March 28, 2014

My Life As Shaved Turkey Breast

When I eat a sandwich, I eat the crust area and outter edges  first. I'm a lazy sandwich maker, I don't spread the mayo to the edges and I just squirt the mustard in a circle. Sometimes in a smiley face if I'm feeling particularly saucy. So, I eat the edges first because they are the less. They are the least good part of a sandwich. And, my method pays off when I pop that last bite in my mouth. The last bite that has the mound of turkey and mayo and smeared mustard, lettuce and onion and possibly pickle. It's so much better than the edge.


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.


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