I GOT CARDED

Dear Diary,

As I jauntily march through the doors of my favorite Den of Antiquity (Happy Daze Assisted living where “THEY DO DEMENTIA RIGHT!”) I am accosted by a hyperventilating Ruth waving some sort of official looking envelope (jury duty?) in my face. WOO! HOO! “Wow, look what you have. What do you think it is?”
To be perfectly frank, I KNOW what it is.. NOW, that it’s recklessly violating air space in my personal comfort zone. BEHOLD! The same letter that I have been reading to Ruth adnauseam for weeks on and off.. because she loves to hear it. W-h-y does she like to hear it? Again, I bite myself in the badunkadunk.. SHE likes it because I EMBELLISH, that’s WHY. Taking a little artistic liberty from time to time is no crime and in this case it makes the Old Lady happy, so what’s the harm? I’m sure not going to read this Valentines Day card from her son, let’s call him..Kevin (and her other sons will be ummm.. Joe and Nick*..) the way it was W R I T T E N. Not that there is anything wrong with the syntax of said Vday greeting. You be the judge..which would you rather have read aloud in front of YOUR
twenty- five Alzheimer friends congregating around your seat at lunch?

1. Happy Valentines Day mom. Will you be mine? Love, Kevin
or..
2. Dearest beautiful Mother, What ever did I do to deserve a mother like you? Never has there been a more blessed man on this earth than me for being able to grow up with such goodness surrounding me at every moment. How does such a man deserve..
(turn card over and cont. page 2)

..and you know mom that I can’t smile without you, I really can’t smile without you. I can’t laugh and I can’t sing and I’m finding it hard to do ANYTHING. You see I feel sad when you’re sad, I feel glad when you’re glad and mom, if you only knew what I’m going through..I just can’t smile without you.

I bet you’re thinking those words SOUND kinda familiar..well, what do you expect? I have to change it up a notch every time I read it and I’m running out of ideas. Special thanks to Berry Manilow for helping a sister out of a jam. Then I take it on home with the close (this also changes depending on my mood and creativity). Never do I do just a plain “With Love”, way too anticlimactic.

After my reading is complete..I look up to check the reaction. S-U-C-E-S-S.. again..not a dry eye in the place. Ruth is positively beaming with pride and now that my job is done I get to sit back and listen to the post game wrap-up. This is my FAVORITE part– when Ruth reaches an ecstatic HIGH on the proud-ometer and everyone talks at once about what a great child she raised and how they have NEVER heard such a letter in ALL of THEIR LIVES. Maybe I’ll substitute something lyrical from Brittney NEXT time..possabilities..ENDLESS!

To all you Moms in the bread..ladies of MY SANDWICH GENERATION..never be afraid to pull out all the stops when it comes to spreading joy around the family..and around..and around..”WHAT A FEELIN’..!”

LOVE,
A
* Any semblance to the names of the three JONAS BROTHERS is purely coincidental.

MOTHER PLUCKER

Dear Diary,

I LIVE A DANGEROUS LIFE.. many missions that I undertake have huge risks associated with them. Take for instance my under cover work as PLUCKER. A steady hand, the sharpest of eyes..one wrong move and it’s oozing blood and hysteria.. usually mine.. all over. Today, I have no choice, I have to go in and..OUCH.. WAAAAAH! My face contorts and I curse the fact that this hair plucking thing is not a service the FACILITY offers. Let THEM be held responsible for pain inflicted on a poor (hardly) elderly (pleeze), UGGS wearing (beige slip-ons, I D-I-E) dementia patient. Ruth is just so darned nice about me gouging her and leaving bleeding hair follicles in my wake of destruction. Always following the yank, is a kindly hand pat and sympathetic smile for the woman rooting out chin hairs with the tenderness and skill of a first year dental student attempting a “plaque scrape” for the very first time.
“Sorry.. sorry.. sorry it won’t happen again.” I lie with trembling lower lip.
I know it’s a lie, Ruth knows it’s a lie, all the Happy Daze staff knows it’s a lie. I will inflict more PAIN because THAT’S WHAT I DO. Ruth will smile and console me, encouraging me until the LAST..OUCH..HAIR..AUGHH..HAS..PHEEE been..PLUCKED!

NEXT?

A

WHY-KEY-KEY?

