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His

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But Then

But Then

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With
With

With

Was
Was

Was

The
The

The

That
That

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left
 left

left

game 6
game 6

game 6

🔥 | Latest

Beautiful, Cars, and Family: Cood Caerings Colaring in the lines: Colors make Sense: No white Spaces: CEZAN EI ashabl Markers C) lynati: movemequotes: Once a little boy went to school.One morningThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.He liked to make all kinds;Lions and tigers,Chickens and cows,Trains and boats;And he took out his box of crayonsAnd began to draw. But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make flowers.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make beautiful onesWith his pink and orange and blue crayons.But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And it was red, with a green stem.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.” The little boy looked at his teacher’s flowerThen he looked at his own flower.He liked his flower better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just turned his paper over,And made a flower like the teacher’s.It was red, with a green stem. On another dayThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make something with clay.”“Good!” thought the little boy;He liked clay.He could make all kinds of things with clay:Snakes and snowmen,Elephants and mice,Cars and trucksAnd he began to pull and pinchHis ball of clay. But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make a dish.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make dishes.And he began to make someThat were all shapes and sizes. But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And she showed everyone how to makeOne deep dish.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.” The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish;Then he looked at his own.He liked his better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just rolled his clay into a big ball againAnd made a dish like the teacher’s.It was a deep dish. And pretty soonThe little boy learned to wait,And to watchAnd to make things just like the teacher.And pretty soonHe didn’t make things of his own anymore. Then it happenedThat the little boy and his familyMoved to another house,In another city,And the little boyHad to go to another school. The teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.And he waited for the teacherTo tell what to do.But the teacher didn’t say anything.She just walked around the room. When she came to the little boyShe asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?”“Yes,” said the little boy.“What are we going to make?”“I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher.“How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.“Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher.“And any color?” asked the little boy.“Any color,” said the teacher.And he began to make a red flower with a green stem. ~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy …
Beautiful, Cars, and Family: Cood Caerings
 Colaring
 in the
 lines:
 Colors
 make
 Sense:
 No white
 Spaces:
 CEZAN
 EI
 ashabl
 Markers
 C)
lynati:
movemequotes:

Once a little boy went to school.One morningThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.He liked to make all kinds;Lions and tigers,Chickens and cows,Trains and boats;And he took out his box of crayonsAnd began to draw.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make flowers.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make beautiful onesWith his pink and orange and blue crayons.But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And it was red, with a green stem.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at his teacher’s flowerThen he looked at his own flower.He liked his flower better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just turned his paper over,And made a flower like the teacher’s.It was red, with a green stem.
On another dayThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make something with clay.”“Good!” thought the little boy;He liked clay.He could make all kinds of things with clay:Snakes and snowmen,Elephants and mice,Cars and trucksAnd he began to pull and pinchHis ball of clay.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make a dish.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make dishes.And he began to make someThat were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And she showed everyone how to makeOne deep dish.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish;Then he looked at his own.He liked his better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just rolled his clay into a big ball againAnd made a dish like the teacher’s.It was a deep dish.
And pretty soonThe little boy learned to wait,And to watchAnd to make things just like the teacher.And pretty soonHe didn’t make things of his own anymore.
Then it happenedThat the little boy and his familyMoved to another house,In another city,And the little boyHad to go to another school.
The teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.And he waited for the teacherTo tell what to do.But the teacher didn’t say anything.She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boyShe asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?”“Yes,” said the little boy.“What are we going to make?”“I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher.“How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.“Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher.“And any color?” asked the little boy.“Any color,” said the teacher.And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

…

lynati: movemequotes: Once a little boy went to school.One morningThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought t...

