KATRINA TWEEDIE

Our toilet seat is invariably up, the washing basket is an Armageddon of boys’ underpants

I resort to Lynx Apollo because they’ve used my expensive shower gel

“WILL I know the cooker is on when I smell gas?”

So said the eldest son at home at the start of the school holidays, left alone and talking me though how he was going to make lunch.

Seven weeks later, the house has not burned down and as the summer holidays come to an end – they return to school today – my sons have grown several inches taller and, hopefully, a little wiser.

Working full-time means school breaks can be a guilt-filled merry-go-round as we juggle high expectations with the reality of childminders (at least for the youngest) and a chaotic household.

But as the mother of three sons, teaching them to become responsible, self-sufficient and considerate human beings is my biggest challenge, and a crucial part of their education.

So their home alone scenario for several weeks during the holidays has been an interesting experiment in gauging their skills.

Yes, I know there are many families whose children have been preparing dinner then cleaning up the dishes since they were seven.

Or those whose youngsters have tidy rooms, with perfectly made beds and clothes neatly folded. I’m afraid that’s not my experience. Each room bears the hallmark of a house full of boys. In the bathroom, the toilet seat is invariably up, I resort to Lynx Apollo in the shower because they’ve used my expensive shower gel and the washing basket is an Armageddon of boys underpants and socks.

In the living room, the TV is perpetually tuned to the sports channel and the kitchen may as well have a revolving door for constantly “staaaarving” boys who graze all day – then forget to wash up. And as a lone female in a household buzzing with testosterone, sometimes it can feel like a slow crawl up a mountain, blindfolded, as I try teach my sons where the washing machine lives and how to stack the dishwasher properly. For the first two weeks, I headed out to work while the two teens were sound asleep. By week three things started to change. One golf-mad teenager was offered a stint as green keeper and, motivated by the earnings, he’s been happy to rise at 6am and head off. The other bike-obsessed teen turned entrepreneur, repairing bikes for pals. But only on the day when I return home to a tidy house, an empty washing basket and the toilet seat down, will I know my work is done.