But it’s good to feed them. It’s such an easy way to nurture and show love. And since they like to man the grill themselves, cooking has been stripped down to prepping the schnitzel. You can handle this.

The weeks pass in a blur. A messy blur, don’t get me wrong, but a happy one. Their jokes lighten the atmosphere, and it’s fun to be around semi-adults who don’t engage in girlish sulking.

After a while, though, the tiredness is overwhelming. The mess never ends, and nor does the laundry. Bedtime has been pushed closer and closer to wake-up time. The boys can sleep in and catch a later minyan, but the baby never got the memo, so Mommy’s circadian rhythm can’t quite manage on a bein hazmanim schedule.

One Thursday night, the freezer has sparse offerings. Just some chicken and franks. To everyone’s horror, there is not a burger to be found. Really, chicken sounds like a decent supper to you. The bochurim don’t think so, though. You see, they had chicken three days ago. They pashut need burgers. Where are the keys? Where’s the credit card? Mommy, can you drive?

Something doesn’t feel right. You call your husband into the study and turn this into a federal case. They’re good boys, it’s true, and they’re entitled to eat supper. But aren’t we entitled to say no once in a while? They had steak last night and takeout sandwiches the night before. Can’t we teach them to make do with what we have and let them suffer through some freshly grilled chicken?

Husband agrees. Or maybe he’s just too lazy to take them shopping. Either way, the verdict is in. The boys will have to eat chicken.

They don’t go for it. Nah, they say, they’ll skip supper and just go learn. They’re not upset, this is no big deal. But really, they just can’t eat chicken.

Now your conscience kicks in. What type of mother are you? These are good boys! They’re going to learn! Are you going to let them go on an empty stomach? How will they concentrate?

Time to surrender. You grab the keys and the credit card and you’re off to the store. Oh, and once you’re doing it, you do it all the way. You let the latest permit-holder drive.

All’s well in the world. The boys are well-fed, the kitchen’s a mess, and they’re off to learn.

It really is beautiful. But you’re still unsure. Isn’t there something to be said about making do with what you have? Or was that ideal left behind at the turn of the century?

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 907)