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Motherhood has given me two kids and a television series (and a spin-off). Initially, as I entered this world, it was quite clear this was a mad world, and perfect for exploitation. Attempting to locate your tribe while having very little shared interests with other parents, except for infants of the same age, proves challenging, yet also full of inspiration for humor.

Throughout the years, I would jot down little moments or observations that made me chuckle: showing up to a kids’ party wearing the same outfit as one of the dads; observing with surprise when a mother requested an usher to increase the temperature inside the theater during a class outing to watch the famous musical; the mum whose advice for her kids if they got lost in a crowd was “think like a paedophile” (we used this – with permission – during the spooky special of Motherland).

My document of notes evolved into the TV programme Motherland, and lately, Amandaland. But now my sources of inspiration are gone, and I don’t know what to do on my own. They both began university last week (on different sides across the nation). I was dreading this time, and being a solo parent I find it unbearable. The house has become silent. That room stays tidy always with no obstacles to stumble over in the hallway. Both gone. Two leaving, none remaining. It’s so sad.

Saying Goodbye to My Daughter

My daughter was the first to go. It was a slick operation. Three hours down the M11 and M25 with her hijacking the music and whacking me every time she spotted a yellow car. We were given an appointment to pick up her keys, and together we lugged her stuff up a couple of flights to her dorm; a compact space with the basics: a desk, chair, sleeping area, cupboards and a board (minus pins). It appeared tidy except for a cereal piece I noticed inside the closet. After I used all my God-given strength to fit that bedding onto her bed (I should have checked the size), and removed a large quantity of my garments and cosmetics that she had pilfered from my bedroom, the moment arrived for farewells. The sight of her walking away (in my boots) hit me deeply.

The actresses during an earlier season from the series.

Next Was My Son’s Turn

A week later, it was a five-hour journey on that highway including a night's stay in a fully booked budget hotel filled with sentimental households in similar situations. The university grounds were crowded with packed cars containing duvets, kitchen gadgets and anxious students desperately trying to hide their nerves. I failed to learn from prior experience from the previous week and nearly fainted, straining like I was in labour to get more bedding over another small double mattress. Additionally omitted drawing pins. I wished to avoid to cramp my son’s style by hanging around, greeting to his neighbours, so we had a solid hug and I succeeded to sneak in a kiss on his cheek without causing any discomfort to him at all. He waved, then vanished inside his residence, rattling his keys as if purchasing his initial home.

As I drove off, I saw a group of students holding banners from their various societies stating things like BEEP FOR NETBALL and HONK FOR WATERSPORTS, so I honked and they cheered and I wept during much of the five-hour drive to my house without anyone to pass me that snack.

Coping With the Emptiness While Looking Ahead

Upon returning, I had stopped crying. I felt utterly bereft, then I switched on the hall light and the bulb popped out from the fixture and the cat ran in and puked up a small nose with a tail. I walked the dog to the pharmacy today to collect his emergency medication due to his shellfish reaction. (Although I'm confident he will succeed to avoid lobster in the coming time). The walk took me past their former elementary school. The sound from the young pupils having fun outside renewed my tears and I struggled to control my lip wobble as I said my son’s name, collecting his prescription.

I am deeply grateful to my children. Motherland wouldn’t exist without them. During the initial holiday episode, Kevin is testing the game (pronounced Mein-Kraft) to see if it's appropriate for his girls. I got most of his dialogue from my boy and his encounters of having his homestead set on fire and animals taken by an acquaintance. I’m hoping this new phase of parenting will provide further instances of stories I can use in my writing, even though the world goes quiet. The mums sign up for upholstery courses as fathers face their transitions.

Reportedly, Gordon Ramsay wore his son’s underpants after he dropped him off for the first time. I am sad but I think I’m fine not wearing their undergarments. There are support groups and counsellors that specialise in empty nest syndrome however I’ve signed up in the sport on Tuesdays and Thursdays and I plan to tidy thoroughly our home ready for when they’re back during the holidays. Let’s hope they bring home lots of material!

• Helen Serafinowicz is a writer and show creator.