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This parenting malarkey doesn't get any easier. Unlike most things in life, it's not a case of practice makes perfect. In fact, it doesn't matter how many times you go over the exercises outlined in the mummy manual, there is no way you'll ever become a black belt in the art of being primary caregiver.
I'm quickly finding out what may have worked with one of my progeny does not necessarily translate across ages, genders or generations.
Last week Cybergirl left our shores for the great unknown, travelling the world and experiencing its delights, disasters and disappointments. It is something for which she has worked hard for more than three years and despite my trepidations I had to loosen those ties that bind and try to put on a brave face at the departure gates as she lugged her backpack through immigration and into the duty free mecca on her own.
I'd always considered my eldest child a stickler for the rules. She never rebelled in that typical teenage way, she always played by the rules and was determined never to disappoint, and after battling an eating disorder for the past three years, she was finally well enough to realise her dreams.
Even though it's only been a week since she landed on the other side of the world, she has broken out of the chains of conformity which I believed were inherent in her nature and done all sorts of things I wished I had the guts to do way back when I put on my own ancient backpack, but only managed to stay away from home for a few months at a time.
It made me realise that even though I thought I knew her better than she knew herself, perhaps I was wrong, and the little person who used to startle me with her wisdom as a toddler was really just dumbing it down for me as she grew into her own person - to make me feel like I was the grown-up and the one doing the teaching.
And as one has flown the nest, the other two are now filling the gap recently vacated. With the plane's wheels barely tucked inside that magnificent flying machine, GameBoy was off to the Roads and Maritime Service to get his learner's permit so he could take possession of the car his sister left behind.
I thought the second round of teaching a child to drive would be a piece of cake. I thought I'd figured out how to modulate my voice so the sheer terror of entering into traffic with a novice driver didn't show. And I thought I'd learnt how to use those breathing techniques us mothers learn in birthing classes to quell the panic of seeing oncoming cars swerving to avoid catastrophe.
But as I mentioned above, what may have worked for one child, doesn't mean it can be a repeat performance. Although she may have shed the facade of the sensible sibling, I must admit Cybergirl's cool, calm and collected demeanour, and her willingness to listen to her mother, made driving lessons a near pleasure compared to that of her younger brother.
Or perhaps it's just a boy thing. When young men get behind the wheel of a car, even if it is one that was driven only on Sundays by an elderly lady on her way to church, there is a metamorphosis not unlike that of a tadpole turning into a toad.
And all my previous training in maintaining calm and quiet in the confines of a small car flew out the window, much like I wanted to do even before we reached the end of the driveway.
I'm thinking driving lessons with GameBoy may be a good father-son bonding experience while I stay at home and mother PlayStation before he is old enough to ask if he can borrow the car.