Sandwich Generation Stories: Uniforms and Panties

Lately I can't seem to maintain focus on anything. There exists no excuse like a newborn, or an insanely busy job. In fact,  I work from home three days per week and spend the other two hanging out with my kid and thinking about all the prescriptions I need to fill for my mom. It can wait another week, right?

And I'll spend that week wondering if  methadone is in stock. It never is, but far be it from to call ahead.

In general, I'm doing the bare minimum as a caregiver. It could be  because I believed she recently overdosed on migraine prescription injections and am irrationally still raging about that silly little mishap. Maybe because she  is angry that I refuse to fill scripts prescribed by a GP who has no idea what other drugs Ho-Ho's got floating around her system. Do no harm, do no shmarm, amiright?

Or that my kid is turning five in a few weeks, heading to kindergarten and then moving out to live in some off-campus hellhole to do 8 AM keg stands on game days.  I already miss him when I don't want to shake the "whys?" right out of him...which is always. Trips to see Grandma Ho-Ho usually entail long car rides running errands and telling EK to "stop running in the halls or you are going to kill an old person." It's not as fun as it used to be when he was little and dumb.

I just feel done with it - the appointments, medicare, incessant calls. I know it will pass, but today, what I feared would happen, is; I'm making choices as to who I care for and how much. That's ugly.

Don't worry - I'm still failing on the home-front. I've  gotta keep those expectations LOW, right?

In fact, just hours ago I finally  identified the rotten smell haunting our house for a week. Perhaps a dead squirrel in the attic? Nope. Foul broccoli water sat on stove for days because we are disgusting sloths up in this house.

Yet I am able to focus on the really irrelevant stuff, like the issue of school uniforms. Does your kid wear one? I've stared at the school-provided guide and am unclear on the parameters: Can he wear a maroon t-shirt or only polos?  Similar to my freak out about him being a pants-less baby a la Baby Spears, I've completely fallen off the rails on this one.  AS A 'TYPE A' PERSON, I CANNOT FUNCTION IF I DON'T KNOW IF HE CAN WEAR A MAROON T-SHIRT! What the Hell am I talking about?

Whatever the problem is, I need to get my shit together. If I could just redirect a teensy-bit of whatever focus I have left  from the empty cookie bag to buying my mom some panties, we would be golden. Maybe the store also sells maroon tees.

No one ever accused me of being rational. Follow Swirleytime on twitter @swirleytime and Facebook for interesting stories, links and a lot of self-deprecating humor.

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    Annie Swingen

    Chicago-based hyperbole enthusiast. Mom to a kid and sometimes my mom. Overboard (1987) obsessed weirdo. I like the funnies in life.

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