Lent has begun.

One of the things that Steve and I agreed to disagree on very early in our relationship was our adherence to this tradition.

Steve had been raised in the Catholic faith, and as an adult, he found his way back to many of the age-old rituals. Having been raised in the Lutheran faith, the act of giving something up for Lent just wasn’t as much a part of my beliefs.

Over the years, I leaned more toward trying to practice a better behavior, like making my bed every day, or giving up a bad habit, like biting my fingernails, rather than deprive myself of something. Steve, however, without fail, gave up dessert every single year.

Of course, this meant that Fat Tuesday and Easter Sunday were absolute binge days for him, and on both occasions, he would indulge in everything from cheesecake, to candy, to cookies, to his absolute favorite, ice cream.

While the kids didn’t necessarily follow his lead and give up sweets, they were more than happy to engage in the pre- and post-indulgences and eagerly looked forward to Fat Tuesday every year. Last year, we were still in a state of shock, and all too aware that even though it wasn’t a choice, what we’d had to give up was something that wasn’t coming back in 40 days, and Lent slipped by unnoticed.

This year, though, I was surprised to get a text from A reminding me that it was Fat Tuesday, and strongly hinting that I should acquire some indulgences.

While I was happy that he had decided to continue this tradition, I couldn’t quite bring myself to bring home a few gallons of ice cream, and opted instead to grab a few boxes of doughnuts, or whatever the supermarket had passed off as fasnachts.

Following a brief raid of leftovers for dinner, the kids eagerly dove into the slightly stale treats. I’m grateful that we were able to remember how hilariously Dad would stuff himself until he was practically sick, or how he would pile ice cream on top of cookies on top of cheese cake, and then top that off with chocolate sauce or yet another flavor of ice cream.

I’ve gotten better at trying to enjoy these moments as they happen, and crying about them later when I’m alone. The kids have finally started to be able to share and laugh about these times, and I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that. But, since this is still something they’re trying out and not completely comfortable with, the conversation soon turned to things that they’d tried to give up over the years, and whether or not they’d be giving anything up this year.

While I’m not a fan of doing anything for religious reasons, I don’t mind them trying to maintain the discipline and follow through with a commitment, however simple or complicated it is.

E quickly latched on to the idea of giving up something that she’s not entirely too attached to, while G was quick to tell me that he was thinking about giving up early morning workouts. Since he’s been sleeping in regularly, the aftermath of two different sports workouts every afternoon, I didn’t think he’d be making much of a sacrifice. I suggested that perhaps he give up being lazy instead, and was met with a typical G eye-roll.

Always eager to get in on the action, Duncan sat by and listened to all of this, occasionally adding his own grumbles and barks, as we were clearly eating treats that he wanted in on.

When it was suggested that perhaps he would consider giving up being a bitey-faced jerk, he cocked his head and gave us a look that could only mean “in your dreams, humans,” and went right back to complaining loudly. The kids found this comical and we all had yet another good laugh.

The kids then took turns offering suggestions of things that I should give up, mainly revolving around holding them accountable for chores and other responsibilities, all of which I quickly shot down.

A raised another round of chortles when he suggested that perhaps I should give up cursing, which, although has always been one of my less desirable habits, has gotten exponentially worse in this last year.

Not my proudest mom moment, but at the same time, I’m glad my kids can give me gentle reminders about my bad behavior, and while I certainly won’t give it up for good, will make an effort to cut back on it, at least when they’re around.

After a good, long conversation, we once again retreated to our separate corners, no doubt mulling over what sacrifices we’d be willing to make, or what behaviors we’d be willing to work on over the next month and a half, and all slightly grateful we hadn’t eaten enough to want to puke. For me, I know I need to give up the wallowing that I’ve been doing lately. After our winter vacation, I fully intended to pull myself out of the rut I’ve been in, work on my own mental health, and start to work on living the life that I know Steve would want me and the kids to have, even if it is without him.

Instead, I’ve ended up back in bed with the covers pulled over my head, feeling hopeless more times than in all of the last year combined. I’ve been retreating from the few commitments I’ve had, ignoring phone calls and texts from friends, and just generally being miserable.

A few rounds of illnesses with the kids, my knee injury, and a few other personal things haven’t helped, but I know I need to pull myself out of this slump. I’ve seen signs that it’s affecting the kids, and I know the longer I let it go on, the harder it will be to pull myself out of it. Unfortunately, that’s easier said than done, and I find myself wishing that I liked ice cream a little more so that I’d have something simple to let go of for a few weeks.

Liz Pinkey is a contributing columnist who appears weekly in the Times News.