You can read all the child-rearing books in the world, but none of them prepares you for one very important aspect of having kids: when they grow up.

Sure, you parents of young children can talk about it happening "some day" — you can even think you're ready for it.

You're not.

If you are the parent of an 18- to 20-year-old "adult" child and you are sitting there looking all calm and unruffled, you have either been through this phase before, or the chocolate you've been eating nonstop is having a positive effect on your serotonin levels.

Me, I need to visit my local chocolatier because I'm a mess.

It's not just because my 18-year-old has finished the academic portion of culinary school and is currently working at an externship in order to get her A.O.S. degree and Le Cordon Bleu Diplome. Indeed, that battle with my anxiety over her education and career and accompanying social life ebbs and flows, much like my persistent gray hairs ebb with the flow of dark brown hair dye, applied liberally every four weeks.

Today, it's another problem: curfew.

My last column about curfew appeared in The Star on June 22, 2006. The kid was 17, had just graduated from high school, and she and I were at odds about how late she was allowed to stay out. I wanted her to come home at 11 p.m., so I called the Simi Valley Police Department, and was told that 10 p.m. is the legal curfew for people under the age of 18.

Which was good to hear at the time, but now that the kid will be 19 in a few months and has a paycheck and a car, it's all moot.

Some of you are saying, "Hey, Dager, it's not moot because, after all, SHE LIVES IN YOUR HOUSE, UNDER YOUR ROOF," etc.

Well, yes, that's true. She does live in my house. She must because I'm constantly picking up her big ol' shoes, which seem to be all over the place.

But, the "my house/my roof" thing doesn't work in every case, unless you're a total hard-liner. Parents of young children take note. You can say things like, "There's no way my darling Emma and wonderful little Trevor are going to (fill in the blank) when they become teenagers," and I guarantee it will come back to bite you where it hurts the most. Also, saying, "Because if they do (fill in the blank) I'm going to kick them out," is completely empty because 90 percent of you simply will not follow through, particularly if your kid is pretty good overall and the fill-in-the-blank is a relatively small issue, like curfew.

The 18-year-old should come home at a reasonable hour, partly because she needs the rest, partly because it's annoying to hear the garage door open and close at 1 a.m., but mostly because I can't sleep. I'm too busy worrying about her — what she's doing, who she's with, how many idiots are on the road driving next to her and so on. She usually remembers to check in via telephone, but that doesn't matter — she's still not home.

My children think I'm ridiculous for worrying when they're out late. They know they're fine, so why don't I know they're fine?

I can deal with my two daughters' fluctuating emotions, their never-ending expenses and the articles of clothing they leave hither and thither. I may not be taking this adult-child phase very well, but I can't help it — I just want my 18-year-old home, safe, so I can get a good night's sleep. Now pass the chocolate. I have some big ol' shoes to put away.

— Wendy Dager, of Simi Valley, writes a biweekly column for The Star.