<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755</id><updated>2011-04-23T01:18:11.948-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Children of the Future</title><subtitle type='html'>Collecting the wondrously bizarre stories written by elementary school children on their class websites.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>97</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-4323226630611765861</id><published>2007-08-29T10:10:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-29T10:13:14.637-05:00</updated><title type='text'>All About Puppies</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Daziz, second grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Table of Contents&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. puppy   &lt;br /&gt;2. grow up to be a dog &lt;br /&gt;3. dogs&lt;br /&gt;4.  finding a home &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Puppy&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a dog come out it mom stomach it is called a.. &lt;br /&gt;PUPPY.  It can’t run or play.   Puppys are mammals. &lt;br /&gt;Puppy’s are warm blooded. &lt;br /&gt;Puppy’s live allmost everywhere.  &lt;br /&gt;Puppies  are very, very, very...  CUTE! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Growing up to be a dog&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a few weeks or months a puppy can run and play but only a little bit.   Some puppies are trained.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dog’s name is Casper.   He’s an American Eskimo. &lt;br /&gt;He’s white and very, very furry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway my dog is kind of  trained .      Stop talking about &lt;br /&gt;my dog, Dog!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now this puppy is officially a dog.   Now she [or he] can run fast and play alot.  Some dogs look small and they are still a grown up.  My dog is only 3.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Curses me!   I always talk about my dog.&lt;br /&gt;My dog’s birthday is July 2, 2003.   Curses me again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Finding a home&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now the dog has to find a home and make sure she[or he] likes the house. What dogs need is: &lt;br /&gt;food, &lt;br /&gt;water, &lt;br /&gt;shelter &lt;br /&gt;and somebody that loves her[or him]. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Casper’s owner is...ME, NEN-E, DWYANE, DEVIN and DANA. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;THE END&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-4323226630611765861?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/4323226630611765861/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=4323226630611765861' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/4323226630611765861'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/4323226630611765861'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/08/all-about-puppies.html' title='All About Puppies'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-1214047302561022771</id><published>2007-08-28T11:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-28T11:42:29.996-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Why Dog Fight With Cat</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Do Yeop, second grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because I listen at story one day people lost the ring and dog&lt;br /&gt;and cat want to find the ring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and cat said to mouse if you bring the ring and I will not eat you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and mouse bring the ring and cat and dog was happy and cat&lt;br /&gt;bring the ring and cat go to home first and people said, “Good,&lt;br /&gt;nice cat,” and dog coming and people said, “Dog, next time help&lt;br /&gt;the cat .” That's why dog and cat fight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;next page is another story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day Jonny go to fishing and he catch the 28 sun fish next&lt;br /&gt;day . He catch the 20 fish again and he go to home but fish stick&lt;br /&gt;is not get out. And that was big fish and all America people help&lt;br /&gt;and he get a big fish . the end , it was in this story from 2 ,&lt;br /&gt;different story thank for see this book&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-1214047302561022771?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/1214047302561022771/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=1214047302561022771' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/1214047302561022771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/1214047302561022771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/08/why-dog-fight-with-cat.html' title='Why Dog Fight With Cat'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-8364925167178360570</id><published>2007-08-24T15:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-24T15:18:51.828-05:00</updated><title type='text'>If I Were President I Would...</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Mrs. Wallin's and Mrs. VanVeldhuizen's kindergarteners&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Sierra B.&lt;/b&gt; - let everyone eat ice cream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Faith&lt;/b&gt; - go out for supper every night at Carlos O'Kellys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Alexis&lt;/b&gt; - make a safe law.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Kendall&lt;/b&gt; - make people clean up their houses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Scott&lt;/b&gt; - boss people around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Parker&lt;/b&gt; - go to a hotel 99 times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Andrew&lt;/b&gt; - want everyone to eat Cheerios for breakfast at school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Damion&lt;/b&gt; - say no going outside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Hunter&lt;/b&gt; - make everyone take a nap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Dylan&lt;/b&gt; - have people eat 100 chocolate bars.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Autumn&lt;/b&gt; - spend money on gold.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Madison K.&lt;/b&gt; - live in Lake Mills forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Libby&lt;/b&gt; - eat snacks for dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Lydia&lt;/b&gt; - let everyone have a snowball fight, but make sure there was no ice in it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Hannah&lt;/b&gt; - have ice cream for supper everyday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Luke&lt;/b&gt; - make people go hunting and play video games.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Cael&lt;/b&gt; - make moms and dads go to daycare and do homework.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Tyler&lt;/b&gt; - go to school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Julissa&lt;/b&gt; - let kids drive when they're 14.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Jareth&lt;/b&gt; - make people order a pepperoni pizza for lunch everyday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Sierra M.&lt;/b&gt; - have a messy room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Max&lt;/b&gt; - keep working.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-8364925167178360570?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/8364925167178360570/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=8364925167178360570' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/8364925167178360570'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/8364925167178360570'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/08/if-i-were-president-i-would.html' title='If I Were President I Would...'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-7002847318287923958</id><published>2007-04-27T16:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-27T16:59:46.790-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Evil Hamsters</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Schecky&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today &lt;a href="http://www.boingboing.net"&gt;Boing Boing&lt;/a&gt; posted a &lt;a href="http://badfortunecookie.blogspot.com/2007/04/spring-when-young-mans-thoughts-turn-to.html"&gt;link to the blog&lt;/a&gt; of a mother of an 8-year old who, when assigned to write a "spring time poem," wrote this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RjJyELv4OLI/AAAAAAAAAB8/AetVspdG-mg/s1600-h/472775651_91707b448c.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RjJyELv4OLI/AAAAAAAAAB8/AetVspdG-mg/s400/472775651_91707b448c.jpg" border="0" alt="meef saying"id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5058230747689138354" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-7002847318287923958?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/7002847318287923958/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=7002847318287923958' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/7002847318287923958'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/7002847318287923958'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/04/evil-hamsters.html' title='Evil Hamsters'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RjJyELv4OLI/AAAAAAAAAB8/AetVspdG-mg/s72-c/472775651_91707b448c.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-1023398171264254660</id><published>2007-04-27T11:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-27T11:22:32.943-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What It Means To Be Free</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Daniel Herman, second grader - 2/24/1992&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend Dan recently dug up this essay he wrote in second grade.  The assignment allowed him to write about any topic he wanted.  While others wrote about dogs and basketball, he chose to write about freedom.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will tell you what it means to be free.  Our country was once ruled by England but now we are free.  There have been many laws passed to make sure that people are free.  The Emancipation Proclamation said that the slaves were free.  No one could own the slaves and make them work for them.  The Declaration of Independence said that we were free.  We were free from being ruled by England.  These laws are important because some people think everyone should be treated evenly.  This means everyone is free to make their own decisions.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-1023398171264254660?