I didn’t realize this is how grown up our family looks. I’ve had lots of moments to reflect on life and our Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness in the past few weeks. This picture (even the absence of our adored missionary) represents all that the Savior has given us: absolutely everything that brings us joy. Here are just a few things this photo represents to me, made possible by our Savior:
Paige and Michael were married on December 27 in the Salt Lake Temple. Photo by Rachel Angela Photography
Richard and I came away from Paige’s wedding day without a single picture, which tells you what a great time we had. We will post more another day. These are snapshots from family and friends who have taken the time to share with us. Thank you!
Leading up to the wedding, we had a big week, including Timothy’s 17th birthday and Christmas, and a hundred other interactions and lots of music. We saw Star Wars and decorated candy houses, turned in two Eagle Scout applications, and finalized special gifts. I am very happy.
Timothy’s birthday included two trips to Star Wars and gingerbread houses.My favorite photo from the Sanchez family Christmas pageantChristmas Day conversation
By definition, milestones are evenly spaced, but sometimes we can’t pace and space events. Milestones hurl past Richard and me as we careen towards the end of the 2019. This decade is ending in a whirl of notes, color, celebrations, and plans. I don’t just want to keep up. I want to enjoy each step.
Hopefully these pictures will help me relive these moments when I have more time, and experience the things I had to miss while I chased a milestone down a different road.
We delayed my birthday dinner to a later night, hopeful that we could spend more time together. After hearing our plans, one of our sons showed us in a variety of ways that this was not where he would like to be.
My reaction when he asked how long this was going to take was to more fully define a line between us. I dug a canyon with steep cliffs, hungry mountain lions hidden in caves, and a raging river below with my words, and retreated to my bed, so hurt that I considered canceling the evening.
“Why do you say one thing when you really mean something else?” The Spirit spoke to my mind. “All you need to tell him is that you want to spend some time with him for your birthday.”
My opportunity came during dinner as my son slumped in the seat beside me, refusing to enjoy the meal.
“I said a lot of things, but what I really meant was that I just wanted to be with you for my birthday,” I said quietly, leaving out the reprimand.
We walked through the mall after dinner and stopped at the Lego store. When he saw my delight at the tiny baby Lego figures, he carefully pulled the box from the shelf when I wasn’t looking, scaled the canyon walls to reach me, ignored the mountain lions of bad memories, and bought them for me.
I think the Lego sparkle babies were his way of saying what he had really meant to say, too.
The younger Timothy and I spent a lot of time each year picking out the perfect Halloween costume. Now, we spend time searching out the perfect color of tie and suit; we sift for the right fit for a shirt, and I have learned many elements of his signature style. He is wearing Mark’s shoes in these pictures because at the last minute, something about them called to his sensibilities, “dancing shoes.” Timothy is all about the details.
A fixture is something you think is necessary and useful in a house or schedule, and once it’s there, it becomes part of the landscape. You hardly think of it.
I am challenging many “fixtures” in our home and lifestyle.
The computer desk in the kitchen for kids? Not needed. They now use the kitchen table and my laptop on which I control access.
Books we own but did not enjoy and will not read again: donating those.
Fabric from the past twenty-four years: down to one box.
Cards and letters: while so meaningful to me, the objects themselves don’t bring happiness. It’s relationships that do that. I am parting with many of these pieces of paper.
Collections: what can’t be displayed and enjoyed is not needed.
Papers showing our children’s home education: I have learned most of these are not important to them, and just a few treasures are important to me.
Craft supplies: many of these have not been used since Paige was a little girl. Most can be donated.
Ultimate Frisbee: Just one night a week now, in a city league, not the school team.
Piano lesson times: changed to fit MY schedule better. This has made a huge difference in my stress levels, and we found times to make everyone happy.
Working through these objects and activities is also making me work through my history, my dreams, and my insecurities. It’s no surprise that a home is the best place to find out what a person is really dealing with. Apparently, I have real issues letting go of reminders of my children when they were young. This is silly because while they were adorable and smart and fun back then, they are even more interesting now. I love the new depth possible in relationships with my adults and teens, and it is so exciting to watch them soar. I am also learning to stand up for my personal needs when it comes to scheduling the kids and taking on obligations. I cannot run the pace that others run. For my gifts to flourish, I require a lot of stillness and order, and a good, real, in person conversation with someone every single day.
