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?

A love-hate relationship?

As I was preparing for another glorious day with my three darling children yesterday, a promo for a story on the Today Show caught my attention. They were doing a feature about a cover story entitled, "I love my children. I hate my life," which recently appeared in New York Magazine. Wow. Provocative. I quickly hit the DVR button and tuned in later.

Studies show, the story said, that many people become decidedly unhappier when they become parents. Furthermore, in a survey among moms, the majority ranked activities like napping, preparing food and housework as more pleasurable than childcare. Boy, do I get that. After tending to the boys' needs eight or nine hours a day, believe me, I'd rather do almost anything.

While I think saying that I "hate my life" is many shades too extreme to describe the way I feel day to day, I do understand where the writer is going with the story. As the psychologist in the piece pointed out, many people end up unhappy with parenting because of unrealistic expectations. Been there. Before Ben was born, I thought, sure I can give up a little sleep, no big deal. There was no way I could have prepared myself for the actual degree of sleep deprivation and the way it would feel. I was a 25-year-old first-time mom, and it felt utterly overwhelming.

Likewise, I had unrealistic expectations about being a stay-at-home mom. It was what I had always wanted to do in life. I pictured leading my kids in structured activities: crafts, story time, fun outings. Reality quickly set in on that one and soon I settled into the realization: holy crap, how am I going to fill a whole day every day? Staying at home with three kids often means trying to meet three diverse sets of needs all at once. This one needs more structured play, this one needs less. This one wants to spend every minute outside, these two would rather be inside. It's an almost non-stop barrage of requests and demands, most often not delivered in a sweet, polite tone of voice. It's a battle against boredom, theirs, and yes, I'll admit it, sometimes mine too. It's watching your house turn to a disorganized mess before your very eyes. Craft time is me keeping vigil over Gus to keep him from biting off crayon tips or eating Play-Doh. Sitting down for story time? Not so easy. As for the outings, it seems like someone is always unhappy. My youngest doesn't want to be in his stroller. My older two whine about not wanting to walk.

So that's the hard part. Lest I sound really miserable and ungrateful, let me say that with time has come acceptance that this simply is my life right now. My expectations are reasonable - most days. I see it as putting in my time right now for the benefits of later, when my kids are older and a little more independent. Yes, most moments of the day feel like pure work, but then there are sweet moments too, like nap time. So in conclusion, I've decided that I love my life. But maybe for my sake, just don't ask me at, say, 4:30 p.m. on a Tuesday.

The inevitable pet request

I figured this time would come eventually, the time when one of my kids would start asking us for a pet. Karma seems to ensure that I get what's coming to me in most parenting issues. I am, after all, the girl who decided she wanted a puppy or kitten of her very own for her 13th birthday and launched a month-long campaign of writing begging letters to my parents. For the record, I didn't get my wish but instead received a telephone for my room and a stuffed animal, much to my furor. Wisely played, Mom and Dad. Yes, I did get over it sooner than later.

That brings me to now, when my middle child has his heart set on a pet. Ben and Paulie prepared birthday lists yesterday. Good thing, since their birthdays are three and five months away, respectively. At the top of Paulie's list: a pet turtle. The kid loves turtles. I suppose it doesn't help that the boys know that my parents did cave sometime in my teenage years and let me have, yes, a pet turtle. A pet turtle that I took care of very, very spottily. Yes, I fed it and all, but let's just say its cage was not so clean. Ben and Paul seem to accept the fact that because of allergies we will never have cats or dogs, that I am vehemently opposed to harboring rodents of any kinds, and that my bird phobia will keep fowls out of our house. However, I think Paul thinks he might be able to sway us on the turtle.

Here's the thing, though: turtles live for a long time. I'm pretty sure I don't want to make that kind of commitment to a reptile. And fish, the one pet I would consider, don't live long at all. Do I really want to explain mortality to my 4-year-old? The plan is to stay strong and keep saying no to an animal invasion. Wish me luck in turning down those big, pleading eyes. Do you think an ant farm would satisfy him? No? I didn't either ...

Can't we meet somewhere in the middle?

