I have been undertaking serious research. Ok, I asked a few of my friends on Facebook. And I know, according to some, that counts as ‘research’ but let’s not get carried away.

Let me ask you, how often do you speak to your kids?

Obviously, if you still live with them, then it’s a constant annoying babble.

 If you live with teenagers you are no doubt making the appropriate applications in writing, in triplicate, to have any form of conversation.

But for those of us whose kids have flown the nest (and the country,) communication is different affair.

I chat with my daughter a couple of times a week, pebbling her and my daughter-in-law with a daily quarry full of memes in between.

One son, I mostly catch up with each week, then once again with the grandsons. It might be more often if I was vaguely interested in football, but I’d rather never speak again than fall down that hole.

My youngest son catches up a couple of times a month – not because of any drama, just that we sometimes struggle to find a time when we are both awake.

When I was a kid back in the frozen 80s, talking to my gran on the phone involved coats and gloves, perched on the stairs in the unheated hall, while the old boy who shared our party-line tried to muffle his coughs as he listened in. We’d quickly share our news, hoping for a quick getaway before we died of hypothermia.

Technology is still key to keeping families together, though hopefully a little warmer.  We have a group chat full of photos of grandkids and instructions for how to get into each other’s homes. (I don’t remember why, but if a burglar wants to hack our account you can find out where we all hide our spare keys. Mind, we are all at opposite ends of the UK so the burglar would need to travel. And with the state of my house, I’d probably have to make them a cup of tea as an apology.)

Where was I?

Oh, Facebook research!

It seems most of my friends and peers are the same. Sharing memes and accusations of who nicked whose iPad charge and if a burglar is sneaking in to steal electricity – don’t ask, I didn’t understand the logic on this one either.

There’s a fair bit of Instagram stalking when things go quiet – I only know one son is still alive through Insta.

It’s hard sometimes, with the ideal of the perfect multi-generational family gathering for harmonious Sunday Lunches, to hold onto our own family arrangements as ‘good enough.

We can’t all be the Bisto family!

It’s rare to get all of us together in one room – special Birthdays might be enough to warrant all that travel and holiday negotiations, but it’s a long way.

Of course, I’d love to see them more. Of course, I’d love to get together for Sunday lunch, but I’m not sure I can be arsed to cook. And then there’s the washing up. And the twenty-year-old row about who stole the Star Trek Tricorder…my days as referee are long gone.

For many of us, long-distance families are the norm. For some of us family is not always a place that feels safe or loved and contact is limited for good reason. Or maybe family is longer with you.

For many of us family is less about birth and more about curated friendships and families of choice. These are sometimes stronger than ties of blood.

However your family keeps in touch, I hope it is filled with love and memes and explicit instructions on housebreaking.

So, take a moment and call home. (After several texts to arrange a mutually convenient time obviously, we’re not animals.)

But don’t be calling me.  I’m busy watching Doctor Who…stop phoning me, bloody weirdo’s.