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This is a photo of my Mom in complete bliss, holding two sleeping Grandbabies, Matthew on the left, Anna on the right. The photo was taken last May, when Matthew was a wee newborn and Anna wasn't yet a year old.

My daughter has such a luxurious little life- with the exception of her car seat- Anna has never napped alone. She is comfy in the fluffy arms of "Bama" everyday. Mom considers laying a baby or toddler down on an inanimate object, like a bed, a sin. Really, with such a cozy alternative available, who could disagree?

I was struck by this article in the New York Times. It discusses in detail the impact of an Alzheimer's diagnosis on those in the earlier stages of the illness. Those interviewed are impaired, but still have emotional lives and needs that go unmet as others grow impatient with their changing abilities and cut them out of social interaction and meaningful act ivies. Their caregivers or 'care partners' tended to focus on their deficits and not appreciate their strengths. While my Mom isn't one of the 5 million people in the US with Alzheimer's, the article resonated deeply for me as a caregiver.

As a caregiver/mom my focus tends to be keeping everyone fed, clean, safe and relatively healthy. Emotional well being? Shoot, if no one is shrieking I am assume everything is fine. I am often wrong.

The warmer spring weather and an old friend inspired me to change the pepto bismal pink wall color in my entry way and foyer- a huge job. A job made much more difficult with three kids aged 5 and younger underfoot. I was consumed by the task, keeping the kids out of mischief, working with my friend who was helping, other friends stopped in with dinner- it was a blur of a day. I was totally blindsided when my Mom expressed her great displeasure with me. She felt left out. The little everyday ways we connect with Mom had been disrupted.

So, I need to make more of an effort to include Mom in what is happening. I need to be more mindful of her considerable strengths. I don't know that I can take on another person's emotional well being but I can be more considerate. I don't want to miss out on any window of opportunity with Mom. I am loathe to think of her, like the woman in the article thinking to herself "I'm still here!"

Wrath of the Leprechauns on Casa Panini?

My old Irish Aunt, who would have turned 87 on Monday, taught me as a child to leave food for the little people the week leading up to St. Patrick's Day. We had special little pottery pieces from Ireland, a little cauldron, plate, and a tiny leprechaun, and we would carefully lay out food from our nightly meal. Old Aunt said they came to town for the party and, having travelled long distances, needed our hospitality, lest they create mischief. My belief in the little people faltered. Over the years I came to believe that the food was simply tossed out or consumed by an obliging family dog. I recalled the quaint little tradition this year, but failed to feed the little people, perhaps to my family's peril.

The last week has been just silly. My Mom was diagnosed with Pneumonia, then her cough seemed to improve, on the day of our St. Patrick's Day party, Mom started to vomit. Poor Mom, her friends were over, we had corned beef, colcannon, soda bread, homemade chocolate cake, and all she could do was hide in her room and barf. My oldest son J.J. started acting up Sunday night and woke up Monday morning with no voice and a fever. That day I had to take Mom back to the doctor. After three days of Mom barfing, the doctor informed me that either had to control the vomiting or hospitalize her for IV fluids on Tuesday. Happily we were able to get the vomiting under control with prescription meds. Sadly, as Mom's situation was improving, my four-year-old Ben also developed a high fever. Actually, everything up to this point was pretty much standard sandwich generation fare. What made me suspect the Leprechauns was the mystery poop.

That's right, poop. Like cow pies. On my bathroom floor.

I immediately ruled out the most likely suspects- the toddler and the cats. (Please don't ask ). No one will own up to having left the poop. I can only blame the Leprechauns.

Next year I plan feeding little people. I can take caregiving. I can't take the poop.

The Sandwich Generation...

The term Sandwich Generation has been around since at least the late eighties when I was a college/grad student in Gerontology. In my professional career as a gerontologist I worked with many caregivers, some of whom fit the definition.

The more I live my life in the Sandwich Generation, the more I find the term trite and annoying.

Being the full-time caregiver of both young children and my elderly Mom feels nothing like lying peacefully between two soft pieces of bread. Now, add sizzling heat and heavy pressure, and I can buy into the sandwich comparison. So, I identify as a Panini.

My hope for this blog is to find a useful outlet for my professional and personal experiences. Perhaps other panini's will come forward and share their experiences- the joy, stress, and the poignant moments that are life between the hot grill and heavy brick of the sandwich generation.