Listen, I know what you’re thinking. It wasn’t the “City” part of Carrie Bradshaw’s column that made for compelling reading — and viewing. And you’re quite right to predict that there won’t be much salacious content in my Jewish mummy “Schleps and the City” version.

If I refer to a threesome, that’ll be my kids (aged 14, 12 and nine) and the only thing that’s vibrating is the constant messaging on the school Whats App groups. (And as my kids are at three different schools, if anyone knows someone looking for a job in reading school WhatsApps and newsletters, I’m looking to recruit. Full-time only.)

I’m writing this while my head is shoved under the heating hood at the hairdresser with 30 minutes still ticking down on the buzzer. But getting my roots done is often my most focused moment of an entire month, because how often do we mums sit and do nothing, right?

Today is my first day “off” this week from my actual job and although it’s nearly two o’clock, it’s the first moment I’ve had to concentrate because… Well, if you’re reading this you probably more-or-less know the “because”. In short, because being a Jewish mother in 2022 takes some serious, intense, logistical attention.

Family life is intense whatever culture you are — but there are some quirks, shall we say, that are particular to the Jewish experience.

Those quirks include making Christmas dinner every week (different bird, similar wine); then doing this three times a week throughout September and most of October (depending on your religious level); and turning into an event planner extraordinaire when your child is reaching the age of 12 or 13.

Of course there’s the little stuff too. So far today, I have ordered my friend flowers for her simchah this weekend, arranged my son’s rota to his friend’s barmitzvah for Saturday night, caught up on the weekend’s match-funding WhatsApps, written a song to a tune that’s instantly recognisable across all generations to be sung by my son and his friends at yet another barmitzvah in a few weeks’ time, replied to my daughter’s school to give consent so she can go on her Shabbaton and then adjusted my Ocado delivery and put my meat order in because, oh blimey, tomorrow is Friday — again.

If any of those items have appeared on your to-do list this week, last week, last year or give you a sense of foreboding of what’s to come — welcome.

This column will cover all things related to the “quirks” of Jewish parenthood. And solely due to the fact that I am a woman, and not because I feel this care-giving role is ring-fenced for women, I’ll be focusing on motherhood. I can only write what I know. The feminist in me just had to clarify that. I don’t want to downplay any dads or partners on the scene.

Lots of them are exceptionally useful — essential, even — mine included. But it’s typically not Dad who’s making lists on his Notes before going to sleep lest one of the millions of pieces of the puzzle that is family life gets forgotten overnight.

So I hope this column also provides some group therapy because, let’s face it, we need it — schlepping, reminding, feeding, remembering what combination of school uniform, PE kit or own-clothes, themed to which charity, each child should wear on what day… and all the while, not looking as if you haven’t had time to get your roots done.

Being a mother is an all-encompassing, endlessly-exhausting, mind-exploding role — whether or not you add a paid job into the mix. But one thing, at least, it is not is “thankless”.

Those flowers I sent my friend on a special weekend will cement a lifelong friendship, my son may still be remembering stories about the barmitzvah he now has a lift to in 30 years’ time (if my own experiences are anything to go by) and when we sit down together on Friday night over those familiar smells, the little crazy to-dos of the week will all feel worthwhile.

So if you’ve got to the end of your week, your kids haven’t starved, they’ve mainly got to school in the correct colour clothing and you’re managing to sit on the sofa for five minutes to read this… a flipping huge shekoiach to you!

I just hope Mr Big is doing the washing-up.