Plan B

Over the weekend I was told I was Plan B. OK, not those words exactly. And not in a destructive way. But that's what I heard. It's been bothering me ever since.

You see, I'm a stay-at-home mom (SAHM). I've been a working woman, a work-out-of-the-home mom, a part-time-work mom. A very responsible employee. Reliable friend. Always came through in a pinch. But I wasn't a SAHM until I was 40. Work pretty much was my identity. Then at 42 I found myself in a new town, in a new state with a 5 year old, 3 year old and a 5 month old. No family. No friends. No support.

So the responsible, reliable me offered to help a neighbor, since she worked. Her daughter came to the house every morning for 5 years for 30 minutes before the bus came for school. Because I was home and didn't work. I drove kids to practice after school because their parents worked. I drove kids home from chorus because otherwise they wouldn't be able to be in it because their parents worked.

I have helped out, oftentimes last minute, at fundraisers, book fairs, meets, classrooms, coaching and every other thing you can imagine. I am the person who never forgets, is always prepared and is always there. (Now I sound like State Farm.) I am the person who people wonder what's wrong if I forget an appointment or don't show up to something.

Currently, I drive a middle school carpool every morning because everyone else works. I drive home on Wednesdays because it's early release day and no one is home from work yet. I am the person called when neighborhood kids miss the bus. I get the call when it's an odd time for a sitter.

I've done it to myself. I have volunteered. If I don't do it, who will? Somehow there is something in me that needs to be useful. But hearing I've become Plan B just was never in the cards.