Do I have to give them up?

I don't think I'll ever get used to how quickly time passes. Another summer gone in a flash. Ben heads back to school tomorrow morning, and my feelings are decidedly mixed. Mostly, I'm sad. I don't want to turn him over quite yet. I like having him around, even though these days he spends much more time interacting with Paulie than me. I knew that with an almost-2-year-old on my hands this summer, the season wouldn't be lazy and care-free, that trips to the pool and beach would be tricky. Predictably, quality time with the boys outside was even harder to come by than I thought it would be. Thanks to the often-steamy weather and the fact that my older two boys are more inclined to play inside than out, we didn't spend a lot of time outdoors running through sprinklers and riding bikes. (At least Ben and Paul didn't - Gus made sure to drag me outside often whether I liked it or not.)

Ben and Paulie spent a lot of time this summer in the bathroom racing cars. That's right, in the bathroom. I'm not sure exactly what appeal the bathroom held, but they seemed happy, didn't fight and stayed busy for an hour or two at a time, so I didn't question it. In fact, it warms my heart to have Ben and Paulie coming up with their own fun adventures. It reminds me of the stories my dad used to tell about playing teddy bears with his older brother, Paul. When Ben wasn't playing with Paul, he spent the bulk of his time reading - Encyclopedia Brown, all the Narnia books, Geronimo Stilton. Basically whatever he could get his hands on. These past two weeks, he's been holing himself up in the basement listening for hours a day as Jim Dale regales him with the tales of Harry Potter.

Two weeks after Ben starts, Paulie will begin his final year of preschool before heading off to kindergarten next year. It is unreal to me that Paulie has just one year left before starting school. I know it's a whole year, but I also know from experience how quickly it will pass. The preschool we have chosen is a co-op, so I will help teach Paulie's class once a month. I hope it will be the ideal situation for my middle to child to finally overcome his separation anxiety.

Heavy as my heart is at the thought of relinquishing two of my kids to the education system, I know it's time. I've noticed a spike in bickering and boredom. I'm certain that once again Ben is ready to tackle math, science, social studies and reading, and Paulie will love his preschool art projects. And I'm sure that soon I will come to appreciate the structure that having the kids in school affords. No doubt about it, though, I will miss them very much.

I gave it a tri

It was at the Thiel family Christmas gathering that my triathlon adventure began. My brother-in-law, Matt, was trying to recruit Mark to do the running leg for a triathlon relay team along with their brother, Steve, who would bike. All they needed was a swimmer. "I could swim," I piped up without really thinking about it. Thus, Team Chanasha (Steve's hometown of Chanhassen, Minn. combined with Menasha) was born. We would compete in the St. Paul triathlon in August.

When I joined the team, Matt had told me that the swim would be 1,000 meters. I felt comfortable with that distance. The longest event when I participated on the swim team in high school was 500 meters. Twice that distance - I could do that. Soon after, I learned that the race actually was a mile. Three times longer? I began to lose my nerve. After all, I hadn't swam seriously in 16 years. I didn't want to let my team down, however, so I decided I would give it a try. Anyway, way back in December, it somehow seemed like Aug. 22 was a very, very long time away.

I came up with a plan to start my training in April. Two mornings a week, I arose at 5:30 a.m and headed to the Y to swim laps. I've always loved to swim, enjoying exercising in the cool water, watching the tiny bubbles fly off my hands as I plunged them into the water. As I began to swim, I was pleased to find out that it still came quite naturally to me. Fairly easily, I was able to make it through the workouts in my book.

As spring turned to summer, my anxiety began to grow. In June, we made a trip to Madison so I could practice lake swimming with my sister-in-law, Emily. We arrived at Lake Wingra on a Saturday morning to find weeds up to my chest and very choppy water. Nonetheless, I plunged in. "Let's just swim a few yards," Emily said. We did, and when we stopped, she told me to look up. Emily pointed out that rather than swimming in a straight line, I had swam in a circle. That was my introduction to the need to spot, lifting my head every few strokes so I could look at a fixed point and swim straight. I knew that swimming in open water would be a far cry from the relatively sterile environment of lap swimming in a pool, but I hadn't even thought about this dimension. Another thing to worry about! Emily assuaged my fear, assuring me that the race lake would be much less weedy and much calmer.

