Dear Lord....

We are five days into the summer holidays and tempers and nerves are already rather frayed. We’ve already had several meltdowns, apocalyptic rain and a level seven bug that swept through the house like wildfire.
I know for a fact that God reads this blog – Bishop Daly told me – so I thought I’d give him a shout with regards furnishing me with patience and strength for the next 64 days.

Dear God,
First off, a question. Why did you make the summer holidays so long? You made the earth in seven days. Seven is a nice round number. I’m thinking the school holidays should span a long weekend in July or maybe just a week in August.
And Lord, I feel that you’ve been too lenient on teachers. You should really introduce a new law that they must education and entertain our children at their houses throughout the summer when the schools are shut. Fire down a few lightning bolts for those that don’t comply. I’m not telling you what to do, Lord. I’m just saying.
Lord, please keep me from the temptation of giving into the begging of my small children and booking a week at Legoland. I know that the husband would consider a visit to Legoland on a par with sticking forks in his eyes. In the grand scale of things listening to the husband whinge for a week while we’d be there is infinitely worse than all my children combined expressing their disappointment at not being able to visit a theme park based on tiny colourful blocks. Give me the strength to say no to Lego.
This year, Lord, grant me the grace to keep a cool head on the O’Neill family holiday. I apologise for the string of obscenities you must have overheard that time in Donegal when I flipped under the pressure of trying to entertain three young children and a Belfast man. There really was no need for me to dramatically stop the car at the roadside and throw all my Bord Failte documentation into a field. I know I most certainly worried some sheep with my behaviour. Please bless them with your peace.
And grant me the serenity to prevent a synchronised meltdown on the scale of the famous Wicklow incident when maps were waved about in a threatening fashion and family members were called derogatory names. Please bless those American tourists who hurried away from the scene in case by gawking they would somehow be sucked into our world of madness and mayhem. I also realise Lord, that your name was taken in vain a number of times and for that I apologise.
I’m also awfully sorry for shaking my fist at the heavens and shouting ‘why me, Lord, why me?’ It really was unnecessary. Only you in your divine wisdom know why you sent me these fussy, easily bored, forever hungry, peace, quiet and countryside hating children.
Please also grant me the foresight to get to the shops before the good school uniforms all sell out and I am forced to alter (badly) ill-fitting rejects.
I don't want you thinking I'm always on asking for stuff so please allow me a moment to offer up thanks to Tescos for introducing the cheapest school uniform in living history, thus saving our nerves when the middle child comes home on the first day back at school with his trouser knees completely missing and totally indestructible stains on his new school jumper.
And while you’re on Lord, please let me thank you for sending the most fabulous of husbands my way, blessing us with four amazing, beautiful, awe-inspiring children and a great, great family. Good work, Lord. I couldn’t have chosen them better myself.
High five.
Amen,
Leona.