In recent years, I have measured success in projects completed and books read, people visited and words written. By most of these measures, I failed this summer, seriously failed. However, the days were full. I did what I thought I should do each day. I put aside some things to do the invisible and unnamed. Some days I wasted time, other days I did too much. I learned that my goal to read one book a week is not a good goal. The goal should be to keep reading.
So, the lesson of summer 2019 is to keep going, even when it seems like it doesn’t make a dent. Eventually, I will finish that 900-page book, and hope to see that these days of unremarkable tasks were the making of me.
(Photos are from our Labor Day hike to Twin Lakes, which took us past Solitude Lake and Silver Lake)
Summer feels less like a family member and more like a visitor once school begins. I sit in the car at the base of Little Cottonwood Canyon in front of the piano teacher’s house and watch the rays of sun find their path through the leaves of trees. Shifting gold patches of light lay scattered on the road before me and the poplar leaves shuffle in the wind, sounding almost like a stream. Hazy light brings definition to the fins of cliffs layered like a fan ahead of me. The quality of light brings thoughts of football season, new pencils, new shoes, and the crunch of leaves beneath my feet.
Frisbee game this week
I have declared lesson time is writing time, the car, a retreat from the house that seems to echo with reminders of all I need to do.
We do, and do, and do. The lists are getting checked off, but the signs of strain showed up for me this week: mouth ulcers, forgetfulness, irritability toward our naughty dog patient.
Paige began her move back to Provo, her last move to BYU. I watched her drive away through tears even though I knew she would be back the next day. It’s as if I owe each child some tears to mark milestones. They breeze out of the house, anxious for the next step, but I see the path, and the steps of childhood and early adulthood are running out. Their days grow bigger than toys and games at home, their circles are wider than family and a few friends on bicycles, and their journeys as different as their interests and gifts.
Sigh. Hooray! ((Sniff.))
What’s on the list for today?
Buy more cereal, the fuel of choice. Vet Calls A visit Clean. The. Floors.
Just as I was surprised last year by a serendipitous sunflower at Daniel’s departure, another one popped up in the garden on time for his one year mark. It brought me to my knees right there on the lawn. God knows our days.
Our boys performed at a piano recital on Monday night. Timothy played a Debussy piece and Mark played a Beethoven. We took them out for Chinese food and someone asked if Timothy was on his way to a mission. Aaack! Not yet! Mark pushed his food around his plate. He is full of cares.
I walked into the middle school with Mark this week, and through the halls of the elementary school to visit my friend’s Harry Potter themed classroom. I did not walk into the high school, but corresponded with one of Tim’s teachers. Still, I am in denial that they will be in school again on Monday. My homeschool memories clutch my heart and make me cry a little each August. Was I really so bad for my kids?
Tim invited a girl over to watch a movie and we all felt awkward and I found myself baking brownies as a bridge. Even their fudgy goodness couldn’t span the gap, but they were delicious.
This summer, the lawn care and landscaping business run by Tim and his friends has kept him outdoors all day, six days a week sometimes. This week, in addition to mowing, they decided to offer a garbage can washing service. Tim was in charge of transportation of the cans, just emptied by the garbage truck, to a new location where another boy pressure washed them. I have texts from happy customers about their sweet smelling cans. This is life with Timothy: unpredictable, but excellent.
Paige moves home tomorrow for a few weeks before her semester begins. There will be three “children” home for the next few weeks, with only one abroad.
Backpacking nearby, Richard is able to send me photos of the evening with Mark. What a blessing.
I remember the last night at girls camp in Arizona, I moved to a new tent by myself to make space for the Bishop’s wife to stay. That night, I noticed that there was cell service in this isolated tent, and Richard and I were able to have a precious conversation that I needed so much.
That was seven years ago, just before our move to Utah. Many miles and experiences later, the highlights of my summer are still moments of connection with Richard, whether on long walks or during fleeting calls from campsites with spotty service.
As I wrote the last paragraph, Richard called from his hammock, somewhere near Brighton. All is well there.
