Blogging's in Our Blood

Tribute to a Primary Teacher

The below is taken from some remarks that my best childhood friend and I put together to remember a beloved Primary teacher. It's written in first person because it started as just my memories and I don't distinguish where Kate added her thoughts.

Back in the days when Primary classes all had different names, I belonged to a class of 10-year-old Merry Miss A girls that were more than a handful. We were so difficult, in fact, nobody wanted to teach us.

We lived in a small town in Southern Utah where most of the people we knew were related to us in one way or another. Three of us were second cousins. Perhaps that’s why they called June Morrell to be our teacher. She was from California and probably didn’t know what she was getting herself into. She must have been in her late 50’s when she became our teacher.

Sister Morrell, June, was different. She drank Coke. Her husband wasn’t a member of the Church. She was strict with us. But most of all, she loved us. She even seemed to like us. Something about this combination clicked with us girls and we responded to her. She was so successful as our teacher, that when we moved up to Merry Miss B, they asked her to move up with us.

She taught us many things in our two years of weekly meetings with her, including the basic principles of the gospel along with the Articles of Faith, how to crochet and embroider, and formal etiquette. To this day, I never set a formal table without thinking of June, because she taught us where to put the napkin, forks, spoons, and knife.

We had awesome Daddy/Daughter Dates under her direction, and fabulous Mother/Daughter luncheons. When we graduated from Primary, the connection with Sister Morrell did not end. We were still her girls and she always kept an interest in us. However, she insisted, much to our parents disliking, that we call her June instead of Sister Morrell, and we eventually came to know her as just June.

June told us in Primary that she would be at every one of our temple weddings. Not every one of us married in the temple, but as far as I know she was there for every wedding. Kristin married a little later, when we were in our thirties, and when the announcement came to June without an invitation to the ceremony, June took matters into her own hands, and before long she was invited to the sealing. I had the privilege of driving her to Manti to attend that sealing. (In my own defense, I didn't think she would want to come that far to go. She was in her 70's by then.)

She never went back on her word, which was another lesson she taught me. June taught us many things, but the greatest lesson she taught me came after I left her class. I don’t think she had ever tied a quilt before, but when we graduated from high school, she tied each of us a quilt. She had us over to her house for an ice-cream party just like we did in the old days and presented us each with a beautiful “star quilt” which I still use today.

But most amazing of all, for the past 36 years, every birthday or Christmas, I got a card from June. There was seldom a message, just a simple signature “June.” I should have known something was wrong when I didn’t get a birthday card a couple of weeks ago, because regardless of where I have lived: Utah, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, South Carolina, Texas, Mexico or Argentina, June has always managed to get me a card for Christmas and my birthday. June passed away last week. She was almost 94 years old.

June held many church callings throughout her life, some more prominent than others. But for me, there was no calling more important than that of a loving teacher to a group of difficult little girls.

Twinkle Toes

This weekend is the annual father/son's campout. Traditionally, Baylie and I do at-home pedicures while the guys are away. This year, I decided to surprise her and do a real pedicure. One of my girlfriends gave me a gift certificate for a pedicure for my birthday, so it made it affordable.

Baylie was really excited, but a little overwhelmed by the massage chair. I think she was also a little freaked out by having a stranger touch her feet.

The lady in the background is not me.

She chose purple polish with purple sparkles.

Then she had to wait FOREVER while I got my feet done.

I chose pink with pink sparkles. This is a switch for us since she's usually pink and I'm usually purple.

Now we, with our beautiful toes, are going to have popcorn for dinner. Our favorite.

Misunderstanding Adoption

David and I were watching a program (The 4400) where a woman who had been abducted came back years later. Her daughter was now a pre-teen and the father had told the girl that her mother had died. He had remarried. The girl was living happily with her father and stepmother. The biological mother wanted to see her daughter, but respected her former husband's wishes to not contact her daughter because of how difficult it would be for the girl. David asked me what I would do if I were the mother. I told him if my daughter were in a safe place and were happy, I would leave her there. I would want her to know I was alive, but I would not try and retake my place as her mother. It would break my heart, but I would rather do that than disrupt her life.

