If you haven’t picked up on this yet, we are in the continual process of potty-training my son.  We started when he got curious about the potty - at the ripe age of two.  He is now three and one month, and shows little progress.  Yes, he will go on the potty, but he just doesn’t care.  I kind of think that he is doing it to torment spite torture show me that he can make his own decisions.

Then - this weekend, we made a huge discovery.  We had a billion (exaggeration? perhaps) open houses to go to (I mentioned that I teach seniors, yes?) and at every one of them, Aidan had to use the potty.  Hooray!  By open house number three, we wondered how it was that he could ask us to use the potty then, and yet not at home.  We went to a restaurant, and were curious if this newfound potty-freedom would translate to the restaurant - and it did!  It was a potty miracle!

So - what is next?  Will we continue on the road to potty success?  Or will this all be a wash? (or, more practically, a flush?)  How many more potty words can I come up with?  Stay tuned…

I have to be honest with you - I never expected to be here.  Yes, ten years ago, I did assume that I would be married.  I thought I would be a mom, too (although, at the time, I wanted about three or four kids by now).  I even imagined that I would have a career (what - ‘rock star’ is a career).  No matter how much I whine, I have exactly what I wanted.  While I thought that we would drive to work with rocket-powered backpacks and that I would literally be rolling in money, my life is pretty much what I thought it would be.

Except for one thing - 

At the ripe old age of 27, I find myself a member of the sandwich generation.

I don’t know when it happened.  I don’t know how it happened.  It was gradual - I didn’t even realize it was going on until I got the phone call.  ”Honey, it’s Mom. Your dad’s tests results came back, and it’s cancer.”  So, we prayed like hell, read as much literature as we could get our hands on, and Dad fought. 

Three (four?) months later, another call. “Honey, it’s Mom.  Your dad has had a heart attack.”  So, we prayed like hell, read as much literature (and cookbooks) as we could get our hands on, and Dad fought.

Less than one month later, my Dad is in the hospital again. And it kills me that they are two hours away. I knew this time that something was wrong. I couldn’t get ahold of them, and I just had a bad feeling. So, I called the hospital directly.  My Mom was so mad at me for checking up on her!  

And now, we have come full circle. A great deal of my friends are in the same position - learning to be a parent while learning to parent their parents.  The “sandwich generation” - those who are stuck between their kids and their parents. The catch, is that most of my friends in this with me are in their fourties or older. Most of my friends that are my age are just starting to get married, or are still too busy having fun to settle down.

Don’t get me wrong - I’m not complaining, I’m just tired. And I don’t really know what I’m doing (shhh…don’t tell anybody).  In my mind, though, that’s most of what parenting is - not really knowing what is going on, and pressing forward anyway. Learning through trial and error.

Are you going through this?  Have you successfully navigated this part of life already? Let’s start a discussion here.  And now? To get a snack…all this talk about ’sandwiches’ is making me hungry!

It has just been one of those days. You know, the kind when I wonder about the decisions I’ve made in my child’s life. Yes, on some level, I wonder about these decisions all the time, but I am not always aware of them.  Today, however, it was apparent. 

Let me set the scene: It is 5:25 pm.  I am just home from a long day at school and at practice.  (It might help for you to know that my day started at 5:15 am, getting out the door by 6:45, dropping son off at day care, and arriving at school in time for my 7:00 am meeting. Then, after teaching my classes, I went to yet another meeting and then a two hour tennis practice.)  I walk in the door to my son, yelling “Mommy!!!” and the most wonderful smells coming from my kitchen.  I start to relax. 

I set down my bags, and help my husband get my son ready for dinner.  My son says grace, and then we start to eat. Then I hear “Rachel?  What’s this?”  I turn, only to see my son looking at me with questioning eyes.  I kindly say, “Did you just call me Rachel?” to which he says, “Mommy?  What’s this?”.  This wouldn’t be altogether bad, except that he repeated this behavior several times at dinner.

To non-moms, this is no big thing.  But for those of us who have chosen to raise both children and careers, this is a huge guilt-laden reminder that our children are being raised - at least partially - by someone else.  

I have had many days like this.  Sometimes, like today, it is just small, jabbing reminders of my choice. Others, are a bit more specific.  When Aidan was a baby, I was unable to breast-feed.  This? Was not a choice.  I simply didn’t have any milk for him, so it was either bottle-feed, or starve newborn baby.  Yet, I had nurses, friends, and even random women I’d never met before literally yell at me for making a bad decision for my child!  As if I needed more guilt added to my day.

The point?  I have two. First, if you are feeling guilty (like me) of the decisions that you have made, give yourself a break. This mother stuff is not easy, and whatever decision makes you a better mommy will, at the end of the day, make for a better baby. 

Second, if you are one of the nurses, friends, or random women who tend to dish out strong advice about another woman’s decision - be careful.  Remember, a mother is closer to her guilt than she even is to her child.  She doesn’t need your help to get more guilt ladled on!  If you have advice, give it in a non-threatening manner.  Or?  Better yet?  Let her learn for herself.  

And with that? I have to go, for my toddler is trying to let himself into the locked room where I am writing this.  Hey - don’t judge.