I constantly have crumbs on the floor of my house. And dust balls. I do not vacuum them up, even though it makes me feel like a bad mom. I just look at them and then think about something else. This is because I am either too tired, or I have things to do that feel more important.
I do not like cooking for my family; I much prefer picking up dinner and serving it at home. This is *not* frugal and often feels like poor stewardship. But I am doing it anyway. At least for this stretch.
My dislike of cooking applies especially to breakfast on school mornings. On occasion, my kids eat cereal (unwillingly), or Sister Shubert's sausage rolls, or whatever my husband lets them choose on the way to school--usually at Dunkin Donuts or Weigels (local convenience store). This is neither healthy nor frugal. But it is what we do.
There are many occasions when I would prefer a great work-out to a family meal. I indulge this preference on occasion, with my husband's encouragement. Probably because I am too crabby to be around.
Even though I am an educator by profession, I'm not particularly skilled at helping my children with their homework, and I often find it unpleasant. I will supervise their doing homework. I will provide (storebought) snacks. I will let them sit at the kitchen table while they study or do math problems, unless they complain too much. And when they ask me for help, I say yes. Sometimes.
If I were so inclined, I could probably manufacture enough energy to live up to what I see as being a great mom. I suppose I'm capable of doing so, but at this season of my life, I am simply not willing to do that.
I wonder--often on an hourly basis--whether I'm completely messing up. Messing up my children. Messing up my husband. Messing up my own life in some irreparable way, with some extremely undesirable eternal consequences.