Welcome to the sandwich generation. The baby boomers care for their elderly parents and often their grandchildren, all at the same time. This is a story about the difficulties of dealing pleasantly with an aging parent who has health problems, can't hear, often lacks cognitive reasoning, and never liked me very much. Nevertheless, who is better equipped to give a mother a loving home and understanding? I get upset at times but rarely show it because she's, my mom. No matter what the consequences to me, I, the martyr, continue the day with a smile, looking for the rainbow. It's out there somewhere if I just keep searching. At times, this story will sound disrespectful, but it is my way of coping. I tried to get this story written while she was still alive, knowing I would feel terribly guilty writing about some of the episodes after her death. Throughout all the trials and tribulations, there were times when we could still laugh together and reminisce. Knowing that I have given her comfort in her final years is good, but as she used to say, "Hell, I'll outlive all my family." But that prediction did not come true. If it had, I would have hoped that someone would throw this book in the lake before she had a chance to read it; otherwise, she would have peed on my grave.