For years, my answer has been no. No, no, no, no, no.

I’ve refused to accept the offers of being a room mom for any of my three kids’ classrooms. Even as an unpublished, unpaid writer, I managed to create crafty excuses that sounded reasonable and truthful.

"You must be starting at the end of the alphabet and working your way up, right?"

"You can’t be that desperate now, can you?"

"Trust me. I’m exactly the kind of mother no mother wants to have as a room mom for her kid’s class."

"I’m one of those people who knows her limitations," and what I mean by "no" is that I’m severely limited when it comes to being responsible for a class worth of moms.

Of course, these responses failed to reflect the reality that I saw: I would be an inferior room mother. I didn’t think I had the chops, or Palm Pilot skills to go to the head of the classroom’s other mothers. Chief Moms in Charge don’t have messy desks – like me. And quintessential room moms don’t look anything like me: they don’t go out without makeup, they never wear sweats except to visit their personal trainer, and they know how to be nice, all the time, to everyone, even if they missed the field trip bus or forgot to send in the classroom snack, several times in a row after receiving reminders.

No, my vision of a room mom produced a woman who knew how to get things done, liked responsibility and could dip enough pretzel rods to feed a class of 20 in 10 minutes. Meanwhile, my vision of me produced an image of a woman at a loss, incapable of even remembering to buy the pretzel rods in the first place.

After a few years of this negativism, however, I eventually wore down. Specifically, my answer began to change when my friends started to accept room mom appointments. Then, they would call and beg and plead with me to be a co-room mom with them. And then, when they graduated to being the room mom coordinator for a grade, they would ask me to be the top room mom for a class.

And it wasn’t so bad. The responsibilities forced me out of the house and into communications with other room mothers, something I had resisted doing at first, for fear I would turn into "one of them." I know that sounds derogatory, but I am grateful. It’s more that I’ve never pictured myself on the same height pedestal as room moms.

Another benefit is that I get to spend more time with my kids and learn about their teachers and what goes on in the classroom.

In fact, as my kids get older, I’ve learned that the only way to see what is happening in the classroom is to be a room mom because in the upper grades, you’re only allowed in when you can help on Staff Appreciation Day.

Another benefit of being a room mom is that you get priority. Nights of open house? You have to arrive early, but that means you get a good parking space. You also gain access to the conference sign-up sheets faster. You don’t know the value of a preemptive strike until you’ve shoved and shouldered your way through a crowd of PDA-carrying parents who want to go Playhouse Square outings or Goodtime III boat rides.

But, sigh, as room mom, you often must put others before yourself.

Last week, I struggled to assign parents to each of four field trips, as chaperones. Some parents signed up for every trip, some parents signed up for only one trip, and many parents didn’t sign up for anything. In the end, the ones I most appreciated were those who didn’t sign up for any trip because, as it was, I felt like I was solving a Mensa-level brainteaser: Two parents must attend Trip 1. Parents A, B and C all want to go. But, Parent B won’t go if Parent C goes, Parent A will only go if Parent B goes and Parent C is unavailable for any other trips. Which two parents should you pick to chaperone Trip 1?

Trust me, the day Ohio requires me to pass a room mother proficiency exam, I’m answering "no" again.

Jill Miller Zimon is a freelancer writer who lives in Pepper Pike, Ohio with her husband and three young children.