Dear Diary,

Nothing like sitting around the table in the communal dining room chewing the fat (chunks of it) with Ruth and a few of her closest gal pals. Today it was me, Selma, Virginia, Greta and Faye bonding over some sort of HEN in a faux dairy base with an exotic name..(Alvarez? Alcatraz?). This of course being part of the marketing plan, to lead this group of Alzheimer’s patients into thinking they are really in a land of mystery and intrigue. This ploy didn’t fool Ruth who grabbed the spoon and started fishing for the chunks of sodium free, dairy-less, perhaps meat-less, poultry all the while exclaiming..LOOKS LIKE CHICKEN TO ME. Can’t fool that Ruth.

By the looks of things, previously mentioned ethnic cuisine was NOT a hit, but the Moose au chocolate caused a stampede to the dessert table. Ruth wanted to wrap hers up in a napkin and put it in her “bag” for later. Two problems with this idea:

1. How do you wrap up a PUDDING?
2. Ruth doesn’t carry a BAG.

Think fast dear girl because YOU know what’s coming. Now Ruth’s shouting loud enough for our whole table to hear.. what do you mean I don’t have a bag? She is incredulous. Oh n-o-o-o-o! I couldn’t be lucky enough to have it stop there..THAT would be too EASY. I thought I brought my bag with me to THIS table. Where the heck did it go? B-L-A-H-H-H-H! This is NOT a good sign when we utter the words “WHERE DID IT GO?” It’s in these simple words uttered, that I always succumb to the trap of engagement. Rule number one my sweet, innocent, Sandwich Generation NEWBIES, NEVER EVER SUCCUMB.

This eldercare thing is NOT for those slow on their feet! It’s a THINKING MANS (oh sure, THAT will be the day) game. I wasn’t in it to WIN it today and for THAT I will be PUNISHED. Selma who had been quietly watching our little exchange decides to be helpful. “Well, I’ll drive you home and we can look for your bag there..let’s see.” Selma looks inside HER (empty) purse, obviously becoming more and more agitated by the second as she ruffles through air. I begin my internal countdown to all hell breaking loose..3,2,1.. WHERE ARE MY KEYS? We have lift-off!
Faye? Do you have anything to add to this discussion?
Greta where’s your purse? (might as well go ALL the WAY)
RUTH: OMG! I had MY keys in my purse…

When in doubt use distraction and I don’t mean the old, WHAT’S THAT OVER THERE? Tell a story–it’s the old bait and switch but used for GOOD never for EVIL. I just so happened to have a true story in my repertoire.

On the way to Ruth’s for lunch I was stopped at a red light and I was just kind of hangin’ out, mentally tallying up my caloric intake for the day, trying to asses how many calories are in just the frosting part of the pumpkin scone I had for breakfast. THUNK! I’m hit from behind by CELL PHONE TALKER GIRL, who makes ME get out of MY car to come over to HER. She says to me “s-o-r-r-y.. I forgot which was the gas pedal and which was the brake! How LAME is THAT?
Ruth looks up at me lost in..thought and says after a brief knowing nod,”Yeah, that’s WHY I quit.”

Mother-Girlfriends of MY SANDWICH GENERATION remember age should NOT always be a factor in the decision to take away the keys to your elderly’s car. Try this test..Put your bound and gagged husband in the up-right position, in the back seat of your seniors vehicle. Next, have granny take him for a spin…any freeway will do. Allow your husband to make the final call..he will feel so needed and appreciate you involving him in these large, life altering decisions– a true ego boost to be sure.

Me? Putting pedal to the metal..

A

Bridge Ahead 1/4 Mile: Bystanders Will Be PERSECUTED

Dear Diary,

Silence. Silence like you have never heard before type of silence. A silence so still, thick and heavy that you might think that someone has just di..”One no trump”. Huh? “12-14..hi dear, come sit down”, comes the whispered command from Grandma Marnie. I slink around the square, white linen cloaked, bridge table trying my darnedest to be as invisible as humanly possible (given my notoriously clumsy reputation, it was not a shock to see all players brace for impact). Each player in turn, acknowledged me with a brief nod and obligatory, half cocked smile and returned to evaluate the upcoming incursion. “How we doing Marnie, are we winning?” SHHHHHHH! “Sorry…oh I’m..” I throw my hands over my big YAP and make “kitty eyes” (learned this trick from my youngest kid who is a SHREK devotee) so that the “girls” will remember that I’m really just a sweet, naive, innocent grand-daughter (as apposed to an undercover agent sent to distract the players so that her granny can rack up all the winnings).