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/1023398171264254660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=1023398171264254660' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/1023398171264254660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/1023398171264254660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/04/what-it-means-to-be-free.html' title='What It Means To Be Free'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-6800565830820809090</id><published>2007-04-22T18:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-22T18:14:04.805-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Let's Grow Gills</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Cody, fifth grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RivsJPdLvJI/AAAAAAAAAB0/aM3GudCXGPE/s1600-h/Adapt.Cody.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RivsJPdLvJI/AAAAAAAAAB0/aM3GudCXGPE/s400/Adapt.Cody.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056394650165427346" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I turned on the news and heard there was going to be a flood. Immediately I screamed with joy. Mom and Dad said what’s the matter? I said there was going to be a flood. They also screamed but not with joy. They panicked. I said to Mom, "Maybe it’s because the polar ice caps melted."&lt;br /&gt;They said, "that’s silly". &lt;br /&gt;I said, "you never know".&lt;br /&gt;They then said, "don’t be stupid".&lt;br /&gt;I said, "why not"? &lt;br /&gt;They couldn’t come up with an answer. My parents asked how will we survive? &lt;br /&gt;I said, "that’s easy". &lt;br /&gt;They said, "how"? &lt;br /&gt;I then said, "Let’s lock up the doors." &lt;br /&gt;They said, "You’re getting stupid again."&lt;br /&gt;I then said, "Let’s" grow gills"! Almost immediately, we grew gills. Right when we grew gills the flood came. It scared my parents. Again I screamed with joy. We then began to fish. They used me as bait. We caught 78 pirhana and 56 sharks. I was having a lot of fun. After the flood was done I said I hope we have another flood. It would be very fun!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-6800565830820809090?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/6800565830820809090/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=6800565830820809090' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/6800565830820809090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/6800565830820809090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/04/lets-grow-gills.html' title='Let&apos;s Grow Gills'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RivsJPdLvJI/AAAAAAAAAB0/aM3GudCXGPE/s72-c/Adapt.Cody.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-9057836022511384800</id><published>2007-04-19T16:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-19T16:38:42.725-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear My Dog</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Kelsey, fifth grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://snoozejersey.com/images/image64280.jpg"&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-9057836022511384800?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/9057836022511384800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=9057836022511384800' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/9057836022511384800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/9057836022511384800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/04/dear-my-dog.html' title='Dear My Dog'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-3662322324429183752</id><published>2007-04-17T16:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-17T17:01:26.526-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Mystery of the Stolen Money</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Maddie, Consuelo, and Jonah, second graders&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RiVDfVXmU5I/AAAAAAAAABk/RzlEUPqtk1M/s1600-h/maddieT.GIF.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RiVDfVXmU5I/AAAAAAAAABk/RzlEUPqtk1M/s400/maddieT.GIF.gif" border="0" alt=Well done!""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054520362384380818" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note: I'm posting this mainly because of the terrifying final line.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once upon a time there was a kingdom with a King. He had lots of money but then someone stole it. The king was sad but he had helpers named Maddie, Consuelo, and Jonah. The king called his helpers to find the thieves. They did try to help but they couldn't do it because they couldn't find them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They went to the woods to think of something. When they were there they heard something running. They ran too, except Maddie. She just stood there and kept watching the thieves. Consuelo and Jonah chased after the noise to find out what it was. When they got a little closer they saw something in his hand like a dollar bill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Jonah: Maybe they are the thieves?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Consuelo: How do you know?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Jonah: Well, they do have the money. Maybe we should go back and tell Maddie what we saw.&lt;/ul&gt;When they got there Consuelo told Maddie that they saw the thieves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Maddie: Where?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Jonah: Right at the end of the woods. Let's go to the king.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;King: Why don't you set a trap?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Maddie: How?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Jonah: First we have to draw a map Maddie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Maddie: What kind of map?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Jonah: Well a looking sort of map.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Consuelo: OK.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Jonah: Now we should go see if it works.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Maddie: There they are. Then let's do it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Consuelo: But how?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Jonah: Well, it does not matter. Here we go. Now get down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Maddie: We got them, and together!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Jonah: Look at the money. We'll see what the king says.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;King: Well done! Now you go down to the dungeon and you kids get a prize.&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The end!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-3662322324429183752?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/3662322324429183752/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=3662322324429183752' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/3662322324429183752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/3662322324429183752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/04/by-maddie-consuelo-and-jonah-second.html' title='The Mystery of the Stolen Money'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RiVDfVXmU5I/AAAAAAAAABk/RzlEUPqtk1M/s72-c/maddieT.GIF.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-8405400545052611391</id><published>2007-04-16T16:38:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-16T16:38:57.496-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mystery, Mystery</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Maddie, second grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If everything was a mystery, I wonder what would the world be like? It would be a mystery when you go grocery shopping or read a book. But what would it be like in other places around the world? Would it be a mystery also? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know. If always things were mysteries, we wouldn't know what we know. If everyone around the world was a mystery, we would be mysteries too. Scientists wouldn't be here if the world was a mystery case. They wouldn't know a lot at all. If the world was a mystery, we wouldn't know what to do on weekdays like go to school or make breakfast. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I'm happy everything's not a mystery because I wouldn't know what I know now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-8405400545052611391?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/8405400545052611391/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=8405400545052611391' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/8405400545052611391'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/8405400545052611391'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/04/mystery-mystery.html' title='Mystery, Mystery'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-4121325113483262839</id><published>2007-04-16T16:20:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-16T16:33:15.371-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Chicago Buildings Project</title><content type='html'>Usually I try to focus just on students' writing rather than artwork, but these third graders' projects are just too awesome to ignore.  A few years ago, Ms. Carrasco's class at the Lab School here at the University of Chicago constructed replicas of several architectural landmarks of Chicago out of household materials, including Frank Gehry's Pritzker Pavillion in Millenium Park:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RiPpQfIzcuI/AAAAAAAAABc/0BCzABBuQoY/s1600-h/15.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RiPpQfIzcuI/AAAAAAAAABc/0BCzABBuQoY/s320/15.jpg" border="0" alt="Pritzker Pavillion"id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054139676285432546" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Check out the &lt;a href="http://www.ucls.uchicago.edu/students/projects/2004-2005/chicagoBuildings/"&gt;Lab School site&lt;/a&gt; for more of them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-4121325113483262839?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/4121325113483262839/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=4121325113483262839' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/4121325113483262839'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/4121325113483262839'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/04/chicago-buildings-project.html' title='Chicago Buildings Project'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RiPpQfIzcuI/AAAAAAAAABc/0BCzABBuQoY/s72-c/15.