Lately I have been drawn by the story of a 9-year-old girl, Sonya, who was taken from her adoptive family and given back to her ex-con father who was released from prison. The ins and outs of the story are complicated. If you would like the details, you can go to either side's facebook page:

Bring Sonya Home - 19,158 likes

Sonya is Home - 649 likes

I'm inclined to side with the adoptive parents for various reasons, but I won't hesitate to admit that I don't know everything about the case and things are often not what they seem. The thing that really kills me about this and similar stories are the horrible things people say about adoptive couples. 

Below are some quotes I have taken directly from facebook and other comment sites. I have copied and pasted with no corrections. The only thing I have done is to add italics.

"More than 90 percent of adopted adults want to search and reunite with biological family. Read some of our stories, and you will clearly see how we feel about being given away or stolen by strangers. Biology is real. Biological connections are real. DNA cannot be severed no matter how much adoptive families try to separate biological ties in the name of 'adoption'. We are NOT your children if you adopt us. When you adopt, you have SOMEONE ELSES child. You cannot and do not own us."

Our biological parents do not give us new names on new ownership (adoption) papers. With our biological families, we are free to be the people we are born to be...... we do not have to fill a role in your lives and 'complete' you.

When you relegate our REAL mothers and fathers as 'sperm and egg donors' you remove the humanity from life and creation. Adoptees are not products you purchase, order, swap and sell...... we are HUMAN beings and each and every one of us is a miracle born into a family. Stop separating families and messing with God and nature. If you cannot have children, there are so many ways you can help a child in genuine need to have a better life.

...it is confirmed by all the research on the adoptees, that they always long for their real families, and if there were real families to take care of them they would want to be reunited a.s.a.p. 

I understand that you feel pain for your niece's inability to have a child of her own, but stealing a child of another human being is NEVER the answer.

The biology IS always the first consideration and it is a right guaranteed to parents and children by the Constitution. 

Perhaps you don't; realize there is an infertility epidemic in the US , disproportionately affecting those with higher incomes. Infertility is strongly correlated with age and access to technology, so those who wait to have kids , especially around high tech jobs,, are more at risk. But the answer is not to take the children of the poor. The answer must be social justice for the poor and free mental health for the infertile people. it must be very hard, but if they don't want to adopt older children from foster care, i.e. those really in need, they have to learn to cope. Pressuring thousands of women yearly to give up parental rights to their newborns telling them they are unworthy is not a moral solution. 

To celebrate a family's loss of a child, a child's loss of family relationships, heritage, culture and identity, the separation of an infant and mother at the most critical time of life, which relegates all of them to a lifetime of unnecessary pain and sorrow, in order to peddle jewelry is the epitome of the disgusting, crass commercialism to which this society has sunk. Babies belong with their mothers and fathers, if not with their mothers OR fathers, if not with grandparents or extended family. By promoting the adoption frenzy is to feed into the multi-billion-dollar, unregulated legalized baby trafficking industry that treats human infants as nothing more than commercial products to be bought and sold. The National Council For Adoption Sucks

Quotes like this are easy to find. They are not isolated opinions.

Like so many things in life, it is impossible to know what it is like to adopt a child without having actually experienced it yourself. So many people think that as soon as a biological parent pops into the picture, an adoptive parent should step aside. It is not that simple. 

I love my children. I am the only mother they have ever known. If someone should suddenly step up and try to take one of my children, I would not care what DNA or blood they may share. I would FIGHT for my children. That does not make me a kidnapper. That does not make me selfish. I am the one that snuggles with Jalen when he takes his nap. I am the one that listens to Baylie read every day. I am the one that lets them both crawl into bed with me, even when that means I don't get a good night's sleep. More importantly, I am the one they want when they cry for Mommy.

