Just When I Thought I Was Out . . .

They didn't pull me back in.  I willingly stepped into it. 

It all began 12 years ago when my desperation plea to get Finola into a Brownie troop was my offer to be the Troop Cookie Manager.  Seems like no one wanted to take on that job. 

As the girls grew, Finola moved on to Junior Girl Scouts and Deirdre became a Brownie.  Somehow they suckered me into doing the Troop Cookie Manager job for both troops.  Then came the fateful day when the Junior leader needed a co-leader.  Guess who was asked to volunteer?

My stint as co-leader lasted about half a month, because at the Service Unit level (Girl Scouts in the U.S. are divided into geographic Councils which are divided into Areas which are divided into Associations which are divided into Service Units which are divided into Troops) they needed a Service Unit Cookie Manager.  This must have been a phase of not being able to keep my hand in my lap at meetings.

But when the Junior leader moved up with her daughter (and Finola) to Cadettes, the Junior troop (now with Deirdre) needed a leader.  Yes, me.  Again.  And the Service Unit Cookie Manager for two more years.

Then the Service Unit Manager wanted to move on to other things.  The SUM leads the Troop leaders' monthly meetings and attends Association and Area meetings and works with the (paid, not volunteer) Field Director at the Council office.  The outgoing SUM presented it to me as "Be the Service Unit Manager or XXX will and she doesn't follow Girl Scout procedures as she should."  In other words, do it or the Service Unit will fall apart.

Now that that's under my belt, as well as six years as the Junior leader (rather than move up with Deirdre, I stayed until Maeve moved to Cadettes), last year was mine.  Mine, I tell you!  No cookies, no troop meetings, no Service Unit meetings, no paperwork, no continuing training, nothing.

Until last weekend when Maeve's Cadette troop leader sent out a desperate plea for a Troop Cookie Booth Coordinator because the person who was to do the job moved out of state.  Oh.  My.  God.  The email reply was short and to the point.  "I can do it."  Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.