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-5590266110560123090</id><published>2007-04-15T17:03:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-15T17:03:45.136-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Magic Kente</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Lissette, second grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A fireman found a piece of cloth.  He brought it to his daughter.  She liked it.  The girl put it on her doll.  It started to talk.  So she told her dad about it.  He did not believe her.  Then he went to see and it talked.  They fainted.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-5590266110560123090?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/5590266110560123090/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=5590266110560123090' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/5590266110560123090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/5590266110560123090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/04/magic-kente.html' title='The Magic Kente'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-8317483055095835758</id><published>2007-04-14T09:22:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-14T09:22:46.393-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Cotton-tail's Big Fight</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Amanda, second grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once upon a time there was a little rabbit by the name of Cotton-tail.  She was very lost.  So she asked a wizard by the name of Peter to ask directions.  But instead of answering Cotton-tail's question, he just turned Cotton-tail purple!  Cotton-tail just said over and over "How embarrassing" for a whole day.  But then Peter said over and over "How did I do that?"  But by accident he turned himself purple!   So when Cotton-tail came back crying at her house to see Peter, oh and did she laugh!  Peter was very mad at Cotton-tail.  He almost felt like pounding her.   But she is very smart.  When Peter was punching one place, Cotton-tail just went another place.  What a smart rabbit!  It didn't even look like he was a wizard anymore.  It just looked like he was a big steaming pot of lava!  Minutes later Peter blew up!  Cotton-tail was very happy to tell her friends that she defeated a wizard.  Her friends were very happy for her.  So they took her out for a victory ice-cream sundae.  And Cotton-tail lived happily ever after.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The End&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moral:  Don't show off your magic.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-8317483055095835758?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/8317483055095835758/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=8317483055095835758' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/8317483055095835758'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/8317483055095835758'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/04/cotton-tails-big-fight.html' title='Cotton-tail&apos;s Big Fight'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-1462807038186996569</id><published>2007-04-13T11:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-13T11:10:29.225-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Chocolate Riddle</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Nicholas, second grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why did the m&amp;m goe to the bank?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Answer: To turn into a chocolate dollar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/Rh-rVPIzctI/AAAAAAAAABU/vKvNXfHpg7g/s1600-h/nick1.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/Rh-rVPIzctI/AAAAAAAAABU/vKvNXfHpg7g/s320/nick1.gif" border="0" alt="Why did the m&amp;m goe to the bank?"id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052945688262046418" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-1462807038186996569?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/1462807038186996569/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=1462807038186996569' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/1462807038186996569'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/1462807038186996569'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/04/chocolate-riddle.html' title='Chocolate Riddle'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/Rh-rVPIzctI/AAAAAAAAABU/vKvNXfHpg7g/s72-c/nick1.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-7143305771910352709</id><published>2007-04-13T00:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-13T00:47:19.516-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Wish</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Janice, second grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish that my toy monkey would come to life.  I would take care of him.  And I would not torture him.  And if I did I would smack myself.  I would sleep with it every day.   I would teach it gymnastics.  I would be sad if he had to turn back into a stuffed animal.  I would cry every day.  But I would still sleep with him though.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-7143305771910352709?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/7143305771910352709/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=7143305771910352709' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/7143305771910352709'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/7143305771910352709'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/04/my-wish.html' title='My Wish'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-4096543936599308477</id><published>2007-04-11T14:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-11T14:39:31.881-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Favorite Movie is the Hulk</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Israel, second grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sound of the dogs screaming like dinosaurs&lt;br /&gt;The sound of the trees falling down&lt;br /&gt;The sound of the Hulk killing the brown dog&lt;br /&gt;The Hulk spitting the missile at the helicopter&lt;br /&gt;The Hulk smashing an army tank &lt;br /&gt;The poodle looking like a goat&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-4096543936599308477?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/4096543936599308477/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=4096543936599308477' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/4096543936599308477'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/4096543936599308477'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/04/my-favorite-movie-is-hulk.html' title='My Favorite Movie is the Hulk'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-7250591205893075881</id><published>2007-04-10T12:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-10T12:27:23.043-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Most Important Thing About Hawaii</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Johan, second grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The most important thing about Hawaii is that it is very different that Wisconsin or Sweden.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hawaii has good bands of music all the time. It also has a lot of trees with coconuts, a lot of sea turtles, a lot of other fish, and fruit that we like to eat. It has a lot of other animals too. Hawaii has 9 feet tall waves. You can surf in, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The most important thing about Hawaii is that it is very different that Wisconsin or Sweden.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RhvIwvIzcsI/AAAAAAAAABM/9pjeCAa1ino/s1600-h/Johan.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RhvIwvIzcsI/AAAAAAAAABM/9pjeCAa1ino/s320/Johan.gif" border="0" alt="Very different than Wisconsin or Sweden."id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051852146638811842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-7250591205893075881?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/7250591205893075881/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=7250591205893075881' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/7250591205893075881'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/7250591205893075881'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/04/most-important-thing-about-hawaii.html' title='The Most Important Thing About Hawaii'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RhvIwvIzcsI/AAAAAAAAABM/9pjeCAa1ino/s72-c/Johan.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-147254930190049218</id><published>2007-04-09T10:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-09T10:18:23.580-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Peace Pledges</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Mrs. Bates's first graders&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Isaiah&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My hope for peace is to use words instead of weapons and BB-guns.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Michael&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My peace pledge is to call the Police when I need help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Sophie&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My peace pledge is don't shoot bows and arrows because they kill people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Rachel&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My peace pledge is to use love, not fists.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Luke&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My peace pledge is don't play with guns around town shooting people.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-147254930190049218?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/147254930190049218/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=147254930190049218' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/147254930190049218'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/147254930190049218'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/04/peace-pledges.html' title='Peace Pledges'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-2009068918111573096</id><published>2007-04-08T23:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-08T23:39:26.973-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Hairy Beard</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Michael, first grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RhnC-LrdqHI/AAAAAAAAAA0/uwEajkPdlTo/s1600-h/mikeyboy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RhnC-LrdqHI/AAAAAAAAAA0/uwEajkPdlTo/s320/mikeyboy.jpg" border="0" alt="I have to cut my beard"id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051282830615488626" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;I have a beard.