The game goes on and on and it’s BORING. They talk in a weird code and it’s all.. “one spade” and then the lady with the red lipstick does a front teeth wipe over with her tongue and whispers through her nose “stop; three hearts”. We move on to the player wearing the navy and maroon Burberry Classic pullover (that I would kill to have), brushing an imaginary “somethin’, somthin’” from the front of my…um HER sweater. With an almost constipated expression, she manages to choke out a…”pass”. Pass what? Tennis balls?

DING! DING! DING! Was that “unauthorized information” I just saw before me? Where’s the ref.? Burberry lady is cheating! It says in the rules, and I quote, “any extraneous remarks made during the game; any bull shwanky hand gestures or pathetic questions about bidding are grounds for A PENALTY. I’m elbowing Marnie so I can share my astute observation and doing so in such a way as to not draw attention to our side of the table. Marnie starts thunking me back with her thigh and glaring at me from underneath furrowed brows. I am totally getting reprimanded for interrupting her concentration and that is reason enough to seek the DEATH PENALTY. “Dear, why don’t you go and put together a little refreshment platter from the lobby?”

I know you’re thinking, so what? What’s soooo bad about the LOBBY? Here’s the deal..Ted is in the lobby and TED loves to talk. If I am sent downstairs I may never be seen again. Days may go by; I’ll miss pick-up and my children will be left to wander aimlessly through the school halls while waiting for their turn on the office phone with all the other “forgot-lings”. No! This cannot be MY fate!

Marnie is winning.. as she should. She is a c-r-a-z-y bridge player and only the very elite or the VERY stupid play with her. She will kick your..”FABULOUS hand dear. I guess that’s it. Are we playing Thursday?” Victorious again and counting her winnings, Marnie hardly looks up to answer, “sure, we can meet on Thursday..”. I could tell by the pause that more words were on her lips. “Ummm, maybe we can up the stakes just a bit”. Poor chumps! Next time they play for QUARTERS. Sorry gals..I see tough economic times in your future.

My Sandwich Generation…heads UP! Pure and simple..YOU NEED to know how to play bridge. If you don’t, you will be like me.. lost and out of sorts and the BUTT of all the old ladies’ JOKES. This is NOT a good position to be in. Eldercare can only be done well, if you know HOW to play THE GAME.

I fold!

A

When Bad Clothes Happen to Good People

Dear Diary,

In the vast array of crayola crayons in the 500 assortment box, have you ever come across a color called breast fed baby’s No. 2, yellow? It’s in the mustard family. I want to be perfectly clear from the start.. I watch WHAT NOT TO WEAR and I know better than to EVER purchase any item in this repulsive shade. Imagine my horror as I walked into Ruth’s room and there she stood, all.. I’m all that, with hot pink blouse (not a baaaad choice if accessorized well), cocoa-mocha brown cardigan, beige pearls (see… my girl DOES now how to accessorize) and pants a rich hue of..HOLY SAINT JOHN– mother of all knits! What are these? I find myself frantically tugging down the polyester-rayon blended, elasticized waisted, butt ugliest pants I have ever seen. Then I start with the fifth degree..Where did you find these? Who gave these to you? Why did you put these with a pink shirt? I was rattling off questions left and right, all the while pushing Ruth to a sitting position on the bed and yanking them down to her ankles and over her shoes.

Lets look at who these pants REALLY belong to…probably Marion…! “Sure!” I say confidently. These look just like something Marion would throw on, with some puke green neck bowed blouse to finish the look. I have a peek at the label to see what name had been inscribed in marker over it’s surface. Behold! In faded, hardly legible “me” font, the name..RUTH! W-H-A-T? That’s when it hits me. “Where are your chocolate brown, nice pants that go with that..you know.. brown leopard print pull over?” Pant less Ruth, gets up and shuffles over to her rather full closet (they had a SALE at Penny’s, I couldn’t HELP myself) and starts searching through the rack with the wrist flick technique of a very well seasoned, professional shopper. Score! Animal print sweater found, and I’ll be..It’s the SAME color as the previously mentioned nasty pants. Wow! Color coordinated! Looks like the staff has been washing your clothes in LYSOL again granny!

