Last month my eldest boy had his first sleepover with a friend from his class. His friend, Finn, is a gorgeous child who is always a pleasure to have in our house. He's polite, articulate and fun, and my son adores him. Finn lives in Dublin Monday to Friday, where his parents work, but on the weekends they all go home to Westmeath to their other house. Here Finn and his sister have a big garden where they spend hours outdoors enjoying the country life. It sounds like the best of both worlds and we were delighted when Cal was invited along.

But when I told friends that Cal was off to Westmeath for the weekend I wasn't prepared for the mixed reactions. Some parents thought it was great that he was being allowed such independence but the majority could barely hide their shock at me entrusting a five-and-a-half-year-old to people who are relative strangers.

It could be said that I don't know Finn's parents that well. We've had coffee a couple of times, chatted on the phone and see each other in the schoolyard once a week. I've been in their house and they've been in mine. We get on very well, share similar values and seem to have very similar approaches to parenting. To my mind they are sound, sensible people who love their children as much as we love ours. I went with my gut feeling, which, it turns out, was the right thing to do.

Cal had a ball in Westmeath. Over the weekend Finn's mum sent me a few photos of the kids playing together and Cal rang on Saturday for a chat.

When he was dropped home on Sunday evening we saw more photos of the fun and action-packed break he'd had. They'd put on a puppet show, rolled in a plastic barrel down a hill, played rugby in the mud, drawn on the windows with special crayons and been taken to explore a local ruin. We were delighted to hear the boys had gotten on so well all weekend, and there were hugs and kisses when they said goodbye. Cal gave Finn's dad a big thank-you hug too, which we thought was extra cute.

On Monday afternoon several mums from the boys' class were curious to hear how the weekend had gone. None had expected disaster, but some had imagined Cal would miss home or find two nights too long to be away. I had to explain that he has often gone to Galway to stay on his cousins' farm, and loves nothing more than sleepovers at his grandparents' house. He's always been very adaptable, and I'd never doubted that he'd be happy. I'd never have sent him if I hadn't been sure he'd enjoy himself, and ultimately I let him decide.

I know that one or two parents still think we were mad. Their wide-eyed reactions and loaded questions -- "He's quite young, isn't he?", "How long have you known the family?" -- almost made me feel as if I'd done something irresponsible or crazy. Some told me their kids haven't ever had a sleepover, even at the age of eight or nine.

And that's okay, because there isn't a rulebook, and every one is different; some lack confidence; some are home-birds; some are creatures of habit.

I say make your decision based on your child, not their age. Don't push them, but don't mollycoddle them either. It's important we allow our children to grow on their own, just as it's important to sometimes follow our gut instinct.

- Jillan Bolger