost existence. Maybe she’s had something mentally wrong her entire life. Or maybe she’s gone through life making one bad decision after another and when it finally caught up with her, she gave up.

I know there are thousands upon thousands of people like me out there who didn’t expect to become part of the sandwich generation – ever. Whether their position was dictated by disaster or poor planning, either way it can’t be the way any of us imagined our lives would unfold.

Tomorrow is the first day that I will escort my mother to a doctor’s appointment. I have to be an active participant, listen, ask questions and remember it all. I have to take notes so that when we get home and my mom tries to twist it all around, I’ll have the proof that what I’m telling her is factual and what really happened. I have to get a babysitter to come and watch my kids so that I can dedicate my full attention to my mother’s appointment. I have to make sure she signs my name as someone who can discuss her health and her care with her doctor.

These are all things I wasn’t imagining I would be thinking about at 32 years old. But I’ve held them at bay for long enough. It’s time to embrace my role as caregiver. I have to muster up some compassion and empathy – both of which I’m short on in general – and be there for my mother. It’s not going to be easy, but I know, nothing in life really is.

In the meantime, our family planning is in full effect. No reason to rush into any life decisions. Of all people, a quote that comes to mind is from John Gosselin of John and Kate Plus 8, *gasp, I can’t believe I’m quoting him* who so poignantly said, “I’m only 32. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

As a public relations professional, I’m aware that almost every event in life, every hobby, every product and every career have a special day honoring it. For example, according to this site, July 1 is Canada Day, Second Half of The Year Day, U.S. Postage Stamp Day and Zip Code Day. And in addition to Sandwich Generation Month,  July is also Blueberries Month, Cell Phone Courtesy Month, Family Reunion Month and Hemochromatosis Screening Awareness Month. These are just a few examples of the things you an celebrate just in the month of July.

Since this blog is all about living in the sandwich generation, I thought it would be a great opportunity to kick the month off with a resource for others in the sandwich generation.

Visit the official Sandwich Generation Month Web site: www.sandwichgenerationmonth.com. 

There are lots of articles and videos about the sandwich generation.

Happy July and Happy Sandwich Generation Month!

Regardless of the reason for them, the fact is she does have some memory problems. It can range from the serious to the minor. The serious incidents are few, luckily. The minor memory problems range from not being able to remember a conversation that ocurred three minutes before to not remembering what setting to dry the towels on in the dryer, even after being told several times and there being a “towels” setting on the dryer.

My husband and I argue about the best way to deal with it, but my feeling is, if she can’t remember, I have to help her remember. So I officially started using Post-Its around the house today.

My mom is fully capable physically, which is wonderful. She can help around the house and will do anything I ask. Mostly it’s because she’s so bored that she welcomes any task, no matter how mundane. But because she’s so bored and what I’m asking isn’t all that interesting, she doesn’t really give a lot of brain cells to it. So I find myself repeating myself – a lot. So today I just wrote a sticky note and put it on the dryer. And yes, she did ask me what to dry the clothes on, but I just pointed to the sticky note. That was nice. And I think she appreciated it, too. She didn’t have to guess. She doesn’t have to worry about being wrong. She just follows the notes.

Sometimes she looks at me like I’m silly when I tell her to write something down, but then she dutifully does so. And it always helps. So I’m going to try and use a few more notes to see if it lessens my frustration any, and maybe hers.

Then she called for me. Loud. Using my full name.

Annoyance rippled down my spine before I could respond.

You know the call. The one when you were a kid that usually meant your mother had something for you to attend to that you would rather not. And she seemed to be calling for you like you were out in the woods behind the house and couldn’t hear her, yet you were right in your bedroom and could hear her all too clearly.

This attempt to contact me is layered with annoyance for me. First of all, I’m not a kid anymore, so to be called like that is irritating. Second, when my mother calls for me like that, I’m usually occupied with something important. It’s not like I’m just lounging around. Like in the middle of getting the kids ready for bed, or cleaning up a mess left by the kids, or worse – on the phone with a client. Talk about knocking you down a few pegs when your client hears your mother call for you like you were eight!

It’s just one of those things you forget about until your mother is in your adult real-life space all the time. And our dynamic is definitely different than it was when I was a teenager. I’m more the parent nowadays. But it never ceases to bring me back to my sullen, always-annoyed teenager self. I immediately want to snap at her and sometimes I do.