&lt;br /&gt;It is&lt;br /&gt;so&lt;br /&gt;so&lt;br /&gt;long.&lt;br /&gt;I have to cut&lt;br /&gt;my beard.&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: The class website this was originally posted on also included the following images for some reason.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table border=0&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RhnDSrrdqII/AAAAAAAAAA8/Lv40VEWoYlo/s1600-h/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RhnDSrrdqII/AAAAAAAAAA8/Lv40VEWoYlo/s320/images.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051283182802806914" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RhnDSrrdqJI/AAAAAAAAABE/MNpPVQNfThk/s1600-h/PICT0011.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RhnDSrrdqJI/AAAAAAAAABE/MNpPVQNfThk/s320/PICT0011.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051283182802806930" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-2009068918111573096?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/2009068918111573096/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=2009068918111573096' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/2009068918111573096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/2009068918111573096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/04/hairy-beard.html' title='The Hairy Beard'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RhnC-LrdqHI/AAAAAAAAAA0/uwEajkPdlTo/s72-c/mikeyboy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-462027319909606047</id><published>2007-04-03T16:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-03T16:05:01.332-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I Have a Dream...</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;This one is just... devastating.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RhLBXooUXmI/AAAAAAAAAAs/h4S1UbbiZrs/s1600-h/dream.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RhLBXooUXmI/AAAAAAAAAAs/h4S1UbbiZrs/s400/dream.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5049310744023424610" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-462027319909606047?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/462027319909606047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=462027319909606047' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/462027319909606047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/462027319909606047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/04/i-have-dream.html' title='I Have a Dream...'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RhLBXooUXmI/AAAAAAAAAAs/h4S1UbbiZrs/s72-c/dream.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-166976226185168407</id><published>2007-04-02T12:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-02T12:28:19.363-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Rainy Day Writing</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Ms. Nelson's first graders&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Serena&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just sat there with Najima and Kyle F. Then me and Kyle F. and Najima played super girls and boys. Kyle F. was the bad guy. Then we did...&lt;br /&gt;What! It was our bedtime!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Vin Chai&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate the rainy day. Me you hate it too. I don't like it at all even me. I'm not having fun at all. Me think that's not good. I hate it very much.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-166976226185168407?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/166976226185168407/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=166976226185168407' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/166976226185168407'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/166976226185168407'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/04/rainy-day-writing.html' title='Rainy Day Writing'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-9096015590683658149</id><published>2007-03-30T09:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-30T09:40:33.670-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Cupid's Arrow</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Nick&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day Cupid shot me with an arrow. I instantly fell in love with my fish.  The fish was in my room.  Every day I tried to put my head in the fish tank. Every day that I did that, I was late for school. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Karen&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day a Cupid shot me with his arrow. I fell in love with a squirrel and a dog, and lots of Beanie Babies. I hid all the Beanies and let the dog find them. I acted like a dufus. Then I married them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;September&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day a cupid shot me with an arrow.  I immediately fell in love with a dog and a cat and my brother and my daddy. I acted real good. I followed them everywhere. We all sat down and had tea. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Parker&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day Cupid shot me with an arrow and I immediately fell in love with Cupid because he was the first thing I saw. But when he shot me with another arrow I immediately fell in love with an elephant because it was the first thing I saw.  Then the elephant saw a Cupid flying above and the elephant quickly grabbed the arrow and shot me with it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;and my favorite:&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Jordan&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day Cupid shot me with an arrow. I immediately fell in love with a girl in my class. I kissed her. I adored her. I felt serious, very serious!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-9096015590683658149?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/9096015590683658149/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=9096015590683658149' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/9096015590683658149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/9096015590683658149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/03/cupids-arrow.html' title='Cupid&apos;s Arrow'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-7196345332165845272</id><published>2007-03-29T09:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-29T09:37:54.012-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Leprechaun Wishes</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;Mrs. Nash's second graders were asked to imagine that they caught a leprechaun.  Here are the wishes that would need to be granted in order for the little guy to be released!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Lashae&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I wish for a pot of gold to go and see my cousins.&lt;br /&gt;2. I wish my name was Ice Cream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Clyde&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I wish that I could have 100 holographics so I could have a big collection of them.&lt;br /&gt;2. I wish I could have 20 presents so I could give them to charity.&lt;br /&gt;3. I wish I could get smarter with more books.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Julia&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I wish for almost all of the children's books in the world so I could give half of them to the poor and elderly and give some to my family and then I would keep the rest.&lt;br /&gt;2. I wish I had $1,000,000. I would give half to the poor and elderly and half to my family so I wouldn't be a spoiled brat.&lt;br /&gt;3. I wish I could travel in time and I could go to Laura Ingells house and meet her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Taylor&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I wish for another hermit crab because they like having friends.&lt;br /&gt;2. I wish for a war game table because I like playing the games. I also want more pieces for the game.&lt;br /&gt;3. I wish for a play pen for the other pet hermit crab. I want a bigger pen this time because tdhe cage has to have a heat lamp on it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-7196345332165845272?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/7196345332165845272/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=7196345332165845272' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/7196345332165845272'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/7196345332165845272'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/03/leprechaun-wishes.html' title='Leprechaun Wishes'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-1095858604735502689</id><published>2007-03-28T09:47:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-28T09:47:30.220-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Soccer</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Julia, first grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I played soccer.  I am on the black team because I have black socks.  I won both games.  I scored four goals.  Then the flies were chasing me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-1095858604735502689?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/1095858604735502689/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=1095858604735502689' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/1095858604735502689'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/1095858604735502689'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/03/soccer.html' title='Soccer'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-3450237956289845792</id><published>2007-03-27T17:10:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-27T17:10:45.006-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Frog</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Christine, first grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Grannie opened the shower curtain. There was a frog.  She screamed.  It was loud.  I said, “What’s wrong?”  It was Tuesday.  I had to catch the frog.  When I caught it.  I had to throw the frog.  It was a cool frog.  It was green.  My Grannie was too loud.  It was a poison frog.  I don’t know why my Grannie said that&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-3450237956289845792?