Right Where I Need to Be

Ahhh, life. I'm happy, busy, stressed, tired, loved and blessed... usually all at once. I am holding on to my reasons, my job, my blog, my dreams. I trust that I am exactly where I need to be.

Where I needed to be this past weekend was Lake Tweet. And the Waterford Fair. And, on Friday, saying goodbye to a cousin gone too soon.

Summer is ending. This weekend marks the back-to-school part of our annual happenings. I'm ready. It was a good summer, but I'm always happy to welcome fall. We still camp, we still have those rare days when we're all in the house, bored with each other or ready to pull our hair out with the housework. Those things are part of my summer too, and part of my life. And I'll still do these things, no matter the season.

Fall brings cooler temps, crisp air, the apple and leaves scents I love. The mums, the Octoberfest, Halloween, the celebration of the birth of my first babe, Thanksgiving. Yes. I will admit it, as if it isn't already known: I'm in love with fall. With the feeling of promise that "back-to-school" brings and the anticipation of the winter holidays.

It will all be here soon enough. But tonight, let's take another look at summer. All photos from Lake Tweet!




Stay tuned, as I'm scheming and planning for tomorrow night's second annual "Back-to-School Feast" and hoping to pull off another sweet sendoff for the kiddos.

Now, I need to get where I need to be: in my bed with my hubby with all my chicks safely sleeping in our nest.

The Cowboy in Me

I am indeed aware that I haven't posted in nearly a week. It's hot, my laptop is on the fritz, I'm busy, blah, blah, blah. Mostly, I'm feeling quiet. Actually, I think I'm making myself feel quiet so I don't spout a whole bunch of negativity. It's cyclical for me, these times of introspection. I can't lie, and so I don't write. But I'm fine, really. I'm functioning. My motherhood is prime, my citizenship a bit subpar. But I'm in it to win it, and this, too, shall pass.

I have found myself reflecting on my days and days in the hot tomato and pepper patches of my youth. It is absolutely amazing to think of those endless hours in the heat, working like a dog for a sliver of what I make per hour now. Those days took discipline not easily found in young people. There were days of solidarity with my fellow workers and days of solitude, where I could only know myself.

Those days were precious. Because I can still see my grandpa, the man of my life, leaning on the tractor and wheezing, plagued with so many breathing complications, but still right there joking with us in the heat. I can still remember the joy of lying in the TV room with the window air conditioner unit blasting, Matlock soapboxing on the TV in the background, on our fleeting lunch hour. I can still remember the feeling of the muscles in my arms, shoulders and back burning as I quickly and repetitively lifted two ten-pound baskets of tomatoes at a time from the rollers of the truck bed floor to the waiting hands of my male counterparts packing the night truck just as high and as tight as possible for those incredible height-of-the-harvest loads to Pittsburgh. I can both see and smell the oil of the basket wires and the green tomato plant residue on my fingers and palms.


Those were hot, sweaty, difficult, amazing days. And Lord, am I ever thankful to have been brought up that way. It was an active, respectful, passionate way to make a living, and I yearn for that in my work now. I long to find the purposefulness that I knew then, to work hard and to see the fruits of my labor, to believe I've earned what I sow.

A young cousin who remembers the atmosphere of those days but didn't have the privilege to live them as a teenager has been harping on me to share a story I wrote more than ten years ago. It's a 4,000-word magazine feature on our grandpa, and it's got legs. It's going to be published somewhere, someday.


As I'm preparing to finally do something about my dreams, to root out those elusive boot straps I talked about last week, to pull them as hard as I possibly can, I thought it might be fitting to share a couple grafs of that story, the "grandpa story." Here's a quick sketch of a man who was anything but, a tribute to one of the last great American cowboys.

A common man in appearance, Bernard's typical outift on a summer day would include a blue chambray work shirt, dark blue cotton workpants, dirt-caked boots and an ever-present package of Red Man peaking out of his breast pocket. His muddy brownish gray hair was usually tucked under a hat, and his skin remained brown year-round and had the appearance and feel of worn leather. Bernard was most often seen with an ornery look on his face, as if he were still processing the last joke spoken. He teased people mercilessly, especially those who he cared about most.

