IT has been strangely quiet over the holidays. Our house is full, we have all five boys, often along with assorted friends and girlfriends, at home. But I find myself longing for just a little more noise.

“There haven’t been any fights or rows this year,” said the 12-year-old on Boxing Day. But that’s probably because, much of the time, the boys have had headphones glued to their ears, their minds plugged into individual screens of one sort or another, absorbed in their own little worlds.

Once they’re over the age of ten, all their entertainment is electronic now. If they have a smartphone, iPod, tablet and a laptop, or equivalent gadgets, all their recreation and leisure time is sorted for the foreseeable future.

I miss the old days, the mad dashes to get hold of the last Buzz Lightyear in Britain, the search for the latest Thunderbirds toy or Furby that had fraught parents like us tearing our hair out. Yes, Christmas shopping for our children may have driven us demented, but there was at least a sense of anticipation and excitement.

If we were lucky, they might have asked for something that was easily attainable, a bike or a game, an action figure or a skateboard, compilation CDs and the latest films out on DVD. There was so much to choose from.

Then, the Santa wish lists were long, with lots of variety. On Christmas morning, presents of all shapes and sizes, often composed of bright coloured plastic, sat under the tree. But now their music, films, games, having fun with friends – it’s all there on screen, at the touch of a button.

As another mother with two boys aged 13 and 15 complained to me this year: “Everything they want now is electronic and costs over £1,000.” The technology giants have taken the joy out of Christmas shopping, we moaned.

But it’s worse than that. There were times when it was all too eerily quiet as we sat round the fireplace in our living room over the holidays, everyone glued to their own phone or tablet, watching their own programme or film, listening to music or online with friends, as if subdued by an electronic cosh.

I longed to unplug them all. It’s not as if I wanted them to sing songs round the piano, or even force them to join in a rowdy game of charades or Pictionary.

But is it too much to ask that we all watch the same screen at the same time occasionally?

THE 19-year-old is struggling to survive on his student budget at the end of his first term at university. He didn’t have any money left to buy Christmas presents, he moaned. But, since he still managed to enjoy a few nights out with friends, I resisted the urge to dip into my pocket and sub him.

After all, he has to learn to budget: “No-one expects you to buy big presents when you’re a struggling student, Patrick,” I told him. “But if you’re spending money on nights out, that’s the choice you make. It’s all about priorities.”

Then, a few days after he arrived home, he asked if he could come into town with me to do some Christmas shopping.

When I asked him where he’d got his money from, he told me he’d taken out a loan. I started to panic, worried he might have signed up with a loan shark or payday loan company.

But no, it turned out he’d borrowed £30 from his 15-year-old brother Roscoe, who saves up his money from his weekend job serving drinks and snacks at a National Trust kiosk.

This is the same brother he can’t resist thumping in the arm every time he walks past, while teasing and poking fun at him at every opportunity. The pair of them usually argue and fight over the slightest thing.

My faith in the true spirit of Christmas restored, I gushed: “Well I hope you appreciate what a lovely younger brother you have now Patrick, and I hope this means you will be much nicer to him in future.”

Patrick looked at me wearily: “But Mum, he’s charging me interest.”