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/3450237956289845792/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=3450237956289845792' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/3450237956289845792'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/3450237956289845792'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/03/frog.html' title='The Frog'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-6872440433516908297</id><published>2007-03-26T09:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-26T09:48:58.633-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Movie Stars</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Gabby, first grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The important thing about movie stars is that they are on T.V. They have awesome parties and have lots of money!  They make movies and have a lot of fun.  My favorite movie star is Lindsay Lohan.  But the most important thing about movie stars is that they are on T.V.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RgfdMlCM6-I/AAAAAAAAAAk/asCOCtM5OxE/s1600-h/gabby.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RgfdMlCM6-I/AAAAAAAAAAk/asCOCtM5OxE/s320/gabby.jpg" border="0" alt="The important thing about movie stars is that they are on T.V."id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046245115661446114" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-6872440433516908297?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/6872440433516908297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=6872440433516908297' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/6872440433516908297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/6872440433516908297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/03/movie-stars.html' title='Movie Stars'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RgfdMlCM6-I/AAAAAAAAAAk/asCOCtM5OxE/s72-c/gabby.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-6248332447222582806</id><published>2007-03-22T22:56:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-22T22:56:37.954-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Princess</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Emily, second grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once upon a time there was a queen and a king. They had the most beautiful princess in the whole wide world. She had to marry the prince, but she didn’t marry the prince. She married the knight.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-6248332447222582806?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/6248332447222582806/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=6248332447222582806' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/6248332447222582806'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/6248332447222582806'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/03/princess.html' title='The Princess'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-2039095886004888917</id><published>2007-03-21T10:02:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-21T10:02:55.638-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dragon</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Tamara, second grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once upon a time there was a princess, a prince, a queen, a king, a witch, a knight, a horse, and a dragon. They lived in Virginia Beach But there was a little problem, the dragon was sick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had an act in the next performance and he had a fever. He was throwing up. In a while, he got much better. "He can perform!" everybody cried. "Hurrah," a cow said. Everybody got sick too. I think we have it now too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The End.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-2039095886004888917?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/2039095886004888917/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=2039095886004888917' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/2039095886004888917'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/2039095886004888917'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/03/dragon.html' title='The Dragon'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-7534812529900621987</id><published>2007-03-20T20:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-20T20:06:45.904-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I Have a Dream</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Mrs. Hubbard's first graders&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Anne&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dream than I can be a Princess. I could learn how to be one because in Maine there is a book on how to be one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Allison&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dream for a better world. I dream for a better world so every family isn't poor. I could visit poor people and give them money. I dream for a better world and everybody would be happy. I could be friends with them and they will be happy. Make the world a better place!    &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Marshall&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want a pet. A dog, a cat, a pup, a kitten, and a ferret.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Andrew&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a dream that I had a motorcycle and I did a wheelie. It was cool! I had a great time!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Natalie&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a dream. I had a dream - my dream was I had a pony. My wish came true.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-7534812529900621987?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/7534812529900621987/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=7534812529900621987' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/7534812529900621987'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/7534812529900621987'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/03/i-have-dream.html' title='I Have a Dream'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-5834841373044655261</id><published>2007-03-16T00:05:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-16T00:09:56.616-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Monster</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Besmir, second grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RfomHMLFQyI/AAAAAAAAAAc/p3FyQbkAyC4/s1600-h/monster3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RfomHMLFQyI/AAAAAAAAAAc/p3FyQbkAyC4/s320/monster3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042384637763339042" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The monster took Quinn then Stevie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RfomHMLFQxI/AAAAAAAAAAU/4dTa_ZDINFY/s1600-h/monster2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RfomHMLFQxI/AAAAAAAAAAU/4dTa_ZDINFY/s320/monster2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042384637763339026" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The monster did not chew them because the monster did not eat Quinn or Stevie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RfomG8LFQwI/AAAAAAAAAAM/Ovhpbc_S9wc/s1600-h/monster.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RfomG8LFQwI/AAAAAAAAAAM/Ovhpbc_S9wc/s320/monster.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042384633468371714" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;P.S. I'm back!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-5834841373044655261?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/5834841373044655261/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=5834841373044655261' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/5834841373044655261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/5834841373044655261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2007/03/monster.html' title='The Monster'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3Ef_mvkMAkk/RfomHMLFQyI/AAAAAAAAAAc/p3FyQbkAyC4/s72-c/monster3.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-115634507665547952</id><published>2006-08-23T09:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-08-23T09:57:56.680-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Family Story</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Caitlyn from Australia&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day there was a little girl who lived with her mum and a dad in a big house.&lt;br /&gt;One morning she woke up and saw her mum and dad in the lounge room. &lt;br /&gt;Her dad said,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You will have a baby brother.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Yes!” she said.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-115634507665547952?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/115634507665547952/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=115634507665547952' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/115634507665547952'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/115634507665547952'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/08/family-story.html' title='A Family Story'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-115612508287571159</id><published>2006-08-20T20:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-08-20T20:51:22.893-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Disneyland</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Becca&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fortunately, Jamie and John were going to Disneyland. They were twelve year old twins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, they had an hour to pack for a week trip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fortunately, they were almost done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, they had to leave that second or else they would miss their flight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fortunately, they were ready to leave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, John had to go to the bathroom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fortunately, he went fast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, Jamie forgot her pillow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fortunately, she had already packed it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, they only had five minutes to get there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fortunately, they got there in time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, they didn't get their seats on the plane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fortunately, two people got on the wrong plane so Jamie and John got their seats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, one of the wings on the plane was broken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fortunately, it just looked like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, it did have a hole in it. Oh no! We crashed! Then they got stuck and were never going to make it to Disneyland.