As we usher in a New Year, having ticked off the three billionth item on our to-do list, what’s it time for? New Year’s resolutions, of course — essentially writing another list of things we could do to improve the way we executed last year’s list. Or, creating a whole new mission, involving an entirely new list of its own.

Of course, achieving new goals is a wonderful thing and every publication worth its salt (including this one) will be helping readers navigate new challenges. If you’re keen to better yourself, you can actually turn over to page seven to find out how to do so.

This column, however, will not leave you feeling inspired to climb Kilimanjaro — or to stop picking at the rugelach. But if you want to clear some space in an overcrowded head and generally take some of the schlep out of life, stay with me.

What I’m doing this January, and I feel lots of mums could benefit from, is writing some New Year’s anti-resolutions: things I plan to do just a little bit worse in 2023. We all have different demands on our time, but I thought I’d share some things I personally plan to do less of, less well, less often in the coming year. I hope it inspires some well-deserved laziness all round.

Don’t do. Delegate. Growing up, I remember a management bible in my dad’s study with these bold words down the spine. It always struck me as an excellent concept, but a mystery as to how it could fill an entire book.

As a mother, I now realise there’s nothing simple about successful delegation, especially if your juniors are under 18.

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Standing back can make your children more independent

My first non-resolution for this year is to do less for my kids and get them to do more for themselves — particularly in the sphere of packing stuff. Stuff includes PE kits, school lunches, homework and overnight bags.

Basically, anything that needs transporting out of the house for the benefit of a particular child, said child should do all pre-transportation planning and packaging. (Or at least an age-appropriate portion of it.)

There are some children in my household who already run with Amazon-like efficiency.

Others, less so. And I know why. If school lunch has not been made, a toothbrush left out of a sleepover bag or PE kit forgotten in the cupboard, I can’t help but pack it myself.
I’m sure if I’d read that management bible it would have advised allowing juniors to make mistakes.

But the issue with many items on the “you can jolly-well pack it yourself” list is that if they don’t jolly-well pack it themselves they will end up with a detention, bad breath or very hungry (in order of catastrophe). The last on the list is certainly feeling a step too far for this Jewish mummy to allow.

Also, it’s not a great look. I can’t imagine picking up a call from the school office: “Nothing to worry about… just that your child keeps coming to school with no lunch. And we just wanted to say well done for sticking to your guns and teaching them a great lesson in independence.”

But I mustn’t let this put me off my mission. There’s always bribery and blackmail, or if you prefer to feel less mafia about it, rewards and consequences. And this year, I intend to use the tools at my disposal to get all children under my roof packing for themselves like little Amazon worker-bees.

Do less arranging. As much as I love having arrangements, I hate making them. Especially as the planning can often take more time than the plan itself. And when you add kids’ social lives to the equation, the energy expended on making plans can reach epic proportions.

Working out what time this one is going here, that one is going there, being picked up by whom, dropped home how, makes my head spin. So this year I plan to do regulars and repeats — which may sound like an NHS prescription service, but I hope will cure my arrangement-itis.

At the end of every coffee or dinner, I’ll try to put the next plan in the diary, and save myself 3,568,675 WhatsApp messages in between.

I’m not trying to play it cool on a date, I’m just trying to have a social life without killing myself in the process.

In fact, my favourite WhatsApp group is called “First Thursday of every month”, which does exactly what it says on the tin. And although the first Thursday of a month does often come and go without anyone noticing, when we do remember, all it takes is a “Who’s around on the first Thurs of next month?” and the plan is complete. I can’t see my kids’ arrangements working so easily, but I can at least be more efficient when it comes to couples and coffees.

Be more Covid-era when entertaining. We were given the opportunity to reset the entertaining bar — an actual government order to be less hospitable. But that bar has slowly been creeping up.

A few weeks ago, I found myself having what my colleague coined a “second pudding panic moment” — except mine was about the third meat. I had the chicken thighs and London broil, but five minutes before guests arrived I was rummaging around the freezer for shredded duck to plop on top of a salad.

And this was not an isolated incident. I have noticed myself becoming a little less “it’s all about the company” and a little more “it’s all about the 10 different Ottolenghi-inspired salads”.

I’m keen to halt this mentality in its tracks. Can we all just agree to remain a little lazier?