My 20 year old son Archie has been travelling in Australia since the beginning of December. For that I am grateful. I'm grateful that he chose Australia as opposed to the Middle East or South America because I've been to Australia and although he is literally the other side of the world I can easily imagine him there.

Every morning (despite the fact it's his night) I write him a loving email. I'm sure they are probably quite dull, but I feel compelled to keep a maternal thread of umbilical cord tenuously reaching out across time zones and continents. I try to make my emails sound breezy, balanced and above all un-needy. Not to ask too many questions. It's hard. Very hard.

My natural inclination is to ask annoying, motherly questions like 'are you remembering to cover yourself in really, really high SPF?' and 'do you promise me on your life you're bending over backwards with helpfulness towards that saintly girlfriend of mine that's housing you?' and 'promise me you won't ever, ever go swimming at night on Bondi Beach because the sea is full of big nasty sharks' and a million other little niggling words of advice. But I don't.

Well – I do. Initially. And then I press delete. I want him to enjoy his Big Adventure without me. After all, as I have to keep reminding myself, there are only two lasting bequests you can hand down to your kids: roots and wings. Security and freedom. I've hopefully put down the roots, now I've got to let him go.

So every morning I write about our dull domesticity back home. The Christmas tree is up. The Christmas tree is down. We all ate too much over the holidays. Television was crap. Chelsea won. Chelsea lost. Chelsea drew. It's windy. I've found your white Converse trainers. Guess what? James proposed to Ellie. Dad and I are going to the movies. Tilly's had horrible flu.

I sort of bore myself, yet I imagine Archie signing on to AOL on a different day in a different country and hope that he knows he is missed and loved.

After two weeks of sending emails I got sick of getting no replies. I'd spoken to him on the telephone a few times (few being the operative word as he'd pre-warned me that although it was “good to talk” it wasn't good to talk too often) and I'd texted messages and received delayed replies but nothing via email.

“ It's obviously too expensive,” explained my husband in his defense.

“ How is replying to an email too expensive?” I asked.

“ It costs lots of money,” replied Johnnie.

Johnnie doesn't approve of modern technology. He won't own a mobile on principle. He maintains if someone wants to get hold of him they will. Which they do. On my mobile. He doesn't understand the joys of the cyberspace freeway, computors, laptops, instant messaging and still thinks when someone mentions “wireless” they're talking about a radio.

“How can pushing the “reply” button cost money?” I inquire testily.

“ He doesn't own a laptop,” says Johnnie.

“ But he is reading my emails,” I reply, speaking very slowly. “ I check that he's read them.”

“How is that possible?”

“You click on 'status' and it tells you what time the person has picked up their mail. If Archie is picking up he's on-line. If he's on-line and not answering, he's just lazy.”

“He's a boy,” proffered Johnnie. “ Men don't have the same compulsion to endlessly communicate as you women.”

“Hmmmm,” I huffed.

The following morning I send a short, sharp email to Archie.
Arch – settle an argument that's going on between me and Dad. Are you getting these emails and just not replying to them? Dad says you're not replying because it's too expensive. Just want to know. Mum X

This time I got a swift response. Hi Mum. I pick them up every night. Just lazy. Love you. Arch.

Like I said. Roots and wings. He's flying.

Read more about Sarah's eclectic clan:

Alpha mother

Cleaning up their act

The teenage birthday party

Tough love from your kids

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