Yeah, you could say I worry a little

So this is my boy. If you were in third grade, you totally would want to be his friend, right? He's so cute and really nice, too. Since the school year has begun, Ben making friends has been a bit of an obsession for me. Over the summer, I was able to mostly suppress my angst about the transition Ben soon would face. But as soon as Sept. 1 hit, my worry was back in full force.

Here's my thinking: I was confident Ben would be fine with the academics of third grade, so if I could just ensure that he made a friend or two in his new class, things would be golden and I could move on to finding my next thing to worry about. The first days of school didn't seem to be going so well. Ben would come home from school grouchy as all get out. When I would ask him what he did at recess, he would say, "Nothing, just walked around." Every day after school, I would pepper him with the same litany of questions: "Did you play with anyone at recess"? "Who did you sit with at lunch"? I wouldn't have blamed him if he had finally snapped at me: "Mom, would you shut up with that already!"

Now, I don't feel like Ben needs a whole passel of friends. My expectations are realistic - God knows, I was never popular in school. Even one good friend would be enough to satisfy me. Just as I was beginning to fear that Ben would be condemned to a life of solitude at school, of forever wandering the playground alone, things began to change. On Wednesday, he got a call from a classmate, Brodie. On Thursday and Friday, he talked on the phone with his friend, Gabby. Yesterday, for more than an hour, he and Gabby played Webkinz while chatting on the phone. I'm sure some day soon, I'll be harping on Ben to get off the phone already. But when I do, I'll do it with a secret smile.

Celebrating 10

Mark and I were but 23 when we tied the knot 10 years ago. Like my uncle, who called me "the child bride," you might be tempted to comment on young we were, especially for today's standards. However, if you know Mark, you probably also know why I was able to marry him with the utmost confidence. A more decent, kind, loving mate I could not have found, and I feel so lucky that we found each other.

Of course, hitting this milestone has gotten me reflecting. We sure have managed to cram a lot into 10 years. We've celebrated the greatest joys, three to be exact. We've gone through some hard times and heartache, too, and I've come to the conclusion that all marrieds reach eventually - that marriage is hard work. I can say with certainty, though, that there's no one I'd rather take this journey with. Mark is such a good man, that it makes me want to work at our relationship all the harder. He makes it all worth it.

I've never been big on poetry, but in one of my high school English classes, we read this poem that I did love. (Well, I fell in love with it after my teacher decoded it for us - like I said, I'm no poet.) It's called Anyone Lived in a Pretty How Town by E.E. Cummings. I gave Mark a copy on our wedding day.

So here it is:

anyone lived in a pretty how town 
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men (both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed (but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon 
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes

Women and men (both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain  

After 10 years, I still love Mark "more by more" and his any will always be all 
to me. 

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 ...