What is the sandwich generation in estate planning?

The sandwich generation describes adults in their 40s to 60s caring for aging parents and their own children simultaneously — stuck between two generations, tired, and often on the edge of broke.

You're the deli meat, the peanut butter, whatever. Doesn't matter. You're getting squeezed from both sides.

What does the sandwich generation actually feel like?

Lisa. She's 54. Lives in Canoga Park. Her mom has dementia. Her dad needs dialysis three times a week. Her daughter is a sophomore in college. Tuition is due in two weeks. Her son just lost his job and moved back home.

Lisa's husband left three years ago. Didn't say where. Just... left.

Every morning, Lisa makes a list. Mom's medication. Dad's ride to dialysis. Daughter's tuition payment. Son's job applications. Her own work deadlines.

She crosses off three things. Five more appear.

She's on hold with Medi-Cal. For the third time this month. The hold music is something soft rock from the 80s. She hates the 80s. She was there. She was tired then, too.

There's no one to pass the phone to. No one to say "I've got this one." Just Lisa. And the hold music.

Why is it called a peanut butter (no jelly) sandwich?

Because you're the peanut butter. Stuck between two slices of bread.

You are the only thing keeping everything together.

Parents on top. Kids on bottom. You're doing all the holding.

But there's no jelly. No partner. No sweetness. Just you.

Peanut butter doesn't need refrigeration. It just lasts. Even when you wish it wouldn't.

What happens when there's no partner to share the squeeze?

Lisa's mom calls four times a day. Sometimes to ask what day it is. Sometimes to ask why Lisa doesn't visit more. Lisa visits three times a week. Her mom doesn't remember.

Her daughter calls once a week. Usually for money. Lisa sends it. Because she's her kid. And because her own mother never sent her a dime.

The people you love most are also the people who drain you most. And you can't say that out loud. Because they're your family. Because you're supposed to be grateful. Because they're still alive.

Dirty Laundry Tip

Peanut butter is resilient. You can leave it on the counter. In the fridge. In the cupboard. It doesn't go bad. It just waits.

That's you.

But waiting isn't living. And your kids are watching. They're learning that "fine" means "alone."

So stop being fine.

Write a trust — so your money goes to your kid. Not some probate lawyer's kid.

Annoy your parents until they write theirs. They don't get to leave you with a mess.

Find someone to bring you a glass of milk. Just not if you're lactose intolerant like me.

Then just water. Water's free.

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