once you get to know them."

-A. A. Milne,

Eeyore from "Winnie the Pooh"

Since summer is here and our kids rely on us to keep them occupied, I'm sure many parents are spending more time than usual fantasizing about running far, far away.

The last thing I could ever claim to be is a mathematician, but for the sake of parental sanity, I created my own logical formula for how much a parent can handle before snapping:

BP=(NT/W+BT/R)x(NCpH)2

Breaking Point equals (Number of Tantrums per Week plus Back Talk Rate) multiplied by (Number of Children per Household) (Squared: because school's out).

We each have our own personal limit, so it's wise to have an emergency escape plan to head off that breaking point. A few times a year, I will take off with one or two of my sisters and go somewhere... anywhere.

Most often we end up in Topeka for the weekend to satisfy our Kohl's and Panera Bread fix. But we believe in variety, so a couple of years ago my sister Kelly and I spent two and a half muggy days at BOW, an outdoor workshop set up through the Kansas Department of Wildlife & Parks. It's a retreat (for women) to try outdoor activities like archery, fishing, canoeing, hunting, camping, outdoor cooking and off-road biking.

I try to spend a fair amount of time outdoors. Kayaking is a favorite of mine, along with occasional camping and fishing. But to be honest, I've always been more of a wanna-be outdoorswoman than an actual doer.

Kelly and I decided from the get-go that if we were going to do this, we would do it right. Given the choice between a cabin and a tent, we stayed true to our mission and took the tent. We set it up in no time and congratulated each other on our extreme outdoor skills.

My first workshop was Natural History and Botany. The leader was a botanist from K-State who had definitely followed the right career path. He was a foliage fanatic and was thrilled to give us a three-hour lesson in Latin plant names. But when he stuck to English, he was inspiring in his own way.

(His way involved sacrificing his body by rolling down a hill and plowing through a barbed wire fence to show us a "rare mushroom.")

Sadly, he wasn't the athletic type who could bound gracefully through prairie grasses. He had more of a "pudgy balding professor" build, so he literally rolled and plowed.

I can't imagine ever feeling that way about a mushroom, but just being forced to slow down and take time to look around was a good lesson. I left with more of an appreciation for the "weeds" in the ditches, even if I will never be able to-or have any desire to-pronounce their Latin names.

Saturday morning I headed to my class on orienteering, which is finding your way on a marked outdoor course.

I got lost on the way to class.

It was basically another long hike, but this time our teams followed a topography map and used a compass to find our way back to base.

After class, I got lost on the way to the lunchroom.

If I ever go back to BOW, I'll sign up for advanced orienteering. Anyone who has ridden in my car would confirm that three hours is nowhere near enough training for me.

Maneuvering through an orienteering course can wear a body down, so at 8:30 that night, I laid mine down to rest. I wanted to be prepared for my next adventure on Sunday morning: horseback riding.

My only memory of sitting on a horse is being led around a small corral at my uncle's house when I was a kid, so this beginner's lesson suited me perfectly.

We were given a safety lecture and an embarrassing riding helmet, and then told to select a horse. With my limited knowledge, I could only base my choice on their names. I chose Buddy. After all, what name could have been more encouraging for a novice like me?

After the horses were assigned, we were told to open the stalls and line them up. But not too close! And they had to be in a specific order because some of them didn't "play nice" with others.

I felt even more at ease when the instructor yelled, "OK, who has Buddy?" I double-checked the name plates above the stall doors. Yes, Buddy was standing right beside me.

"You gotta watch him," the instructor said. "Sometimes he crow-hops."

I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but it didn't sound good.

"Wait, what does that mean? Can I switch horses?"

He gave Buddy a quick pat on the neck. "Nah, he's all right," he said, "Sometimes it might feel like he's going to rear back on his hind legs. But don't worry, he won't."

Heading toward the front of the pack, he turned back and added, "But if he does...just pull back on the reins a little to get him in line."

If animals can truly sense fear, this poor horse must have had chills crawling up and down his spine. Fortunately, Buddy's experience made up for my lack of it. He was very forgiving and gave me a little more confidence by being kind enough to keep all four feet on the ground.

As our weekend came to a close, the camp got together one last time to draw for door prizes and say good-bye.

I won a journal and a hat, but brought home a lot more. In three days I was able to canoe, hunt for fossils, try target-shooting, fly-fish with my own hand-made flies, decipher a topography map, analyze stream water quality, and ride a crow-hopping horse.

Not a typical weekend, but definitely a memorable one.

I was one of the lucky ones, able to escape to BOW before reaching my breaking point that fall. And now that summer is in full force, I think I may need to consult my threshold formula again.

After all, you can't argue logic.