Thanks, Rachel and Rachel and Brian

In September, my friend Rachel Hough said, "Hey! I've got a lake house--let's go!" So this weekend we did. 

I've spent the past few months trying to find my new balance. Briley is in the fifth grade (which is the worst grade ever invented if you ask me); Hadley's in her last year of middle school; Brian's busy with teaching and picking up the pieces that I drop as I try to juggle my life. The transition of having my mom at home with us has really been an easy one, but it's a change nonetheless. My last TMI Mom book, Girlfriend Rules, was just published and my next book, Life With Extra Cheese, was moving along slowly.

Normally, once the girls are in bed, I sit down and write a few chapters.

Lately, though, once the girls (including my mom) are in bed, I crawl into my own bed and essentially start drooling before my head hits the pillow. (Don't worry about it, though; the cats lick up my face for me.)

The most common question I'm asked when I am speaking or presenting is "How do you do it all?" Up until recently, I would just shrug my shoulders and say I didn't know. And I really didn't know. It just worked, and it just happened.

The past few months, though, I've felt literally drained. I needed to be revived. I needed some time--just time.

So with a ton of momma (and daughter) guilt, my mom went to stay with my sister, Rachel, Brian wrangled the kids (including one that developed strep throat) and I went to the lake with my friend, Rachel.

 

It was exactly what I needed. We didn't have wi-fi, which was a good thing. We had Taco Doritos and peanut M & Ms, which was also a good thing. I changed into yoga pants on Friday evening and didn't change out of them until this morning. This was a very good thing.

My mind cleared. My shoulders eased. My words flowed.

Ahhh ... it was  good weekend. Thanks, Rachel, Rachel and Brian for letting it happen.

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.

Source

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.