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fortunately, the plane had crashed into Disneyland. They were at Disneyland!! Then the twins cheered happily, "Yeah!!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-115612508287571159?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/115612508287571159/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=115612508287571159' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/115612508287571159'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/115612508287571159'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/08/disneyland.html' title='Disneyland'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-115585986350679857</id><published>2006-08-17T19:02:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2006-08-17T19:38:50.930-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Curliest Things in the World</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Destyne, third grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The curliest things in the world are curly fries.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They are so curly, there's nothing curlier&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;than curly fries.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They are as curly as my cousin's hair&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;...actually, they're curlier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There as good as candy&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;...but better, 'cause they don't&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;get you all hypered up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They're as fat as my mom was when she&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;was pregnant with my brother!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/poem6.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/poem6.jpg" border="0" alt="...actually, they're curlier." /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-115585986350679857?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/115585986350679857/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=115585986350679857' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/115585986350679857'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/115585986350679857'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/08/curliest-things-in-world_17.html' title='The Curliest Things in the World'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-115024488477086456</id><published>2006-06-13T19:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-06-13T19:30:13.376-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Michelle T. and Kirsten at the Tree House</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Lauren, first grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/lau.0.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/200/lau.png" border="0" alt="Kirsten fell and then Michelle T fell, too." /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Once upon a time there were girls named Kirsten and Michelle T. They met in first grade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They went to Michelle T's house after school. They went to the tree house. Kirsten fell and then Michelle T fell, too. They cried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The End&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-115024488477086456?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/115024488477086456/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=115024488477086456' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/115024488477086456'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/115024488477086456'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/06/michelle-t-and-kirsten-at-tree-house.html' title='Michelle T. and Kirsten at the Tree House'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-114989878599538075</id><published>2006-06-09T19:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-06-09T19:19:46.016-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Poetry</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Elisha&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My name is Williams.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t have millions.&lt;br /&gt;Sometime I’ll pay you money,&lt;br /&gt;psycheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;My name is Cherry&lt;br /&gt;I rhyme with Larry&lt;br /&gt;I look like berrrrrrrrrrrrrry,&lt;br /&gt;Child, please.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;My cat is hat&lt;br /&gt;it lives with a  rat&lt;br /&gt;it loves a bat.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;My name is Dream&lt;br /&gt;I like ice cream.&lt;br /&gt;I like to Dream.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-114989878599538075?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114989878599538075/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=114989878599538075' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114989878599538075'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114989878599538075'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/06/poetry.html' title='Poetry'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-114978584915071108</id><published>2006-06-08T11:54:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2006-06-08T11:57:29.166-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Favorite Place</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Ornise&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My place is Chuck E. Cheese because they have pizza and they have a slide to slide. I see pizza there. I taste pizza there all the time. It is good. I can touch the slide. As I touch the slide I always smell food there; it smells very good. I can hear people chasing Chuck E. I had fun when I went to Chuck E. Cheese on this Saturday. I will be going to Chuck E. Cheese. I bet I will have more fun than I had last week. I will have a lot of fun on the weekends. I will have very much fun.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-114978584915071108?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114978584915071108/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=114978584915071108' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114978584915071108'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114978584915071108'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/06/my-favorite-place_08.html' title='My Favorite Place'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-114967523142754994</id><published>2006-06-07T05:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-06-07T05:13:51.440-05:00</updated><title type='text'>In The Woods</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Jamyl&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/image002.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/image002.gif" border="0" alt="But I stopped him now." /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The grass is being&lt;br /&gt;stepped on by an ape today&lt;br /&gt;but I stopped him now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-114967523142754994?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114967523142754994/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=114967523142754994' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114967523142754994'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114967523142754994'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/06/in-woods.html' title='In The Woods'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-114911903647692826</id><published>2006-05-31T18:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-05-31T18:43:56.616-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Griffin's Tale @ Northwestern</title><content type='html'>My apologies once again for the lack of updates.  I'm done with finals on Monday - I promise that more stories will follow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the meantime, those of you in Chicagoland should head over to Evanston where &lt;b&gt;Griffin's Tale&lt;/b&gt;, the children's repertory theater company at Northwestern, will be performing this weekend.  They take stories and drawings submitted by Chicago-area children and turn them into sketches which they perform at the grade schools.   Some of my friends are in it and it's quite a blast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The performances are:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Thursday June 1 @ 11pm&lt;br /&gt;Friday June 2 @ 11pm&lt;br /&gt;Saturday June 3 @ 2pm and 11pm&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jones Great Room - 1820 Sheridan Rd, Evanston, IL&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Admission is $5,  which goes to charity.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-114911903647692826?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114911903647692826/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=114911903647692826' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114911903647692826'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114911903647692826'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/05/griffins-tale-northwestern.html' title='Griffin&apos;s Tale @ Northwestern'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-114565045129977797</id><published>2006-04-21T15:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-05-29T20:53:03.576-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Please vote for my 'Snakes On A Plane' song!</title><content type='html'>I'm taking a break from posts of stories written by children for a post about a movie that may as well have been written by children: &lt;b&gt;Snakes on a Plane&lt;/b&gt; starring Samuel L. Jackson.  By virtue of its ridiculous title and premise, it's become an internet phenomenon months before its release - you can see the trailer &lt;a href="http://tagworld.com/snakesonaplane"&gt;here.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a song contest where the winning song will be placed in the movie.  I've written a ridiculous love duet for it called &lt;a href="http://home.uchicago.edu/~evanc/2snakesonaplane.mp3"&gt;&lt;b&gt;"Two Snakes On A Plane,"&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt; and I would love your help in voting for it.  Here's how:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Go to &lt;a href="http://www.tagworld.com"&gt;Tagworld.com&lt;/a&gt; and sign up for an account.  You don't even need to use your real email address.