The Kids Gave Me Endless Material for Television Humor. Where Can the Jokes Originate Since They've Moved Out?

Being a mother has given me two kids along with a television series (plus a spin-off). When I first entered that realm, it was very apparent this was a mad world, and perfect for the picking. Trying to find your community while having absolutely nothing in common with your fellow parents, other than babies of the same age, is very difficult, but also full of inspiration for humor.

Over the years, I'd write down small incidents or observations that made me chuckle: showing up to a kids’ party dressed exactly like one of the dads; watching in amazement when a mother asked an usher to turn the heating up in the auditorium during a class outing to watch The Lion King; that parent who suggested for her kids should they become separated amidst people involved "thinking like a predator" (this was incorporated – with permission – in the Halloween episode in the show).

My document of notes grew into the TV programme the show, and lately, the newer series. But now my sources of inspiration have left, and I'm unsure what to do on my own. They both started uni recently (on different sides across the nation). I had been fearing this moment, and as a single mum I’m finding it unbearable. The house is so quiet. The kitchen stays tidy always and there are obstacles to stumble over in the hallway. Both departed. Two leaving, none remaining. It's truly heartbreaking.

The Farewell to My Daughter

My daughter was the first to leave. This was an efficient process. Three hours down the M11 and M25 as she took over the music and tapping me every time she saw a yellow car. We were given a time slot to collect her keys, and between the two of us we carried her belongings up several stairs to her dorm; a 6.5-sq metre room with the basics: a work surface, seat, bed, storage and noticeboard (no drawing pins). It appeared tidy except for a Cheerio I found in the wardrobe. After I used my full effort to fit that bedding to fit her small double mattress (I ought to have verified the size), and removed an awful lot of my garments and cosmetics which she had taken out of my room, it was time for farewells. The sight of her walking away (in my boots) hit me in the stomach.

Lucy Punch and Anna Maxwell Martin during an earlier season from the series.

Next Was My Son’s Turn

A week later, it was a five-hour journey up the M6 including a night's stay at a reserved economy lodging bursting with emotional families in similar situations. The university grounds were crowded with packed cars containing duvets, air fryers and anxious students desperately trying to mask their anxiety. I hadn’t learned from prior experience from the previous week and almost passed out, straining like I was in labour to get another single sheet over another small double mattress. Additionally omitted drawing pins. I wished to avoid to cramp his independence by lingering, greeting those nearby, so we had a firm embrace and I succeeded to sneak in an affectionate peck without inflicting any discomfort to him at all. He waved, then disappeared inside his residence, jangling his keys as if purchasing his first house.

While departing, I saw a group of students holding banners representing clubs stating phrases such as BEEP FOR NETBALL and HONK FOR WATERSPORTS, so I honked and they applauded and I wept for most of the journey back home with nobody to pass me a salt and vinegar Disco.

Coping With The Void While Planning Forward

When I got home, my eyes had dried up. I experienced deep loss, then I switched on the hall light and the bulb popped out of the socket and the cat ran in and puked up a tiny snout with a tail. I walked the dog to the drugstore today to collect my son’s backup EpiPen for his lobster allergy. (Though I’m quite sure he’ll manage in steering clear in the coming time). The walk led me by their former elementary school. The noise from the young pupils playing in the playground started me off again and I had to dig deep to steady myself while stating his name, collecting his prescription.

I am deeply grateful for my kids. Motherland wouldn’t exist without them. In our first Motherland Christmas special, Kevin is testing Minecraft (pronounced Mein-Kraft) to determine whether it’s suitable for his girls. I got most of his dialogue from my boy and his experience with his virtual home set on fire and animals taken by his so-called friend. I’m hoping this new phase as a parent will provide another wave of anecdotes I can use in my writing, although it seems things calm down. The mums sign up in craft classes while the dads have their midlife crises.

Apparently, the chef used his boy's underwear after he dropped him off initially. I am sad but I think I'm okay not wearing my kids’ underwear. There are community help and counsellors focused on this parental condition however I’ve signed up for netball those weekdays and I plan to tidy thoroughly our home preparing for their return for Christmas. I trust they return with ample inspiration!

• Helen Serafinowicz is a writer and show creator.