Lately, my friends, I've been on the edge. Truly.
Today, a friend of mine said, "I don't know how you're doing it all."
I looked her right in the eye and said, "I don't either."
We are in the throws of softball. I wanna be there to watch every yellow ball that sails into Daughter 2's glove or from her hand or off her bat. But, I can't.
Golf. My goodness. I found out today that Daughter 1 has a golf-team nickname: Scary Spice. I've never once seen her play. I'd love to watch her tee off from every box. But, I can't.
My mom just moved today into a skilled nursing facility. I know she's nervous about what her future holds. Me, too, Mom; me, too. I want to reassure her--and I do. I want to help her. But, I can't.
Tomorrow, we'll pick one kid up from a sleepover, visit one displaced Mom and Nana, watch one kid play softball and somewhere in the in between times, I'll try to find my way to being the middle of the sandwich--full of all the flavor and all the tastes, where the shaved turkey breast is stacked highest.
Right now? Right now, though, I'm the edge. I'm looking for the balance and fullness and fairness of the middle bite.
Sandwich generation, indeed.