Lovely ladies of my sandwich generation, a few fashion tips from me to you. Buy clothing for your fashion forward senior that is easy to wash and you can afford to have obliterated by over worked staff who don’t read labels. Avoid cotton (except for short nighties and other intimate apparel). Say no in fact, to any natural fiber unless you are going to do the laundry (in which case leave me your cell number cuz..I’m just saying..). Most importantly choose pants with elastic waist bands (and I don’t need to tell YOU why). Meal time is one big, never-ending food fest; belly expansion (even with all that Wii Golf) is par for the course.

See you on the cat walk!

A

Out to Lunch

Dear Diary,

It was THAT time of the month again. When the feeling is all– OHHH! NOOO!…Not AGAIN! Loss of appetite, general malaise all because of.. RED-HAT-DAY! I’m not really sure what the whole story is on this greatly celebrated day over at Happy Daze Assisted Living. Something about being old and wearing purple and red and doing whatever you please. I don’t actually give a rip, but Ruth and friends have to partake in this monthly ritual, so as advocate I have to “kind of know” what it entails. Because, what happens if it’s actually some GIRLS GONE WILD sorority hazing function where you get all dressed in red and don a red hat and do shots of tequila? Then dance to tunes from Madonna’s VOGUE CD. I’d feel p-r-e-t-t-y BAD if that’s what she was made to do and I wasn’t inclu..know about it!

Ruth told me yesterday she can’t stand going to Red Hat Day! When I pressed for details, she gave me a very lucid and well thought out answer..”IT’S DUMB!” Hmmm!

Me: Do you want to be more specific?

Ruth: They dress us up in these S-T-T-T-UPID HATS and parade us upstairs and we sit in this noisy room just eating and drinking!

Me: I don’t know about YOU Ruth, but I’m thinking, THAT sounds just like grounds for ABUSE charges.. I’ll just whip out my cell (there is NO whipping out my cell..it is buried somewhere under all my “NEVER leave home without” stuff) and place a call to the OMBUDSMAN* HOT LINE! Oh look, it’s on speed dial…

Ruth: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA …….! I have to find the Ladies Room….NOW! (I always know this is coming when I make her laugh, but I can’t help myself)

Ladies rooms are not as fun as they used to be with Ruth. We go in and try to decide if we take door #1, door#2, door #3 or the big one– door #4. We’ll take # 3 no, no, no–#4 Jack, for fifty…minutes. In we…(YES, you heard correctly), go. Through are set-up (have to use those seat covers– at least five or six of them) and deployment ritual. I like to exit at this point to give Ruth some privacy to examine the stall decorum. Truth be told, I’m really just standing outside her door peering through the crack giving directions very discreetly. “NOW FIND THE TOILET PAPER RUTH. NO, THAT’S NOT IT!… IT’S TO YOUR RIGHT! NO! THAT’S LEFT! RIGHT! YEAH! GOOD WORK! NOW…” Inevitably some lady walks in and stands there completely befuddled by the display. I don’t even bother explaining the whole Alzheimer’s thing…

I see Ruth today after the party! All the gang is hanging out, laying on the couch, looking like they knocked back one too many Prune Juice Spritzers…MM-mm! Good! Ruth and I took a little walk to clear her head and I apologized for not saving her from the overly stimulating soiree. I was with the OTHER upper crust part of My Sandwich Generation combo meal..Grandma Marnie. As we walked and talked, I shared some very private thoughts with Ruth regarding my own life and feelings. “Ruth” I say, “I’m going to spill my guts to you.” I have her rapt attention now. “I’m BANKING on the fact that you won’t spill the beans…because YOU WILL FORGET EVERYTHING I am about to tell you…RIGHT??” Ruth looks at me with a sly smile and says…
S U R E.. I will!

Chow!

A

*OMBUDSMAN Program for all MY Sandwich Generation girl friends, is a group that protects and promotes quality of life for people who live in a licensed, long-term adult care facilities. Your local Ombudsman is a trusted resource in mediating complaints or concerns you may have regarding your eldercare recipient .

Pleeeze don’t be BLUE!

