While he traveled, I mulled over the sacrifices we make, both seen and unseen, for our children and for our marriage. And I wondered, does he give up enough? Do I give up too much?

We walked down to our neighbor’s home to feed the birds. She stared at my boys. “I blinked and they were gone,” she said about her own.

And we all say that, only hers were gone; both died of cancer.

And I realized happiness isn’t made up of goals; those just give us context for our life.

But staying engaged when you are happy. And trying to forget the rest.

We’ve got one off to kindergarten.

One off to preschool.

And one determined to go wherever her brothers go.

You try to stop her.

She’d lost her husband and both her boys to cancer. “People are afraid of me because I’m old,” she said. I was relieved to see our children weren’t, that they were so giving of their time.

Before we left for the cabin, my friend Meg dropped off a book she’d been reading, The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin.

I’d wanted to read it ever since I read in New York Magazine that children don’t make you happy. Which didn’t surprise me. When it comes to relationships, we always say, “Nobody can make you happy but yourself,” yet we put that expectation on our children and then act surprised when they alone don’t fulfill us.

But they sure are cute.

I wanted to read her book to find out what did make you happy. Because like the author, I am happy – I’ve got a wonderful husband, three adorable children, and a dog to boot – but sometimes I feel I get lost in the busyness, when what I want to do is celebrate the joy my life brings me.

One of her insights into being happy in marriage is, “Don’t Expect Praise or Appreciation.”

I’d been self-righteously telling myself that I did certain chores or made certain efforts “for Jamie” or “for the team.” Though this sounded generous, it led to a bad result, because I sulked when Jamie didn’t appreciate my efforts. — Gretchen Rubin in The Happiness Project

During our vacation, our 1-and-a-half-year-old got sick. While Matt was off drafting his fantasy football team with his buddies, I cleaned up puke. When I finished wiping up the floor, while comforting our toddler on my hip, I couldn’t help but think Matt owed me. Big time.

I felt myself simmering. Sulking. And I saw what Rubin was saying, how much resentment sours things. Because really that’s what parenting is about, being present in the moment. And sometimes the moment you get sucks but you’re there. You get to be there. And that, in itself, is reward enough for me.

I took a picture to remind myself how peaceful it was, although at times it didn’t feel so.

If only I could feel this way forever, nothing ahead of me or behind me, just the water, the sun and the breeze.

I’ve been in a bit of a slump lately; this crazy summer of travel finally caught up with me.

My mama sure is lazy.

On Sunday night, Matt and I uncorked a bottle of champagne at La Belle Vie to celebrate his return home, this time for good. We had blinked and the seasons had almost shifted on us.

After dinner, we walked around Loring Park holding hands, and the crisp night air felt like fall. We asked ourselves, as parents often do, where did the time go?

Look who lost two teeth!

Suddenly we longed for a slower life. A simpler one. One where Matt does not work the sort of hours he does, and I feel like the other families at the park: complete. We imagined buying a fixer upper in rural Minnesota where our boys could run wild in a field out back. Because this home we’re building ties us to the lifestyle that we lead.

Matt’s travel comes and goes; his workload ebbs and flows. And now, we’ll have a month to enjoy each other, with a week of vacation stuck in there, before his travel picks up again.

What is the right road to take in life? I appreciate the financial comfort his job provides, especially during this recession, and that he is happy, because moods filter through the home. But I wish he were here more because I miss him.

So what do you think: Is there such a thing as a simpler life, or do you simply trade one stress for another?

While traveling out East, I couldn’t figure out how to feed our kids. Because restaurants that catered to families offered burgers, hotdogs and fries on their kids’ menu. Which I couldn’t understand. Because we teach our children basic life skills like how to read and how to swim. Why don’t we teach them how to eat?

Healthy snacks like apples, nuts and raisins we label choking hazards. Yet we don’t label hazards like dyes, especially Red 3, a known carcinogen which goes into some fruit roll-ups.

We tried stopping at grocery stores to stock our hotel room mini fridges, but there is only so much pasta salad a person can eat hunched over. And so I gave in and swore once I returned home I’d never feed our kids fried food again.

Yeah. Anyway.

When I got back, I was excited to dig into our CSA box from Hog’s Back Farm: crispy sweet corn we boiled that first night, a ripe tomato, white onions, spearmint for mojitos to celebrate a friend’s 40th this weekend.

And green beans, which we’ve bundled in bacon and placed in an airtight container in our refrigerator to roast tomorrow night.

Green Bean Bundles, adapted from Paula Deen at The Food Network:

• 1 pound fresh green beans
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 tablespoon garlic
• 3 tablespoons Parmesan cheese
• Salt and pepper to taste
• Bacon

Mix olive oil, garlic, salt, pepper, and parmesan cheese in a mixing bowl.

Wash green beans and trim tips. Blanch (place in boiling water) for 3 minutes. Then place in cold water for 6 minutes to stop the cooking process.

Toss green beans in mixture. Wrap 5 stalks per piece of bacon.

Bake at 350 for 10 to 15 minutes, until bacon is cooked.

How do you feed your kids on vacation?

This post is a part of Real Food Wednesday. Even though it’s Friday.

We’re back, finally, at home in Minneapolis, with more than two outfits to wear, which makes us feel spoiled, almost, after spending four weeks on the road. Our routines support us here; I know when I can get breaks and when I can’t. But when you travel, you’re treading water. And while you know you can make it, you’re not always in the best form when you surface.

But before we left, Hope Lake Lodge in the Finger Lakes treated my mom and I to a stay at their resort. I knew the terrain well; I’d spent my childhood tumbling down ski slopes at Greek Peak Mountain across the street.

We walked into the room, dropped our bags and gawked. There was a sunny bedroom, a kitchen, a deep bath and a stone fireplace. We’d spent nights cramped in hotel rooms, sleeping two to a bed. Here, we could spread out. We could sleep without feet in our back.

It was like being home without being home. And that, I think, is what luxury is: the seamlessness of it all.

Our boys slipped their swimsuits on, and we walked to the indoor water park. They splashed in the wave pool, doused me with water guns and slid down the slides.

When our lips turned blue, we soaked in the hot tub, which stretched from indoors to out beneath the mountains.

There is so much beauty on this Earth.

I’m always struck by the topography of the places I visit, whether it be the unexpected jut of a mountain or the shocking starkness of a desert. We all lead such different lives, but we’re tied together by our dependence on our land.

The next morning, our boys woke when the sun rose. We hiked to the lake and its sandy beach. Our toddler picked wildflowers while our boys chucked rocks. And life seemed so simple in that moment that I wondered why we complicate it.

The only thing missing?

Matt.

Disclosure: Our room was complimentary, thanks to Hope Lake Lodge at Greek Peak Mountain Resort.

First four photographs copyrighted by Hope Lake Lodge.