As a member of the Sandwich Generation, I assure you The Greatest Generation and The Millennials have more in common than you think.

Last evening, I was checking in on my 88-year-old mom. She lives in her own house, works out at a gym, belongs to a book club, drives her own car, gets her hair done every week, reads so much she thinks it’s a crime because she doesn’t get her chores done and has strong political beliefs. Based on all that, she should be checking in on me, her child. You know, just to make sure I’m okay.

A bit into the conversation she says:

“Oh, I need to go to the mall. I really need new green pants.”

“Hey,” I said, “I have a coupon for your favorite store. I’ll drop it off tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she moaned, “I can’t go tomorrow. I’m too busy. I have no idea when I can get there. And I found this gift card. I don’t know how long it’s good for.”

“Mom, that gift card is good forever. There’s no rush.”

“Ugh,” she said, “I’m so bored with my wardrobe. I never pick out anything that I like.”

“MOM,” I stopped her. “I know what you’re doing.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I know what you’re doing. Why don’t you just ask rather than pussyfoot around?”

“Well, if you know what I’m doing then I don’t have to ask.”

“Okay, fine,” I say exasperated. ” I will take you shopping.”

As demurely as she can muster she says, “Aww, thanks, that’s nice.”

Not five hours later, my 20-something daughter calls on her way home from a long, long day at work. I love that she calls almost every night. She lives in the big city and she knows it makes me feel better when she chats with me while walking home from work.

At some point, we run out of chit-chat. It’s been a long day for both of us. It’s late. We are both tired. But she doesn’t seem to want to hang up.  So, I’m talking about her work, her roommate’s new job, her sore feet.

Okay, kid. Let’s wind this up. Mommy still has work to do.

She mentions a wedding invitation she received. She asks about a family friend’s impending grandson. She responds to my story that I should definitely take Nanny shopping for green pants because she needs new ones. This is getting ridiculous.

Her Dad goes to bed. I miss my favorite show. Oh. My. God.

And then it hits me and I say to her:

“I know what you’re doing.”

“What,” she mumbles, because I know by this time, she’s in bed and talking from there.

“It’s like when you were little. You want me to talk and talk and talk until you fall asleep.”

“Um hmm,” she says.

At least that’s what I think she says because now it’s unintelligible and she may, in fact, be asleep already.

See, these grandmas and kids are still manipulating us at every turn.

But the joke is on them, they didn’t know what I was doing. I was spending time with them. They still need me!

“You Just Have to Laugh….”

©2017 Cathy Sikorski