Bullying on the Bus

I just watched a segment on the Today Show about a father that went onto his daughter's school bus, to confront the kids bullying his daughter. And my hats go off to him. I don't agree with all he said, but his passion to protect his daughter, I can relate to. The idea of my boys being bullied would break my heart.
I have been a victim of bullying on a school bus, of course, this was years ago. I was taunted, spat at, had lit matches thrown at me. I was told to ignore them, and my parents did nothing. I watched a mentally retarded (that is how they were referred at the time) girl being mercilessly bullied. It makes me cry now, thinking about her anguish. She didn't have the skills to fight back, and I became her protector, all less than five feet and 80 lbs of me. I watched a little boy have his football thrown out of the window by older boys. The bus driver refused to stop to get it, until I threw such a fit he pulled over and I went out to the ditch and got it. I can still remember Briton's tears flowing down his face, unable to protect himself from kids twice his size and age.
If the schools won't protect our kids, what message does that send. I would board that bus, in a heart beat.

This Sandwich Sucks

I am in what is called the "sandwich generation". Meaning I have aging parents and young children at the same time. I have spent the majority of the week being with my mother, who is in the hospital. Dealing with low potassium and sodium levels, anemia, and dementia. She doesn't know the year, can't be trusted to take her meds, and lies to the doctor about how much she drinks. My father has some what relinquished responsibility for her, yet gets mad when the doctors direct their comments toward me. He did throw in this week that he has stopped taking his medication also. He doesn't have memory problems, he's doing that on purpose. (I think to push me over the edge!) My mom entering the hospital started a few nights ago when I received a call from their clinic, where she had lab work done earlier that day. The results were alarming, and she needed to be hospitalized immediately, but they couldn't reach my parents. I tried calling them, and it just rang and rang. I got dressed, jumped in the car, and spent the drive to their home calling them on my cell. No answer. I get there, pound on the door, explain why I'm there, and send them to get dressed. I checked the phone and got a dial tone. I called their number and it rang. So, their phone was working, but they couldn't hear it? My dad thinks the clinic and I were calling the wrong number. (Ah, yeah Dad, my childhood phone number I have suddenly forgotten, I don't think so.) Dad's not walking well, and won't discuss it. I find out in the hospital Mom had hurt her toe, of course she doesn't know when or how. It was exhausting. And then I leave that chaos to pick up my children, and deal with homework, owies, and laundry/dinner/baths/ and missing teeth. My boys are much easier to deal with then Mom and Dad. They are like teenagers, who think they are old enough to handle responsibility, but you know they aren't. I am tired. I want someone to take care of me. I want to go back to being a child, when the world was easier.