Dear Diary,

Sometimes I feel that I am dealing with a teenage girl! There is Ruth the young at heart, all–”I live in the moment. I’m a fun-loving adventure woman.” There is Ruth the moody- “Who YOU lookin’ at? Leave me ALONE! I’m going to my ROOM.. (slam)!” Then there is my favorite– Ruth working some serious “tude”, sporting lipstick, pearls and a I’M ALL THAT strut. Today’s special.. Ruth in LOVE.
BLAHHH! This role reversal thing leaves me feeling like such a STICK IN THE MUD, S.I.M for short.

I walk purposefully towards the dining room with the agenda being, to label all of Ruth’s wardrobe with indelible Sharpie Permanent Purple Pen ink.. again. I thought the whole purpose and reputation of this pen was based upon it’s ability to withstand WATER, i.e. wash machines, toilet bowl dunkings, and liquid beverage mishaps that involve a certain SOMEONE (Harriet* ) (*Please see past blogs), tossing JUICE at some one’s (my) mother-in-law. Unfortunately when the pen wears off.. Ruth’s clothes go M.I.A. Who knoooows where they go… I have theories, but nothing hard and fast at this point.

I’m spotted immediately by Ruth the… demure, blushing, I’m full of light and bliss– fairy girl? Where did SHE come from? The last time “Fairy Feingold” showed up was…hmmmmm
This is what happens when I skip my Starbucks Zen tea with soy; processing becomes painfully s-l-o-o-o-w-w. When I put all the elements together, and factored in the probability, I realized with the slowly lifting brain fog, that Ruth had found.. herself.. a.. MAN!!(again)

Escaping the clutches of Ruth’s embrace, I happen to glance down, and find myself fixated on something, “toe-tally alarm-ing!”, OMG! Ruth had BLUE NAILS! SHUT— UP!
Really… her nails were painted thirteen year old “stuffed bra, Seven Jeans, Brittney BLUE”..with pink dots.

Me (S.I.M): Ruth, what happened here? Are you feeling O.K.? Is this Gangrene? Call a doctor!
Ruth (giggling): I don’t remember what happened. Isn’t it terrible?
Me (S.I.M) Do you have any other symptoms? Vomiting, fever..?
It really wouldn’t have been such a big deal if it weren’t for the fact that TWENTY-FOUR hours earlier I had taken Ruth to have her nails, French Manicured at She-She Poo-Poo Salon and Spa for thirty-five– yes, you heard right… Thirty-five BUCKS!
Labels? I’ll do that tomorrow!

I can NEVER say this next point enough, My dear Sandwich Generation BFF’s. If you post instructions for the staff to follow, i.e. never, ever, polish Ruth’s nails..they must do as instructed. If we are having some communication issues with any eldercare providers, clear them up NOW.. before they become serious! Red Hair with blonde stripes is so 80’s and NOT a good look on anyone.

A

Hair Today

The Hair Piece

Dear Diary,

Never underestimate the power of hair. It yields power far beyond the comprehension of our species. Even in the chimpanzee family..never mind how homely they are, they go to great lengths to make sure that they don’t leave their tree unless meticulously groomed and presentable to other jungle inhabitant’s. Who needs the flat irons and styling mousse? The right “look” can be accomplished in minutes.. although, judging from the results, maybe they need to re-evaluate the use of saliva as styling gel. Why then does it take so much time to keep Ruth and her “coif” camera ready?

Every Wednesday, like clockwork, Ruth and I get ready to enjoy an intensive “day of beauty”. We’ve had numerous dalliances with hairdressers over the years and have been recently “on break” with Michael, so we are feeling slightly delicate about beginning a new relationship when we’re so raw. But, because hair plays such a big PART in how we feel about ourselves, we move on. Today Ruth and her humble side-kick…moi…will check out Trent (his skills!!!) and feel out whether he posses the qualities we look for in a hair designer. Trent will need to:

A. Be a good flirt–VERY important if he is to obtain high marks with Ruth

B. Have a kind and gentle demeanor. i.e. help her to her seat (it’s my job to make sure she gets her legs over that PAAATHETIC “seat raise” foot bar)

C. Compliments heavily and responds with “NOOOO!! GET OUT!” when she tells him she is 92yrs.(She’s actually 82yrs. but 92yrs. gets a much bigger reaction).

