PB&J, please

I happen to be smack dab in the middle of the sandwich generation. But seeing as how I started over with a little one when my others were sorta kinda getting grown up, I inadvertantly extended the gooey part of this sandwich stuff a little longer.

Last week I left DH & LK to their own devices for a few days while I visited my dad and his wife in Phoenix. I purposefully scheduled the flight so that I wouldn't have to miss a baseball game, nerd that I am, and got into AZ around dinner time.

Somehow I made it to their house on my own. I guess it was probably when he called me to make sure I had the directions to his house that I've driven to oh, maybe 30 or 40 times...

That was probably why I was a little nervous flying out.

But I had no reason to be. Outside of some pretty significant short term memory loss
- he wondered if LK was "ours" now, forgetting that we adopted her more than 4 years ago, and
- he forgot that his granddaughter graduated from college 3 years ago and that he was there for it,
he was pretty much the same. Still plays tennis and bridge. No more golf, though I'm not really sure why. He still bowls, and emails sometimes even. And he's coming up on his 88th birthday.

He does, mostly, remember his grandkids - even the little ones. This can be explained by li'l sis' calendars she makes for him every year with pictures and important dates like birthdays listed on them. He keeps it right in front of his computer monitor. So he's doing pretty well, considering...

Then again consider this scene while we waited for the airport shuttle to pick me up -

Dad: "Do you have enough money?"
me : "Enough money for what?" (No one ever has enough money - everyone knows that!)
Dad: "You know, to get back home."
me : "Oh. That. Yeah, Dad, I think I have enough to get back home." (Bummer - I was hoping he was wondering if I had enough to put my Hoosier through college or something)

Still - I hope I'm in as good a shape as him when I'm 88.

Back to the other 1/2 of the sandwich - we've got an appointment with the school psychologist next week to discuss various things, including learning disabilities. Letcha know how that goes later...


Wish you were here

I'm working today, getting ready to take the rest of the week off. My mother's day present has landed at SFO and DH has picked her up. They find a nice little hangout (which I've been trying to get DH to go to for, oh about 3 years or so) and have a beer. I'm still working - in meetings all afternoon, feeling very sorry for myself, when I get this picture and email:

Wish you were here.


I hate him.