Bernard lived in only two different houses, which sat adjacent to each other, his entire life. His regular trips away from the farm included church, high school basketball games and the local feed store. Bernard was not a verbal messenger of any sort. His greatest gifts to others were simple and subtle. He was not a leader, a lecturer or an officeholder, yet throughout his life he somehow managed to impact hundreds in his community...

And so, tomorrow is a new, hot day. I'm going to channel Bernard, work hard and positively impact those around me.

I guess that's just the cowboy in me.

This Is How I Do It

I have a confession to make. I don't even know where my real camera is. I might as well keep going... I am way behind on organizing photos, and let's not even talk about the kids' scrapbooks. There has been clean laundry stacked in my glider rocker in my bedroom for weeks. I've been digging through it and it's nearly to the point where it doesn't seem clean anymore. I have dirty dishes in the sink, clean dishes to put away, dirty clothes, clean clothes, bills to pay, toys and shoes to sort, an endless gaggle of stuff conglomerating on my dining room table. In short, this is how I do it.

I let things go. I do what I can, and every now and then, I do major work to catch up.

Yesterday I got pooped on. It happens. Today, a tire blew on my van as I traveled at a rate of about 65 mph on my way to work. I'm fine. I'm in a really good place right now. I have established an inner peace that fuels me through the craziness, the uncomfortable situations, the not-so-good moments.

And I'm having a whole hell of a lot of fun on the way. There are ballgames, campfires, swimming parties and picnics. I am tired, I am grateful, I am blessed.

And now, it can't wait any longer. I must get ready for morning and get myself some sleep in the peacefulness of a slow oscillating fan. Can't wait!!

Take Me Out

Every now and then, life reaches a fever pitch. Nothing major is happening in my corner of the world, but I can't catch up, can't get enough sleep, can't feel like all is well. (But it is.)

This week brings seven ballgames. Yes, seven. Lily (and her cousin Julia) are rocking it out on the softball field. Max (and his cousin Jud) are cracking us up on the T-ball field. It's fun being ball parents, but I'm ready for summer to start looking more like summer as far as the calendar goes. The rushing around needs to go away...


I'm also needing some sleep. I had a late campfire Saturday and a late night last night as well. My morning and evening commutes were both very sleepy today. And now, here I am, doing it again, pushing 11 p.m.

So this isn't a masterpiece, but it's life. So take me out, coach, I'm not ready to play.


Momma needs a short nap. And a chimpanzee butler. And a wife. (Somebody whose sole ambition is laundry...)

Summer State of Mind

I'm not the kind of person that can come home to a messy house after work and flop onto the porch swing. I leave this house nearly everyday in a blaze of glory. That is to say, if I can get most of what we need, my four kids and myself out the door, I do it, even if the house looks as though it's been hit by a cyclone. When you see the open door, run!

In spite of my need to always be cleaning, sorting and looking for the next crisis, I've been trying to dial back my efforts to finish what will never be done. Several friends' Facebook statuses have tugged me into a place of awareness lately. One talked about how she was laying on the trampoline, looking at the stars and listening to her kids run and catch lightning bugs. Now doesn't that sound like summer?! The other had a photo of her youngest in a laundry basket with the caption, "The laundry will always be there, but I won't always be little."

It is so true.

I look at Luke and try to remember my other kids at this stage. I nuzzle his sweet Baby Magic-smelling head and swear I'll never forget it. But I will.

So it's my responsibility, as mother and unofficial Roberts family summer cruise director, to come up with activities to not only make these days fun but to make these days lazy and memorable. I have to juggle, to be sure, in order to get anything done, but I will remember the beauty there is in doing nothing.

