Every week, when it’s time to pen this article, I try to base it on something that has been on my mind. Mostly, I aim to keep it light-hearted, but it would be tone-deaf of me to write a parenting column about anything light-hearted in a time when several Donegal parents have been shattered by the tragic loss of their child.

Words cannot possibly express the devastation that has befallen our local communities of late. Grief lies heavy on so many and it puts so much into perspective for us all.

I think of all the mindless giving out I do, and how exasperated I sometimes feel as a mother. It’s natural, of course, but this week, my heart is telling me to focus on the joy of parenthood, and to treasure that gift, above all.

One thing many of us are guilty of is wishing the time away, particularly when our kids are small and high maintenance. I’m as guilty of this as anyone else. This year, my youngest is going into first class; a milestone that heralds the end of 2pm school finishes. I’ve been bragging to anyone who will listen that I’m delighted to close the chapter on the 2pm bus and the childcare requirements that his early finish entailed. Sure, it’s a financial relief, but it shouldn’t be such a cause for celebration, really.

I need to savour their youth and place more value on the time I spend with my children. My default setting is often exasperation when they come at me with their relentless questions and requests.

“Mammy, can you watch K-Pop Demon Hunters with me?” Cue a discreet eye roll. I’m simply too tired to humour her. “It’s too late now,” I reply. “You should have asked me an hour ago if you wanted to watch a film tonight.”

“Mammy, can I show you my farm in Grow-a-garden? I have some really rare seeds!” Indeed, my kids are so busy growing vegetables in an online game these days, that they are quite literally vegetating themselves, in front of their tablets. Another discreet eye roll from me. “Rare seeds, you say? How riveting. You carry on with that like a good boy, and I might get a look at it later. I have to put the dinner on now.”

“Mammy, can you help me pick blackberries across the road?” Ugh. No one in the house eats them for one thing, and muggins here ends up finding putrid containers of berries lying around the house. Plus, I have no shoes on. And it’s cold outside. “I think you’ve picked enough already,” I say. “Let’s leave the rest of them for the birds.”

When it comes to the kids, I really do fob them off more than I should. Getting those insights into their wee interests and spending time with them doing the things they love is a privilege. Would it really hurt me to humour them more often? Because at the end of the day, to humour our children is not to indulge them; it is to indulge ourselves. What a gift it is to bask in their presence.

To those under the veil of unimaginable grief, the hearts of all Donegal parents are broken for you.

Words are empty in these dark days, but please know that we are wrapping our arms around you from every corner of the county.