&lt;br /&gt;2. Then, go &lt;a href="http://tagworld.com/snakesonaplane"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;, and "Click Here To Vote."&lt;br /&gt;3. In the drop-down menus, make it Sort "By Name" and set Name Filter to "T."&lt;br /&gt;4. Look for The Guesstimates, and click the vote button!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's even been an &lt;a href="http://movies.yahoo.com/mv/news/ap/20060420/114557748000.html"&gt;Associated Press article&lt;/a&gt; quoting my lyrics!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks.  I knew I could count on you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-114565045129977797?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114565045129977797/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=114565045129977797' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114565045129977797'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114565045129977797'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/04/please-vote-for-my-snakes-on-plane.html' title='Please vote for my &apos;Snakes On A Plane&apos; song!'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-114540015335128380</id><published>2006-04-18T17:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-04-20T21:52:30.333-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Magic Eggs</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Kayla, 2nd grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day a little girl was doing a lot of work. Her sitters made her do all the work. So the girl ran and ran until she came to an old house. She looked in the old house. She saw an old lady.&lt;br /&gt;“ Can you help me?” said the girl.&lt;br /&gt;“ My sitters are making me do all the work”. &lt;br /&gt;The lady knew just what to do.&lt;br /&gt;“ Go to the backyard and take the things that say 'Take me'”. &lt;br /&gt;So the girl did, and when she was walking home the lady said, &lt;br /&gt;“ Toss them over your head”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later, the sitters came in the room with pink dust all over them.&lt;br /&gt;“ What would you like?” they said.&lt;br /&gt;“ A drink”, the girl said. &lt;br /&gt;Then her dad came home and he said, “Go get me a drink”.&lt;br /&gt;When the sitters left, the drink was already there.&lt;br /&gt;“ What!” he said.&lt;br /&gt;“ What happened in here?”&lt;br /&gt;“ It’s a long story”, said the girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The End&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-114540015335128380?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114540015335128380/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=114540015335128380' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114540015335128380'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114540015335128380'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/04/magic-eggs.html' title='The Magic Eggs'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-114503863320744478</id><published>2006-04-14T13:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-04-25T22:08:52.833-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Bear Picture Prompt Stories</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Ms. Yu's 3rd grade class&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Bear In Trouble&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;by Derek&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once upon a time there was a bear called Eric.  He very smart.  Nobody likes him, because he was smart.  One day he was walking and somebody hit him very hard that he started bleeding.  Then the other bear broke his glasses and he was bleeding.  Someone found him on the floor crying and bleeding to death.  The bear took him to a hospital.  He had to get surgery.  When  he came out of the hospital, he was okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;What's For Homework&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;by Robert&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day when Jack the bear was in school he was looking in the air.  He did not know what to do.  He asked his friend "what do we have for homework?"  But his friend didn't answer.  So the next day when he go back to school, he didn't get no stamp.  He just got an incomplete and he never forgot his homework again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;The Happy Bear Like To Play&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;by Jayliann&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once upon a time there was a brown bear.  His name was Nick.  He was a nice bear. He liked to play with his friends.  He liked being nice.  He lived in the woods.  We liked where he lived.  His home is in the cave.  Nike liked his home, because it is dark inside.  In the woods, it has a lot of trees.  The woods have tall trees.  Sometimes Nick plays with his friends in the woods.  Nike plays with his friends every day in the woods.  He loved living in the cave.  At night Nike went to bed.  The next morning  Nike went into the woods he see his friends and he ran to his friends.  Then they played together. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;The Fat Bear&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;by Gary&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bear was walking around in the grass looking for friends.  Then it looked like he found friends, because he was looking straight ahead.  He was so big that he even beat up the other bear.  The bear didn't want to be bothered.     So I helped the bear that didn't want to be bothered.  The big fat bear didn't know how to get along with other bears.  He didn't even get along with his brothers and sisters.  He always wanted to fight with his family, except his mother and father.  He got in trouble by his mother and father.  So he had to go back and he said, "I am sorry" and the other bear said, "It is ok." So they lived happily ever after again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;The Bear Said, "What Homework?"&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;by Diamond&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once upon a time there lived a bear named Browny, but some people called him Biggy because he was so fat.  So one day his teacher gave him homework but he put his hands on his head and said, "what homework?"  The teacher said, "bye," but the bear still didn't know what to do.  He went for a walk in the woods to see if he saw his friends to ask them what homework, but they did not know.  So when he went back to school his teacher said, "there's no homework.  I was just playin with you."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-114503863320744478?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114503863320744478/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=114503863320744478' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114503863320744478'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114503863320744478'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/04/bear-picture-prompt-stories.html' title='Bear Picture Prompt Stories'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-114496390483758776</id><published>2006-04-13T16:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-04-26T20:50:32.083-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Fitting In</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Molly, 5th grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Manny is ten years old. She was always smiling, always laughing.  That’s where it all started, when Manny was walking home from school. She walked in the door, smiling, giggling. She twirled her long curly blonde hair between her hands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Mom, mom where are you?” she called.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“In the living room dear.” her mom answered. Manny ran to the living room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Mom, I had the best day in school I’ve ever had, I got an A+ on my English test!” she smiled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Great, um, I’ve got some news, we’re moving.” her mom stuttered. The room fell silent. Manny fell silent. That was the worst news ever. She had been having the best day and she had told her that they were moving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few months later Manny, her mom and dad drove to their new house, the moving van following them. Manny silently cried, but no tears fell, she wanted to scream out no, but it was too late, they were moving. They pulled up to a driveway. Manny stared. It was the oddest house she had ever seen. She got out of the car and walked into it. It was huge, way too huge. Manny went down the basement stairs and claimed the basement her room. The movers carried her bed in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All she did that night was write in her journal. When it was time for bed all she could worry about is her new school, and missing her old friends, all the way back in New Jersey , and here she was, stranded in Kentucky .  Finally, she fell asleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She woke up the next morning, threw on a blue jean skirt and tank top and walked to her new school. When she got there, all the kids stared and whispered. She walked over to what she thought was the ‘Popular’ group.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Hi, I’m Manny.” She said shyly. They all starred.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You the new kid?” a girl asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Yeah,” Manny replied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Oh, bye.” she said rudely&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Um, do think I could hang out with you guys?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They turned “For one we’re not ‘guys’ we’re girls, and no, you’re a nerdy new kid, and obviously a loser.” She remarked as she made an L sign on her forehead. Manny almost cried. Her lips grew tighter and tighter, till she ended up running to the bathroom and cried her heart out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No one would talk to her throughout the day and at the end a bunch of guys started to bully her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Hey, new kid having trouble making friends, crybaby?” he pushed her down in the mud. “Good.” He laughed and walked away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Manny got up and ran all the way home. She went to her room and pulled her fencing gear on and grabbed her sword. She went down to the nearest Y and beat some boys. She came home feeling relived and non stressful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day at school she met some new friends, eventually the boys stopped bullying her, but that’s the story. The lesson is if you move and you’re getting bullied, stand up to them and make some new friends if you have trouble fitting in.