Sharon in the house

Sharon and Henry are here for a swimming competition. At 13, Henry swims up a level. He's that good.

I hadn't seen him swim. Not since he was last in my pool when I told him my dead mother was on top of our china cabinet, and Sharon was behind him, giving me the slash across the throat signal.

Sharon: "I just don't want to vacuum Connie up if he climbs up there to check her out."

The first night was the 500 free. His stroke was beautiful. Effortless. He let the guy next to him lead, drafting off his wake until the guy finally tired, and then Henry made his move. He won with no problem. I got choked up watching him. There is something about watching your friends' kids mature, thrive, and succeed. It's special.

The kid is special. He is disciplined and motivated. He can hold conversations with kids and adults alike. We enjoyed having him, and it was fun to watch him swim, although the heat about did me in.

Oh, and his mother is fun, too.