My Kids Provided Endless Material for Television Humor. Where Can the Jokes Come Now That They Have Left?

Motherhood has given me two kids along with a television series (and a spin-off). Initially, as I stepped into this world, it seemed quite clear it constituted a mad world, and ripe for exploitation. Trying to find your community while having absolutely nothing shared interests with other parents, except for babies of the same age, is very difficult, but also full of ideas for humor.

Throughout the years, I'd write down little moments or observations that made me chuckle: showing up to a children's celebration wearing the same outfit as a father there; observing with surprise as a mum requested an usher to increase the temperature in the auditorium on a school trip to see the famous musical; that parent who suggested to her children if they got lost amidst people involved "thinking like a predator" (this was incorporated – with permission – during the spooky special of Motherland).

My collection of notes evolved into the television series Motherland, and, more recently, the newer series. However, now my little inspos have left, and I'm unsure what to do with myself. They both began university last week (on different sides of the country). I had been fearing this moment, and being a solo parent I find it unbearable. The house is so quiet. That room stays tidy always and there are trip hazards along the corridor. Both departed. Two for none. It’s so sad.

The Farewell to My Daughter

My girl went initially to go. It was a slick operation. Three hours along those motorways with her hijacking the music and tapping me whenever she saw a yellow car. We had an appointment to pick up her keys, and between the two of us we carried her belongings up a couple of flights to her dorm; a 6.5-sq metre room containing essentials: a desk, chair, bed, cupboards and a board (no drawing pins). It was quite clean apart from a Cheerio I found in the wardrobe. Once I applied my full effort to fit the single sheet onto her bed (I ought to have verified this), and removed an awful lot of my garments and makeup which she had taken from my bedroom, the moment arrived for farewells. The image of her walking away (wearing my footwear) struck me deeply.

Lucy Punch and Anna Maxwell Martin in a 2017 episode of Motherland.

Then Came My Boy's Departure

A week later, there was five hours on that highway including a night's stay at a reserved economy lodging filled with emotional families in similar situations. Campus was rammed with packed cars full of duvets, air fryers and nervous scholars desperately trying to hide their nerves. I failed to learn my lesson from earlier and nearly fainted, exerting as if I was in labour to get more bedding over another similar bed. Additionally omitted those pins. I didn’t want restricting his independence by hanging around, saying hello those nearby, so we had a firm embrace and I succeeded to plant an affectionate peck without inflicting any discomfort on him whatsoever. He waved, then disappeared into his building, rattling his keys as if purchasing his first house.

As I drove off, there were a bunch of students displaying signs from their various societies stating things like SUPPORT NETBALL and HONK FOR WATERSPORTS, so I honked and they cheered and I wept for most of the five-hour drive to my house without anyone to hand me a salt and vinegar Disco.

Coping With the Emptiness While Planning Forward

When I got home, my eyes had dried up. I experienced deep loss, then I switched on the corridor lamp and the bulb came loose of the socket and the cat ran in and regurgitated a tiny snout and a tail. I walked the dog to the pharmacy today to obtain my son’s backup EpiPen for his lobster allergy. (Although I'm confident he’ll manage to avoid lobster for the next few years). That stroll took me past the kids’ old primary school. The noise of the little children having fun outside renewed my tears and I had to dig deep to steady myself as I said my son’s name, getting his medicine.

I am deeply grateful to my children. Motherland wouldn’t exist without them. During the initial Motherland Christmas special, a character tries Minecraft (pronounced Mein-Kraft) to see if it's appropriate for his girls. I got much of the script from my boy and his encounters with his virtual home burned down and his pigs stolen by an acquaintance. I aspire this next chapter as a parent will provide further instances of stories I can use in my writing, even though the world goes quiet. The mums sign up in craft classes while the dads have their midlife crises.

Reportedly, Gordon Ramsay used his boy's underwear after he dropped him off for the first time. I feel sorrow yet I believe I’m fine not wearing their undergarments. There are support groups and therapists that specialise in this parental condition however I've enrolled for netball those weekdays and I plan to tidy thoroughly our home preparing for their return during the holidays. I trust they return with ample inspiration!

• The author works as a scribe and show creator.