It’s possible you don’t remember that shrill tone every mother is capable of using. If you’re not currently living with your mother, it’s easy to push that memory down into the deep well of teenage memories. I hope for your sake you’ve blocked it out. But rest assured, the instant you hear it, your natural instinct to respond with a snippy, I’ve-got-better-things-to-do tone will come right back.

One of things about being part of the sandwich generation is seeing every day what you can change as a parent and what is unavoidable because it was ingrained in you by your parent.

I’ve struggled since the birth of my first child in coming to terms with the job my mother did and the job I want to do as a mother. I look into the eyes of my babies – who will always be babies to me – and I wonder how my mom could have been so careless with her life and her decisions. How did she not know what she was doing to me and our relationship when she made such selfish decisions? And how come I don’t feel like she did the best she could do, even though I know she did? Everyone does. They do the best they can, but it may be that their just not capable of doing better.

And the reality is, I’ll do things a lot differently than my mother. But my kids will still have issues with me. Every kid does.

Maybe my mom is here with us to help me heal the crevasse between my feelings for her as my mother and my issues with the job she did as my mother. If only I could figure out how to make a bridge.

Not letting annoyance make its way into my interactions with her might be a good first step.

This is a painful post to write. I’ve been trying to write it for months, but I just keep leaving it with the first line stated there.

Why is that, I wonder? Why is it hard for me to write this post?

My answer: because I feel selfish and mean for wanting to leave my mom at home most of the time. I want her to get her own life.

She’s only 65 for Pete’s sake. But even though she’s not physically debilitated, I think she might be mentally.

And that makes me mad! Which then makes me feel selfish and cruel.

I want to leave her home, but I never do. So I have grown a quiet, yet very present shadow.

In February 2009, my mom came to live with me and my family. She came with no money, no car and no social contacts. She arrived depressed with a prescription for prozac, of which she’d taken two weeks’ worth of medication. She was not well.

She’s come a long way since her arrival. Yet, I expect so much more.

And really, I’ve always expected so much more. But if she’s not going to go out and make it happen for herself, why is it my responsibility?

My husband argues that it’s not my responsibility. He and my 4-year-old look for opportunities for the four of us, sans my mom, to be together. Like it used to be.

They haven’t fully embraced the idea that grandma is part of the family now. She’s like one of them, and I can not leave her behind anymore than I could leave either of them behind. Yet my feelings betray me. I may ask her to go along, but I don’t always want her to go.

So it sits with me. I want to go out by myself. I want to take just my girls to the park, to the store and be with them like we used to be. But I force myself to invite my mom along. And more often than not, she accepts and comes along.

When she declines, I wonder if she can see the celebration behind my eyes or the way I quickly accept her answer. I don’t push to be polite because I fear she’ll change her mind.

But if I don’t ask her, she’d never leave the house. It’s the burden of the middle of the sandwich in the sandwich generation scenario, isn’t it?

Along with doctors, I need to find my mom some friends. Or at least a place where she can make some friends.

I like my shadow that changes with the sun; not the one that occupies heavy space next to me in the car. Rather than have it feel like an obligation, I want it to feel like fun. I want her to have her own life so that when she merges with ours she adds to it rather than weighs it down.

Find doctors.

For the last few months we’ve been living in limbo. We weren’t exactly sure where we were going to be living (which city), and I had a hard time wrapping my arms around the motivation to find a doctor for my mom when I knew we could be leaving in a couple of months. Which we did.

Now that we’re back in a familiar city with familiar resources, it’s time to get serious. Lately my mom has been getting migraines. The migraines make her think something is terribly wrong with her, which then leads to minor panic. So she approaches me about needing to go to a doctor. I remind her we’re waiting until we’re settled, but definitely try to figure out if it’s an ER situation. Every time she insists that it’s not an ER situation, so I give her a little bit of Aleve, and she heads to bed. I’m reassured because the Aleve seems to help.

But I’m not a doctor, so it’s time to stop living in denial that everything will take care of itself.

To be honest, I’m dreading the whole process. I have to be the eyes, ears and brain for my mom. I am her health care advocate. I will likely be her power of attorney. I have been avoiding this because I don’t want the responsibility. Once I launch this process, I will be immersed in the world of geriatric care. Since I’m in my early thirties, I thought it would be a long time before I would be dealing with that specialized area. I hope my mom takes well to my invovlement. I have to be thoroughly involved. She lives in my house. Spends immense amounts of time with my children. I have to know what her mental and physical health states are. And because I don’t trust her memory, I have to make sure she’s following the doctor’s orders and diagnosis.

