"If we win the lottery..."

In an effort to expand The Daughters' horizons beyond reruns of Friends and random nonsense--did I say nonsense? I mean crap--on Cartoon Network, we forced our beautiful girlies to watch the news. Gasp! I know! Do not call Human Services. They've been out and assured The Daughters that the nightly news is not abusive. Cruel and unusual, yes, but not abusive.

Weekly Run-Down

The week started with us being outside spray painting things. Lots of things.

My most popular post this week, though, was my poetic wonderings about being a part of the sandwich generation--a very strange electronic sandwich to be sure.

We're getting ready to kick off the summer TMI Mom Oversharing My Life book tour. I hope you'll stop by my book page and come see me!

Stuck In The Middle

There are lots of thoughts and comments and views on the Sandwich Generation--you know, those of us who have aging parents who require our attention and children still at home who require our attention. We're stuck in the middle. One the one hand, it's a pleasant place to be with three generations able to be close enough to learn from each other and know each other's stories. On the other hand, there's not enough sangria in the world.

I Listen In Several Languages

The Daughter's first babysitter was their Nana, my own momma. Their second babysitter was Dora. Back in the day, Dora was not the loud, screaming lost Mayan child that she is today. She was quiet and calmly taught the elementary tenets of geography and the basic of Espanol words, like estrellas. Or at least that's the way I remember it as I dozed through the show.

In high school, I took German for two years. I can now ask to go to the bathroom, sorta. Wo ist der WC? Basically, I know how to asked where the water closet is. I could probably ask for a wiener schnitzel in a restaurant if they have picture menu. So, when The Daughters were old enough to go comatose in front of the TV, I was grateful that Dora was not a purple dinosaur. And, I learned my colors, my numbers, the word for stars and Ayúdame, which means "help" and I know that because on  more than one occasion, my children have summoned the help of Spanish speakers in Hellmart.