I find it endlessly fascinating that all my boys could turn out so differently from one another. Take Paulie and Gus. As I have written about extensively, Paulie has huge separation anxiety. This, I've discovered, extends beyond just leaving me to go to school or what have you. When I brought him to swimming lessons the other day, he asked me ad nauseum where I would be sitting while he was swimming. Clearly he simply would not be comfortable until he had me firmly pinned down. Once he saw me perched in my spot, he waved happily and was fine. A few weeks back my mom and I took all three boys to a large park. Paulie stayed right on my heels the entire time. If I dare say this about my darling boy, he sometimes carries his need to be close to me to the point of annoyance. At the library one day, while he was looking at movies, I wandered to a spot, where I could still see him, to look at something else. He, however, could not see me and immediately launched into a full-on panic, crying hysterically.

On the other hand, we have Gus. I've written, also extensively, about Gus's risk-taking and reckless behavior. I think it's fair to say he's the polar opposite of Paulie in this way. If you could have spied on me at Ben's kickball game yesterday, here's what you would have seen: Gus running away from me at any opportunity, me running after him and Paulie hot on my trail. Scenes like this play out anywhere we go together.

One rainy Friday a few weeks ago, I took Paulie and Gus to the children's museum. It was incredibly crowded, filled not only with parents and kids seeking a rainy day activity but also many school field trips. The boys and I were playing when I turned my head for a second and saw Gus run off. I even saw the direction in which he ran, but he's unbelievably fast. For what must be the longest 90 seconds of my life, I could not find him. I ran from place to place, panic mounting, Paulie running after me. The children's museum is a big place, on two stories. What if he'd gotten down the stairs, someone had taken him? Furthermore I knew that the longer he was missing, the farther he could get from me, that it could be incredibly difficult to spot him in the sea of people. Finally I found him, happy as can be, playing in the water area. He was not at all concerned, I might add, that his mother was nowhere in sight. When I found him, I was dizzy with relief. Another reminder that I cannot let him out of my sight, even for a second.

So Paulie and Gus, here's what I propose: Paulie, you give Gus a little of your fear; Gus, you give Paulie a little of your confidence. Do this, and you'll make your mother a much happier and saner person.

This is getting surreal

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, and frankly it blows my mind that I have a son old enough to be going into third grade. Maybe it's an uncomfortable reminder about how swiftly time really does pass. After all, I can remember pretty clearly when I was Ben's age, and it doesn't seem so very long ago.

My life right now seems about as hectic and physically demanding as it ever will be (due in large part to my youngest progeny). As a result, I often find myself wishing that my kids were older, that I could vault past this really difficult part. Yet I know, I know that someday I'll look back and wish that I could return to this "simpler," happy time when my kids were young and their demands were relatively easy to meet. Isn't that just how life works?

I'm forever on a quest to find serenity in my life and to focus more on the joy. I've read a lot about the benefits of mindfulness, you know, living in the moment, avoiding letting your thoughts wander all over the place. I gotta say, that's not something that comes naturally to me, but I'm going to keep trying. I'm going to try in this moment when Ben is on the cusp of a huge transition. He's part little boy, part big boy. Already he's beginning to bristle under my attempts to rustle his hair or hold his hand. And Paulie, who's off to preschool in the fall and then onto kindergarten. He still loves to snuggle and is prone to seeking attention in that middle child sort of way. And of course, Gus, who keeps me literally running after him most of the time. At the same time, he's the most joyful child. When he sees me after time apart, he gets the hugest smile on his face, launches himself into my arms, and says, "Mama!" as if in complete ecstasy at seeing me again. All of these moments of where my kids are just exactly right now are fleeting, and I want to hold onto them.

As a complete, random aside, I wanted to share something that Ben's friend, Olivia, from first grade wrote for the class's "First Grade Memories" book. Ben and Olivia play on the swings each day at recess. I thought it was beautiful and eloquent, and of course it made me cry. "I will always remember the time I went on the swings with Ben. I knew I had someone to play with every day. I knew Ben was a good friend. We talked about our lives. I really like the swings."