Bad, Be Like, and Dad: In Case of "B" Break Glass My daughter is currently pulling a D- in math. This is her phone. galexion: handmetheshovel: thatguyinthecornerino: randomavengersquotes: lolnerdsposts: robanilla: justsomeonereloadable: thesecretkeith: blanketfortprincette: tastefullyoffensive: (photo by fistfullofcookies) Why do parents always assume their kid is lazy when they get bad grades? Like maybe help your kids by talking to them, not punishing them. This is how I failed math and didn’t even know I had number dyslexia for years. When my sister was in high school she struggled a LOT with math. Like I know a lot of people find it really difficult (myself included), but I mean she was really really bad at it. She has always been a very smart, creative and sensitive person, but math made no sense to her, to the point where passing seemed impossible. I will always remember that twice a week, around the kitchen table, my sister would sit down with my dad for hours, and they would try to work out her math homework. I should mention that my dad is an artist, and art teacher. Truth be told I think he struggled with math just as much if not more then she did. But twice a week you could hear them downstairs, going back and forth, trying to figure it out together. Some nights would be smooth and easy, some nights I could hear them arguing from one floor up about factors or equations, not in anger but in mutual frustration. I remember the day that she passed. My sister couldn’t wait until my dad’s school day ended, so she called him at work. She gleefully announced to him “I got a D-!”. We could hear him through the phone as he exclaimed “She got a D!” excitedly to his class. Still through the phone we heard his students clapping, laughing and whooping in congratulations. Seldom has a grade in our household been so celebrated. Just thought a shitty picture like this should be accompanied by a story about a person’s parents who actually gave a shit about helping their kid instead of mocking and punishing them. Read the story Read the story Read the story reblogging for the story. READ IT. THE STORY If it weren’t for my dad I would not be able to read and write. I was born1971 and people really didn’t know or care that some people struggle not because they are lazy but they just fuckin’ can’t do what comes easy to most. My dad did what that father did. Dad was working 12/14/16 hour days. And still… he sat down and read up on shit, talked to my teacher - and then he saved me. Reading has made me. I am a reader. The one thing people know about me is: she reads. Be like dad. Don’t be a tit. R E A DT h eS T O R Y
Bad, Be Like, and Dad: In Case of "B"
 Break Glass
 My daughter is currently pulling a D- in math. This is her phone.
galexion:

handmetheshovel:
thatguyinthecornerino:

randomavengersquotes:

lolnerdsposts:

robanilla:


justsomeonereloadable:

thesecretkeith:

blanketfortprincette:

tastefullyoffensive:

(photo by fistfullofcookies)

Why do parents always assume their kid is lazy when they get bad grades? Like maybe help your kids by talking to them, not punishing them. This is how I failed math and didn’t even know I had number dyslexia for years.

When my sister was in high school she struggled a LOT with math. Like I know a lot of people find it really difficult (myself included), but I mean she was really really bad at it. She has always been a very smart, creative and sensitive person, but math made no sense to her, to the point where passing seemed impossible.
I will always remember that twice a week, around the kitchen table, my sister would sit down with my dad for hours, and they would try to work out her math homework. I should mention that my dad is an artist, and art teacher. Truth be told I think he struggled with math just as much if not more then she did. But twice a week you could hear them downstairs, going back and forth, trying to figure it out together. Some nights would be smooth and easy, some nights I could hear them arguing from one floor up about factors or equations, not in anger but in mutual frustration.
I remember the day that she passed. My sister couldn’t wait until my dad’s school day ended, so she called him at work. She gleefully announced to him “I got a D-!”. We could hear him through the phone as he exclaimed “She got a D!” excitedly to his class. Still through the phone we heard his students clapping, laughing and whooping in congratulations. Seldom has a grade in our household been so celebrated.
Just thought a shitty picture like this should be accompanied by a story about a person’s parents who actually gave a shit about helping their kid instead of mocking and punishing them.


Read the story


Read the story


Read the story 


reblogging for the story. READ IT.


THE STORY


If it weren’t for my dad I would not be able to read and write. I was born1971 and people really didn’t know or care that some people struggle not because they are lazy but they just fuckin’ can’t do what comes easy to most.
My dad did what that father did. 
Dad was working 12/14/16 hour days.
And still… he sat down and read up on shit, talked to my teacher - and then he saved me. Reading has made me. I am a reader. The one thing people know about me is: she reads.  
Be like dad.
Don’t be a tit.


R E A DT h eS T O R Y

galexion: handmetheshovel: thatguyinthecornerino: randomavengersquotes: lolnerdsposts: robanilla: justsomeonereloadable: thesecretkei...