D. Above all else…he must be nice to the help…me!

We broke it off with our last man Michael, in case you’re wondering, because he basically leveled Eldercare Abuse charges at me for much too much “infrequent trims”. I got lectured every time I brought Ruth in and no matter how many times I explained the fact that Ruth has Dementia and some days it’s very stressful for her to sit for long periods of time or remember WHY she has to sit at all… Our boy responds:

Michael: Well than I’ll have her stand

Me: Oh, she’ll stand all right…
(Adrienne grabs Ruth’s hand and exits in huff and puff stage right, music fades, curtain falls.)

Trent turns out to be a dear and now we’re all dating. You know how it is in the early stage of a relationship… we’re all giddy, flushed and full of hope for the future. Great hair too! Ruth can’t wait for next week…definitely gives her something to look forward to…for the next five minutes, until she forgets. Girlfriends of My Sandwich Generation take note, hair is always very important no matter what stage of life you are in. Play hairdresser at home or go out to “Chop and Crop” to give mom some added pampering and help her to feel like a million bucks (without the grand expenditure). Little touches go a long way and when Mom feels great WE feel great (naturally, I would feel better if it were ME sitting in the chair). What ev-er!

On the other hand Grandma Marnie is very low maintenance. What makes her low maintenance? She wears a hair piece and she loves it sooo much she even named it…”Susie”. L-O-V-E that Susie…how can I not? She only needs a good hose down tri- yearly, a nightly comb out by granny, and a few pins to hold her down and BAM! Out we go to the awaiting Bridge Game in minutes. Susie is the third in a line of other, lesser evolved hair pieces. First Bertha (may she R.I.P) Amy (still hanging in there, but starting to show her age) and Susie who has many, many good years left in her so Marnie can be covered until she’s 100yrs .

Remember girls.. when writing your medical directives always include an addendum entitled “Grooming A-Z” and make sure your wishes are clearly represented. Plucked? Waxed? Piece or no piece?

Peace!

A

Bikini Ready

Dear Diary,

This eldercare thing can get pretty hairy. I just try to imagine what I would like to experience if it were me hanging out, living in the moment… eating two lunches and three desserts (because I claimed I couldn’t remember what they tasted like). I could pretty much shout any (censored) thing with my “outside voice” that came to mind, i.e. “that woman’s an idiot” or “she’s not very attractive is she” or this one– a classic, “I’m not doing exercise class because who’s gonna see me naked?” O.K. folks, that attitude is not gonna cut it when I’m leading my killer abs work out hour, with you grannies and pappy’s. Alzheimer’s or no Alzheimer’s you are gonna have a strong core (need this to prevent those pesky hip fractures) and a nice butt, because I have an unswerving “no junk in the trunk policy”.

May I also mention, that I hope all you mommy’s out there are doing the same. Did you work out today? Let me go on record as saying: If I’m going to take care of everyone and their mother and THEIR mothers’ mother, then you can bet your tootie I’m going to be on some kind of device, sweating it out most days.

Work-out music selection is always the biggest dilemma for me. I am so tired of Frank. Oh how I loathe doing bicep curls to “Luck be a Lady Tonight”.
I prefer a little more up-beat approach, say, Icky Thump by The White Stripes for leg lifts and then on to Instant Karma by U2 for abdominals. Hey…they like it. I don’t blast it or anything as annoying as that. It’s always played at a nice soothing level for optimal results both physically and spiritually. My absolute fav exercise is for fine motor… focusing on agility of the fingers. For those of you who wish to try it at home I’ll walk you through our specific exercise. We start with tapping our thumb and index fingers of both hands together at a nice pace..tap, tap, tap. Then we move on to the next finger we’ll call it the “bird” finger and the thumb and so on until all fingers have been tapped. Next we do finger circles, twirl the thumbs, then the index or pointer finger and then…

Just at the moment Beyonce starts singing, “if you like it then you’d better put a ring on it” we start twirling the “bird finger” in unison. As were doing our aggressive finger circles and I’m shouting over Miss B (cause you have to play Beyonce a little louder) “come on people, work it harder, get the whole arm into the game now!”. I glance up to see some possible new recruits and their loved ones watching with amusment our upper-body work out. We keep going exercising the “bird finger” because, 1. you never know when you might have to use it and 2.I love this particular exercise.

The new folk later decided to join our club…shweeeet! Did I say “our” club. This is what comes with six days a week with “my people”. I have people!

Welcome to My sandwich generation! Known for it’s tenacity, creativity and slogan “no whine with meals”.

Time to give mommy a bottle!

A