Plan B

I spent all weekend mulling over my out of control MidChix to-do list.  Email has been kicking my ass. As somebody said, it's like drinking from a fire hose.  But after stepping back to gain perspective and some advice from my better half, this morning I was rubbing my hands together in eager anticipation of wrestling back control. Then two minutes after the door had closed behind my kids as they headed to school, it opened again.  "Mom, I have a flat tire."  Deep breaths.

Although it's been less than four weeks since Nicki got her license, and I got freedom, the old hand-me-down car has now twice challenged me to a duel.

Out to my car and off to school.  That was forty-five minutes shot.  Doesn't seem like much, but funny how the domino effect arrives, invited or not. When I was supposed to be working out, I was walking the dog.  When I was supposed to be talking with a gal from a non-profit I want to highlight, I was squatted on the ground trying to use a bike pump to inflate the tie enough to drive down the street. (I was afraid Triple A would blackball us if I called them one more time).  When I was supposed to go to pilates, I was picking up the kids.  When I was supposed to be at The White House Project  event, I was driving to the airport to pick up my older daughter since my younger daughter had no car.

Plan B is pretty much my middle name.  In fact it explains my last 21 years so perfectly, I decided to write a book about it.  Labors of Love...21 Years of Plan B.  A chapter at a time via blogger-more on this soon!

In the meantime, Plan B means this is posting two days after it was supposed to.  When a Type A person lives a Plan B life, mental and emotional stability can be a bit iffy.

Tell me about your Plan B days.  Misery loves company.