I know that every case is not cut and dried. I know there are two sides to every story. But to suggest that adoptive parents are wealthy baby snatchers trying to fulfill a need they cannot biologically feel is to denegrate the loving relationship that exists within adoptive families.

Head Over Heels

This year Baylie decided to do gymnastics rather than dance. She has absolutely loved it - and she's pretty good at it. On Saturday, they put on a little show for family to watch up close.

At the end, every child got a medal. When Baylie got her medal, Jalen ran up and said, "I can't believe Baylie won!"

Here is a YouTube video of her skills. (For some reason, part of the balance beam portion is duplicated.) We're so proud of her! 

Happy Mother's Day

I love my mom!

She loves my daughter and taught me everything I know about being a great mother.
I hope to grow to be more like her.

When You Want to Throttle a Kindergartener

Yesterday, Baylie told her daddy that she thought she was the "F-a-t word." Because of my weight issues (both physical and emotional), we have made a determined effort not to talk to Baylie about weight. We do talk about healthy eating and exercise.

We've been a little concerned about Baylie because she is a bit heavy, but we don't want her to be worried about it. We spoke with the pediatrician at the kids' well-child visit and she said Baylie is perfectly healthy and to not focus too much on it. The doctor encouraged us to continue emphasizing healthy eating habits and exercise.

Tonight at bedtime, I asked Baylie about what she told her daddy and why she said it. She finally admitted that one of her classmates - a boy - told her she was fat. And then she started to cry. And then my heart broke.

I asked her why if people tell her almost every day how beautiful she is, she would instead believe the words of her classmate. She kept saying over and over that she just feels big. She cried quite a bit. I just held her and let her cry.

She said she thinks she's big and that she'll never be skinny. We spent a lot of time talking about how people are all different: tall and short, skinny and bigger, dark hair and light hair, etc. We talked about the fact that one body type is not better than another. She told me that when you're skinny, you can see your abs, like her cousin Lauryn. I told her that sometimes skinny people want to be bigger; people with curly hair want straight hair; people with straight hair want curly hair; tall people want to be short and short people want to be tall. We talked about some of her classmates and how while some were skinnier than her, some were her same size. I asked her if she thought there was anything wrong with the classmates that were her size and she said no. I pointed out that the girls in her gymnastics class are all different sizes too.

I asked her if she was embarrassed because I'm not skinny. She said no, so we spent some time talking about how I'm bigger than one of her friend's moms, but that I'm still a good mom, I still have a good family, her daddy still loves me. She asked me if I was ever skinny and I told her no. For some reason, that seemed to comfort her.

I told her that the only thing she needed to focus on was eating healthy, and not more than her body needs, and exercising. I also told her that it would be okay to tell her classmate that what he said hurt her feelings.

I felt so helpless. I had no magic words. She is such a beautiful child and people are always telling her that, and yet it just takes a careless word from a classmate to crush her self esteem. Most of all, I worry because I know all too well what it is like to grow up with self-esteem issues related to weight.

Jalen didn't hear the entire conversation, but he knew Baylie was upset. When we had finished talking, he rubbed her back and told her she was pretty and beautiful. It was the sweetest moment.

My mom once told me that dealing with your own trials wasn't hard. It was watching your children deal with trials and knowing you were helpless to fix them that was difficult. I'm starting to understand.

Farmer's Market

I belong to a farmer's market co-op. Every two weeks, a group of women each pitch in $10 to purchase produce from the state farmer's market. The women in the co-op take turns going to the market to make the purchases.

The state farmer's market is the place where farmers from all over the state come to sell their wares. Below is a warehouse where purchases can be made.

There are also vendors that set up outside. This is the location of my favorite vendor. Because there are so many of us purchasing as a group, we're able to buy in bulk, buying cases and bushels of produce.

After we make our purchases, we go back to the church or to someone's home to sort everything into individual baskets.

This is what my $10 purchased this week. Way more than I'd get for $10 at the grocery store!

AWESOME!