Kids are the royalty of summer. They do summer so well and so naturally. In spite of the fact that I used to be a kid and a summer queen in my own right, I've grown up. But my vow is this: while I still have to go to work, I'll loosen up about bedtimes and ice cream everyday. I'll let the dishes go, when I can. I'll devise more impromptu swimming trips. I'll run through the sprinkler and allow the kids to have more lemonade stands than the local economy cares to support.

I can hardly wait for tomorrow morning's iced coffee, but first.... I'll sleep in my warm bedroom with the cool fan and a sheet.

Because it's summer, and I'm in a summer state of mind.

Sweet Summertime

We're still quite worn out from the weekend, so here are a couple of snaps and updates of the kiddos to keep you company until Momma finds her words....

Our girl finished up school today! She was named one of first grade's star students AND the best "girl citizen" in her class! We are so proud of her! Pictured here with her is the one and only, amazing Mrs. Starkey, who enjoyed her last day of work today. Thanks, Mrs. Starkey, for shepherding so many kids through first grade at Waterford, including Lily and her momma! You will be missed, and we aren't just saying it to be nice... (And thanks to one of my village mothers, Rachel, for the great photo!)


Mr. Max is so ready for his birthday, which is in about two weeks. He has gone from barely wanting to color to actually writing out a list of the toys he wants for his big day! He's still quite the chef. Here he is licking the spatula after making strawberry banana smoothies outside on the deck a couple of weeks ago.


Colby enjoyed his birthday at the lake this past weekend. It's official! We've got a bona fide two-year-old on our hands. He's as rotten as he is cute. He is really good about letting us put on sunscreen, which is a good thing, seeing as how we applied it six times yesterday...


Finally, baby Luke is doing well. He's amazing in all ways. We are so happy he's a good camper. He loves being outside and did well in the heat this past weekend. Here he is with Mammaw Debbie, who wants to eat him up for his cuteness. Mommy told mammaw she thought she wanted a red-headed girl to even out the bunch, but now she knows Mr. Luke is what she wanted all along!


Blessed night to you. June rushes to greet us in a few short hours, and then, for me, it will be official. Summer will be here, all my chicks will be in the nest, and I'll be fighting heat, nap times, "town" traffic and more to help make awesome memories for my kids!

Sweet Fair Days and A Tribute to Belle

So, when I was about 12 years old, my parents convinced me to take a pig to the fair as a 4-H project. I wasn't too keen on the idea, but my sister, who must have been 14, and my brother, 11, were taking pigs as well, and the care was split three ways. We spent our hot summer days in the tomato and pepper patches, which we loathed, and then one of us would step into the hot, dusty pig shed to water and feed the pigs. Not much to it, really. Occasionally, as part of the project, we were to get the pigs out, or climb into the pen with them, to "get used to them" and "train them," or something. (This was the part about which I wasn't fond.)

I, perhaps unwisely, even named my pig. That stinky pink sow was Belle, to me.

Summer marched on, and fair time drew near. Back then, the pigs all had to be tested for drugs or steroids or something, so the local vet had to make farm rounds in the weeks leading up the fair. The day Doc Lowe came to our place was in the 90s. And the quest for Belle's blood wasn't pretty. She ran, she squealed, she fought like hell (like somebody I know). And damned if she didn't end up having a heart attack and DYING!!!

Seriously, a week before the fair, my pig died.

And, as if that wasn't bad enough, I remember my dad was in Ann Arbor or someplace for work, and my mom was charged with finding help to butcher the thing within the hour lest all the meat be spoiled in the heat. (Thanks, Neil Huck. Wasn't it you who came to our aid?)

At any rate, I didn't show a pig that year, or EVER. In a wry twist of fate, my sister's pig was a mere two pounds underweight and didn't make it into the fair either. So, after feeding three pigs all summer, we netted just one to the fair.

And, Belle, I'm sorry about how it all turned out. It was traumatic for both of us.