That Aug. 22 that seemed like it might never arrive quickly came upon me. The morning we arrived at the race was beautiful, nonetheless I was filled with anxiety bordering on panic. We signed in and picked up our packet. I have to say, as the volunteer marked our team number on my arms and legs, I felt pretty cool, maybe even a little bad-ass. I sized up the course. I would need to swim two laps. Matt and Emily both were doing the entire triathlon - a mile swim, a 40K bike and a 10K run. Nervously, I went over with them again and again what I would need to do. I was certain that I would make a technical error and sink my team or that I would become paralyzed with fear and need to drop out of the race. My heart pounded as I took my place in the water. Just as my angst was peaking, there was Matt, who was in the same wave as me. His reassuring words and kind smile were enough to get me through.

The race began and I was off. As soon as I had the first length of the race completed, I felt great and confident. I could do this. Nothing I had worried about - that it would be scary to swim in open water, that spotting would be difficult - came to fruition. All in all, the experience was exhilarating. It was unbelievably gratifying to have months of work culminate in this.

I didn't feel fatigued as I swam, but by the time I was sprinting out of the water to hand off the recording band to Steve, I was tired. "I'm going to puke," I told him as I made the hand-off. I didn't, of course. After that, I was able to sit back and enjoy. It was fascinating watching the competitors as they transitioned from one event to the next. I'm in awe of people who do the whole thing, especially my brother- and sister-in-law. Matt was a year ahead of Mark and me in high school, and I have always known him to be a preternaturally kind and decent person. Emily is a paragon of awesomeness. She is a tremendous, elite athlete, but she is ever humble and always supportive.

And then there's Mark. I felt so proud and emotional as I watched him come in strong to finish the race. I also felt a little sad that the experience was already over. I can see how people become addicted to competing. Me, I'll never be a serious competitor. But you'd better believe that come next triathlon season, I'll be ready to swim again. After the race, Steve asked how long it would take for the markings on our arms and legs to fade. I secretly wished that they would stay as long as possible, because for me, they are a mark of accomplishment.

The dog days

As I was sitting outside one recent day, sweat dripping down my forehead and soaking my shirt, the revelation hit me all at once: I don't like summer all that much. I realize that living in Wisconsin, where overall we have precious little hot weather, this statement may seem blasphemous, so let me explain. It's really this part of summer, the dog days, that I don't enjoy.

This summer, in particular, has been chalk-full of all the things I hate about the season. For the past month, we have been locked in this terrible pattern of sweltering weather, followed by storms, followed by more sweltering weather. All of this a breeding ground for mosquitoes and frizzy hair. After all this rain we've had, I keep forgetting that our favorite parks, too, will be waterlogged and arrive to find sopping-wet slides and small lakes in the sandboxes.

I simply cannot abide these days in which it's so hot or, more to the point, humid, that it's extremely uncomfortable to be outside for more than an hour. Yes, I could go inside, but there's a little someone here who would spend the entire day outside if he could (and rightly so, that's where all kids should be in the summer, no?). Guess who usually wins this battle? Inside - there's another one of my gripes. I find it so jarring the contrast between the hot, sticky outdoor air and the refrigerated feeling of stepping into an air-conditioned space. I hate all those excessively cooled restaurants, stores and movie theaters so common in summertime.

I guess it comes down to me and my perpetual state of always wanting what I don't have. In February, I sit and dream of days like today when I can just open the backdoor and let the boys out to play. So today I'm dreaming of sunny, mild days. Mid-70s, no rain. Is that too much to ask?