As children there’s always the reassurance that there are at least two or maybe even three generations above us.  We are young, in the lower part of the sandwich, and the grandparents and great-grandparents in the upper part are old, as old as Methuselah.

There comes a time when we move up to be the filling in the sandwich.  We are now parents, looking after young children and also aged parents and grandparents.  We are running around like blue-arse flies, trying to please all the people all the time.

Fast forward thirty years.  Our parents and grandparents have died, and our children have flown the nest and have children of their own.  We are proud grandparents, in the upper part of the sandwich, no longer the fillers, and no longer running around like blue-arse flies (we can’t anyway, because our joints would complain).  We have the time to indulge our grandchildren, and then give them back to their mum and dad and carry on with our slower-paced lives.

Sam and I still have elderly mothers, although they are now housebound.  At our barbeque yesterday for Sam’s birthday it was the first time that Mum had not been there, simply because she can no longer get in and out of  a car, and because our house is not wheelchair friendly.  In effect at family gatherings Sam and I are now the upper part of the sandwich, enjoying the fruits of our labours, cuddling all four grandchildren, and knowing that in reality they think we are as old as Methuselah.  What a comforting thought!

Now off to indulge our granddaughters for the rest of the day, and tomorrow morning as well. See you all on Monday. x

 

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