These days, the fair for me is much more enjoyable. I don't have the pressure to show a pig, the frustration of unrealized teenage lust, the insecure feelings of wearing the wrong thing. In fact, now I'm a PTO booth shift worker! That's right, folks. I'm a parent. So now I get to see sights such as these: beautiful kids riding carousels, waving flags while watching parades, smiling big from the most rickety rides and feeding OTHER PEOPLE'S animals. Seriously, folks, it doesn't get much better than this.

If you live in the area and haven't yet visited the Waterford Community Fair, go tomorrow and get yourself a lemon shake and at least one delectable food item.

And, if you get down the hill and get a whiff of those pigs, please help me to remember Belle, who taught me that you can fight like hell sometimes and still not make it to the goal.

And now: My beautiful kids!

Back to the Basics

Somewhere around here, I have a couple of gorgeous photos of my husband and son, Max, in a field with a barn in the background. It was taken my my aunt Patti after a fall hike on her and my uncle Terry's farm. I had the pleasure of spending some time there tonight "working" and came away with about 32 quarts of freezer corn.

I wish I had taken my camera to capture Colby toddling around with a shorn corn cob, sucking the juice and making himself a sticky mess. It was sweet.

Anyway. I don't have a photo for this post, but let me paint you a picture in your mind. Cicadas chirping, Moses the old dog bellowing about but scaring no one, a breeze after a hot day, a seamless operation of shucking, boiling, cooling, shearing and filling bags of corn. Kids running barefoot and dirty; the whole thing ending with sweet tea and butter and salt for the last dozen ears of corn.

This is what I want. I want a house in the country, with a proud garden and the time to store food I've grown for the winters. I want kids and dogs running free, and my baby and I on the porch swing late at night where no one can see.

You can have your Starbucks and even your Targets. Isn't this what it all ends with anyway? Family, land, hard work and the knowledge and pride of a job well done.

I'm goin' back to the basics of life.

A Perfect Weekend

My sweet Colby and I about to dip into the lake!

I'm pretty beat tonight, but I made an effort this weekend to take more photos of my life to share with all of you. After a Friday morning of yard sales with the boys, I headed off to shop with Lily. It was fantastic! And then, to Lake Tweet!

We've been spending most of every weekend at Lake Tweet. I keep thinking I need a break, but come Friday, what sounds better than a free campfire with amazing friends and family and endless fresh air? I also keep telling myself that soon enough I'll be cooped up in a germy house and the whole family with nowhere to go but the germy mall or other people's shut-up houses. (Doesn't winter sound lovely?)

Anyway. Let's just see some photos:


Red-headed cousins enjoying a camper bath before bed Saturday night.

Momma and her cubs floating on Lake Tweet.

The kids were bathed at the camper and asleep with their Pillow Pets by the time we pulled in to our driveway at 7:45 p.m.

Yes, I bought the Pillow Pets, and they are worth more to the kids than the money was to me!

I didn't take any photos of volleyball, my best girl Berta, my hunky husband or delicious food, but they were all part of the perfect weekend as well.

It's summertime, and the livin' is easy. Peace out.

Missing Lake Tweet

A Lake Tweet shot with no lake in sight.

Well, I'm exhausted from Jambo and running around this week. The kids are too. Daddy is almost done with four 12's at work. We're all missing Lake Tweet, but with the heat and the tiredness, it just might wait.

The weather just isn't letting up at all, but I have a feeling that summer is wrapping up. I think it's just a post-Jambo thing. And it's also my state-of-mind. I'm ready to be lazy, pregnant and cozy in my house, I think. I'm thinking cool nights, hooded sweatshirts, crisp leaves and whip-cream-topped hot cocoa. (You can send the hate mail now, summer lovers.)

But I'm not too serious. I'm just preparing for fall. I'm not totally done with summer yet, but maybe a weekend break is what this momma needs. And a glass of Beringer white zinfandel, but that's neither here nor there.

The headaches are twice daily, at least. A couple more weeks, and I'll kiss this first trimester goodbye! I'm hoping for renewed vigor. Hope floats, you know. It just won't drown in my sea of life.

Night, dudes. Out.