My kids gave me enough material to write TV comedies. Where will the jokes come from now that they’ve left? | Helen Serafinowicz
MThe others have given me two kids and a TV show (and a spin-off). When I first entered the Motherland, it was quite clear that this was a crazy world, ripe for the picking. Trying to find your tribe when you have absolutely nothing in common with your fellow tribe members, other than kids of the same age, is incredibly difficult, but also rich in inspiration for comedy.
Over the years, I’ve written down the little moments or observations that made me laugh: arriving at a kids’ party dressed exactly like a parent; I watch in amazement as a mother asks an usher to turn on the heating in the hall on a school trip to see The Lion King; The mother whose advice to her children if they got lost in a crowd was to “think like pedophiles” (we used this – with permission – in the Halloween episode of Motherland).
My notes document evolved into the TV show Motherland, and more recently Amandaland. But now my little thoughts are gone, and I don’t know what to do with myself. They both started university last week (on opposite ends of the country). I was dreading this moment, and as a single mother I found it unbearable. The house is very quiet. The kitchen is always clean and there are no tripping hazards in the hallway. They were both gone. Two for nothing. It’s very sad.
My daughter was the first to go. It was a brilliant process. Three hours on the M11 and M25 and it snatches up the music and hits me every time She saw a yellow car. We had a block of time to collect her keys, and between us we dragged her things up the two flights of stairs to her new home; A 6.5 square meter room contains the essentials: desk, chair, bed, storage and notice board (no drawing pins). It was perfectly clean except for the Cheerio I found in the dresser. After I used all my God-given strength to get a single sheet to fit her little double mattress (I should have checked that) and unpacked a lot of my clothes and makeup that I had stolen from my bedroom, it was time to say goodbye. The sight of her walking away (with my shoes) hit me in the stomach.
A week later, it was a five-hour drive down the M6 motorway with an overnight stop at a fully booked budget hotel full of sentimental families on the same route. The campus was filled with cars crammed with comforters, air fryers, and anxious students desperately trying to hide their nerves. I hadn’t learned my lesson from the previous week and nearly fainted, straining as if in labor to get one more sheet on top of another small double mattress. I also forgot to draw pins. I didn’t want to disrupt my son’s style by hanging out and saying hello to his neighbors, so we had a tight hug and I was able to sneak a kiss on his cheek without causing him any embarrassment at all. He waved, then disappeared into his building, tapping his keys like he’d just bought his first house.
As I drove, there was a group of students holding signs from their various communities that said things like BEEP FOR NETBALL and HONK FOR WATERSPORTS, so I honked my horn, cheered, and cried for most of the five-hour drive home without a salt and vinegar disco pass me by.
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When I got home, my eyes were dry. Feeling completely deprived, I turned on the hall light and the bulb came out of the socket and the cat ran inside and vomited a little snout and tail. I walked the dog to the pharmacy today to get my son’s spare EpiPen for his lobster allergy. (Although I’m pretty sure he’ll be able to avoid the lobster for the next few years.) The trip took me to the old children’s primary school. The sound of little children playing on the playground excited me again, and I had to dig deep to control the trembling of my lips as I said my son’s name, collecting his prescription.
I owe a lot to my children. The motherland would not exist without them. In the first Homeland Christmas special, Kevin tests out Minecraft (pronounced Mein-Kraft) to see if it’s a good fit for his girls. I got most of his dialogue from my son and his experience of his house being set on fire and his pigs being stolen by his alleged friend.. I hope this next chapter of parenting offers another wave of anecdotes that I can use in my writing, even though the world seems quiet. Moms sign up for upholstery courses while dads suffer midlife crises.
Apparently, Gordon Ramsay put his son’s underwear on after dropping him off for the first time. I’m sad but I think I’m okay not wearing my kids underwear. There are support groups and counselors who specialize in empty nest syndrome, but instead I signed up for a game of netball on Tuesday and Thursday, and will have the old house well stocked when they return for Christmas. Let’s hope they bring home plenty of material!