grace is from hawai'i.

when we visit her in the future,

she's going to drive us around

the islands and we're going to swim ALL day,

eat sno cones and hike in the rainforest.

 ~*~*~*~*
she inserts an "aloha"
when talking every once in a while.
she's a tropical korean gurl~*~

MOPS' WORLD

Anna is the best! :D 
googledocs always saves the day

my mini research project for Differentiated Instruction

 has guided me to a potential new goal/idea.

where our new sofa will be

(in 1-3 days)

ashley's friend gave us 2 free tickets to the aquarium.

this little guy was swimming around happily

and liked being photographed.

i learned how to juggle 3 scarves today!

"i didn't like her mole chicken,
she didn't like my pickled herring."
-keseniya

Ashley vacuumed my room while i was in class :)
~*~*~*~*~

once, in middle school, her friend's backdoor was open. they thought someone broke into the house.
so ashley tried to imitate a man's voice
to scare the intruder but the
dog freaked out and bit her butt.

the descendents of Chief Seattle himself

greeted us at the Duwamish longhouse

and taught us a welcome dance.

his great great great grandaughter
sat there and watched us
while petting her puppy.

i had a dream.

it was the best.

"Turtles like to ^chocolate! sit on rocks."

grace reminds me of little miss sunshine.

when we arrived at her house, she was
hiding in the backyard because
she thought we were gonna give her math problems.
after we bonded through a QRI literacy assessment,
she leaped onto me and clung on like a koala.
then she showed me around her world.

 http://wearenottrayvonmartin.tumblr.com/

"I am not Trayvon Martin.  I am white and female and have never experienced prejudice or intolerance of this sort.  But my son is six years old.  He is tall, and loud, and brown skinned.  He is funny and heedless and self-absorbed and oblivious to the idea that he might be regarded by other people with fear and hostility and hatred.  I will never be Trayvon Martin.  But I am terrified by the idea that my son could be.

I am not Trayvon Martin.  I’m a white, middle-class, Jewish woman living in Brooklyn.  I am not seen as suspicious or threatening when I walk down the street or into stores.  My skin allows me to walk unquestioned into the lobby of a fancy hotel to use the bathroom no matter how scruffy my clothes are. I do not live in fear that the state or vigilantes will deem my existence a threat and incarcerate, injure, abuse, or murder me.  My movements are not seen as ‘furtive’ by the NYPD. I live in this world with the privilege of my skin and my class.  I’m not Trayvon Martin and I oppose the racism that killed Trayvon, and Sean Bell, and Ramarley Graham and Amadou Diallou and so many more, and the racism of the laws and the courts and the system that locks away black youth by the millions but gives freedom and impunity to their killers. I grieve for all the Trayvon’s of this country and stand with them to make a change.

My 15 year old, white son has been caught shoplifting twice and neither time were the police called. The store clerks did not want my son to have a record. My son was caught at school with a bong. He was let off with a stern lecture. My son tried to grow marijuana in his friend’s attic. The police were not called. When I tell people about my troubles with my son, they say, “Oh, it’s just a phase, he will grow out of it!" Not once has anyone called my son a “thug" or a “gang banger". There is no doubt my son will go to college. He is already taking college credits in high school. 
 I want all children to have forgiveness and understanding bestowed upon them as my son does.  I want all children to have the same opportunities as my son.

I am not Trayvon Martin. I am young, Asian, female, and conventionally attractive. No one will ever likely see me as an aggressor. When I’m racially profiled, it’s not to assume that I’m a hoodlum, a thug, a thief, or a pimp. I am assumed to be passive, a sexual object, quiet and submissive. When I’m walking down the street at night, chances are good that I won’t be shot at because someone thinks they need to protect their property from me or that my human life is worth less than their property. Sometimes though, when I’m walking down the street at night, I get sexually harassed for being young, Asian, female. No, I will not love you long time. I just want to walk home. Stop shooting my friends.

This is my son. He is not Trayvon Martin. Because his skin is light, he will walk in this world, in a hoodie or not, and no one will ever stop him because he “looks like he’s up to something" unless he’s actually up to something. I will send him to the store and worry that he may be hit by a car, or abducted by a pedophile, but I will never worry — never even imagine — that he will be stopped by a cop or a wannabe cop just for being where he is and who he is. I will never know the fear and pain that Trayvon’s mother knows. I will never wonder if a teacher, police officer, boss or peer dislikes him just because of what he looks like. I will never wonder if he would have gotten that apartment, that job or that raise but for the color of his skin. My son is not Trayvon Martin, but I don’t want him living in a world where anyone’s son is. I vow, today and every day, that if my son does not have to be Trayvon Martin, he will never be George Zimmerman, either.

I am a 36-year-old Asian American female. Racial profiling of me consists of people praising my English, though I was born here, and assuming that I am good at math, which I am not. I am not suspected of committing crimes. I taught third- and fourth-graders for four years; many of them were from low-income families. I was most afraid for the hyperactive black and Latino boys with attitudes, because they talked back. What if I were a cop? What if I were an armed security guard? Why should their teachers and parents and relatives and friends feel that it’s a life-and-death matter to teach them to speak to white men in authority not just with respect but with calm politeness? I should talk to those men that way because I don’t want a ticket, not because I don’t want to be searched, or beaten, or shot."

a 3.5 year old autistic girl can't talk and expresses

herself through painting.

but critics argue the paintings are "too chaotic"

 to be considered "art."

what has the world come to.
i think they are BEAUTIFUL.
reminds me of Monet.

i have never in my life

been in one class that was 6.5 hours long,

until today.

but i did get to play 20 minutes of

4 square, which is

one of my favorite games!

i used to be the four square queen in 3rd grade.

 ^_________^

wow, this is...exhausting
(nearing the end of week 2).

i just want to crawl inside my
hypothetical reading tent
(filled with pillows and stuffed clouds)
and fall asleep.

The Dodos- Ashley

for my roommate, ashleyyyyyyyyyy

my cohort classmate went to Rwanda,

attached paint rollers to wooden sticks found outside,

and by herself,

transformed a dusty, run-down

moldy classroom filled with shattered desks

into this.

ashley's convo with her 4 year old brother:

"why do you have to go back to school?"

"well, ben, to make more money

in the future and give me

more opportunities and learn more."

*after some genuine contemplation*
"why do you have to learn so much?"