As a working mom of two young girls and a wife, I have a hard time remembering what I’m supposed to be doing with myself, my kids and my husband. I juggle the responsibilities of four people. Now I’m adding a fifth.

Can I get someone to go with me who can remember what I need to remember for my mom?

OK, really, we’re still adjusting and transitioning. But it’s much better now.

Primarily I see the girls relaxing. My 4yo has shown a lot of disrespect for her grandmother and uses a very sassy attitude with her. I can see she’s challenging grandma, but grandma’s not really up to the challenge. She’s a grandma, not very interested in taming a 4yo. She just wants to hang out and color, watch some cartoons, play some games and have fun. She isn’t in the mindset necessary to squash the attitude and testing of a 4yo. That’s what her parents are for.

As a result of the two of them being on such different planes, there has been some friction there. My mom has been incredibly patient, but every once in a while I can see it hurts her feelings. She takes it personally, as much as she really shouldn’t. My 4yo is a child who likes to challenge her authority figures.

The good news is that, although my oldest still challenges her grandmother, they’re growing in their affection for each other. There are a few more hugs between them now as compared to early on and some shared experiences under their belts. They’re bonding, however slowly.

Other signs include my 2yo letting grandma push the shopping cart at the grocery store. Although I try to grocery shop by myself when I can, most times it’s just easier to take my mom and the two girls. And when grandma first joined our family, there was big drama when she would try to push the shopping cart. But as my mom pointed out the other day, she’s graduated to pushing cart status. And I can tell that makes her feel better and more wanted.

This easing of the tension soothes me because I so want the girls to experience the benefits of having a grandma live with them. They’re a trusted source of comfort, a sounding board, a person who will stop and listen to you when your parents are just too busy. And I see that benefit making itself apparent as time marches on.

I also notice a bit more affection for my mother and a comfort in our exchanges that wasn’t there immediately. I’ve been keeping a watchful eye on her since she first arrived. I was highly sensitive to any odd behavior, forgetfulness, anxiety, episodes of craziness. To my incredible relief, they are few. And now that we’re finding a rhythm, I’m not as tense about what she may do or say. When she forgets something, we usually can joke about it, or I can point it out and she recovers.

We are undertaking yet another giant transition as we move states. It’s a good thing in a lot of ways, and I’m hoping it’s good for the entire sandwich, both sides and the middle. However, I do expect some regression on all our parts over these next few weeks.

I hope I can keep in mind the progress we’ve made thus far as a reminder that we’ll make it again.

Having your parent watch you parent.

Every decision you make, system you design, purchase you make or request you deny for your children is observed by your own parent. Your parenting takes on a whole new level. All of a sudden, you’ve got a witness to your foibles and missteps.

It brings up all the inadequacies I felt as a child when it came to my mother’s care of me and her interest in me. I always knew I was a wanted child and quite welcome in my mother’s life, yet it’s like that was enough for her. The fact that she wanted me validated everything she did from there. When she didn’t get involved in my school, or sign me up for sports, or come to the sports events that I signed myself up for, it’s like she justified it with reminding me how much she loved me and how happy she was she had me.

Sure, it’s great to know you are wanted and loved, but when you’re a kid, every part of your self-esteem as a kid is validated by your parents’ interest in your life and your activities. If they’re not there to witness them, who will congratulate you on the winning hit, the correctly-spelled word in the spelling bee, or build you up when you fail?

It’s the story of many Gen X’ers who were latchkey kids and came home to empty houses, watched TV and ate processed cookies, not the fresh ones June made for the Beav.

Maybe that’s why Gen-X’ers are so (too) involved in their kids’ lives. They’re going to the extreme end of the involvement spectrum to validate their children, make them feel respected, admired, loved and interesting. We hover, engage in “helicopter-parenting”

And all of these activities and extreme versions of parenting fly in the face of how my mom raised me, all while she gets an up-close-and-person seat to me raising my kids.

Sometimes I want to scream out, “Are you paying attention? See, this is how you raise a child!” Other times, I want to say, “It’s OK, mom, you did your best to raise me, and I turned out fine.”

And then there are the times I wonder why I think my version is better than hers. Isn’t that what gets us so mixed up as kids in the first place, assuming our parents were wrong and we are right?