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-114496390483758776?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114496390483758776/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=114496390483758776' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114496390483758776'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114496390483758776'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/04/fitting-in.html' title='Fitting In'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-114488349713473410</id><published>2006-04-12T18:11:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2006-04-12T18:11:37.163-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Fraction Stories</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Josey&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are 2 wrestlers in the ring. The Rock got thrown out of the ring. What fraction of the wrestlers stayed in the ring? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Austin&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had 790 Pokemon cards. I traded a holographic card for 10 junguls. How many Pokemon cards do I have now? What fraction of my cards did I trade? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Brandon T.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are 7 karate students. They were fighting. 4 got smacked. What fraction got smacked? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Mike&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are 1,000 people at my birthday party. 900 of them left. What fraction left?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-114488349713473410?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114488349713473410/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=114488349713473410' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114488349713473410'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114488349713473410'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/04/fraction-stories_12.html' title='Fraction Stories'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-114442004928474693</id><published>2006-04-07T09:21:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-04-07T09:28:23.056-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Popular</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Sydney, 4th grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Kelly-Jo is so popular,” Anna said to Estella.  “I wish I was that popular too,” said Anna.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anna and Estella were best friends.  They were in highschool and were not popular, but wished to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Oh look, Kelly-Jo is coming.  Act Cool.”&lt;br /&gt;“Hi nerds,” Kelly-Jo said to Anna and Estella.&lt;br /&gt;“Why can’t we be popular,” Estella said.  I wonder if there is a way to become popular."&lt;br /&gt;“I’ve got an idea,” Anna exclaimed.  “Maybe our moms could take us shopping at 2 Popular, and buy us some clothes.”&lt;br /&gt;“I’ll ask my mom if you will ask yours,” Anna said to Estella.&lt;br /&gt;“O.K.,” Estella said.  “Bye,” Estella said to Anna.&lt;br /&gt;“Wait,” Anna exclaimed.  Where will we meet."&lt;br /&gt;“Lets meet at 2 Popular on Saturday.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was Saturday, the girls met at 2 Popular.  Anna asked Estella how much money her mom gave her.&lt;br /&gt;Estella replied, “$70.00.”&lt;br /&gt;“I only have $60.00,” Anna said.&lt;br /&gt;Lets start shopping the girls agreed.  The two girls shopped until they dropped.  They used all the money.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Monday the girls walked over to where they usually stood in the morning and waited for Kelly-Jo to pass by.&lt;br /&gt;“Here she comes,” Anna said.  “Act cool.”&lt;br /&gt;Kelly-Jo walked up to Anna and Estell and asked if they wanted to hang out with them.  Guess what they said.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-114442004928474693?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114442004928474693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=114442004928474693' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114442004928474693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114442004928474693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/04/popular.html' title='Popular'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-114435509953401390</id><published>2006-04-06T15:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-05-31T18:13:54.733-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mallory's New Cat</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Annie, 4th grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Saw Annie?”&lt;br /&gt;“Sue Anne.”&lt;br /&gt;“Found a cat!”&lt;br /&gt;“Is that so?”&lt;br /&gt;“Yeah it...it’s cute.”                                                                                                                                  &lt;br /&gt;“I bet.”&lt;br /&gt;“Saw Annie?”&lt;br /&gt;”What!!”&lt;br /&gt;“Can we keep it?&lt;br /&gt;”No way!!”&lt;br /&gt;“We really did  find one.”&lt;br /&gt;“Is that so?”&lt;br /&gt;“It’s yellow and orange.”&lt;br /&gt;”Mallory.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sue Anne turned around her hands on her hips. “ You’ve found lots of animals.  Every one of ‘em you’ve found in someone’s yard.”&lt;br /&gt;“No but we found it in the forest.”&lt;br /&gt;“Which forest?”&lt;br /&gt;“Whitsten Raleigh.”&lt;br /&gt;“That’s someone’s yard.”&lt;br /&gt;“Oh.”&lt;br /&gt;Mallory turned around hopefully.  “Saw Annie?”&lt;br /&gt;“What?”&lt;br /&gt;“The guy that owned Whitston Raleigh died last week.”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-114435509953401390?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114435509953401390/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=114435509953401390' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114435509953401390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114435509953401390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/04/mallorys-new-cat.html' title='Mallory&apos;s New Cat'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-114429756157609775</id><published>2006-04-05T23:21:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-04-05T23:29:34.703-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dog</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;from Ms. Buck's 2nd grade&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/cwrite6.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/200/cwrite6.jpg" border="0" alt="He said do you see a bush that looks like a dog?" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Once there was a bush that looked like a dog. Then one day there was a boy. His name was Zack. He saw the bush. Then he called his friends. So they came.  He said do you see what I see? They said, yes.  He said do you see a bush that looks like a dog? They said, yes. Then they went home.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-114429756157609775?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114429756157609775/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=114429756157609775' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114429756157609775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114429756157609775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/04/dog.html' title='The Dog'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-114192280818195685</id><published>2006-03-09T10:45:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-04-05T11:03:40.320-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear Hurricane Victim</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Crystal, Mrs. Baldwin's fifth grade&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Hurricane Victim,&lt;br /&gt;    My name is Crystal.  I am 10 years old.  I am writing you a letter from East North Street Academy in Greenville, South Carolina.  Were you a victim of the recent hurricanes?  I have not been in a hurricane.  I hope I am never in a hurricane.  Are you interested in hurricanes?  They are neat to look at but they are not neat to be in.  My birthday is in February.  When is your birthday?&lt;br /&gt;Sincerely,&lt;br /&gt;Crystal&lt;br /&gt;P.S. Please write me a letter telling me about yourself and answer my questions if you have time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-114192280818195685?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114192280818195685/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=114192280818195685' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114192280818195685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114192280818195685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/03/dear-hurricane-victim.html' title='Dear Hurricane Victim'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-114187202980809145</id><published>2006-03-08T20:34:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-08T20:42:25.426-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Why Did Santa Grow a Beard?</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Ally&lt;/b&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/chsanta17.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/chsanta17.jpg" border="0" alt="Santa's beard" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Santa grew a beard because he wanted to be Santa. He has fun because he likes being Santa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Madison&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Santa grew a beard because it grew and grew. Santa's beard is white.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Luke&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Santa grew a beard because he wanted to cover his mouth. Because his mouth would get cold and he didn't want to get sick. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Kaleb&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Santa grew a beard because he liked one. One elf helped Santa and they found a beard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Cameron&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Santa grew a beard because he was drinking milk. That's how he got his beard. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Ethan&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Santa grew a beard because he didn't want any people to know he is Santa. Santa wants to have the color of the snow for his beard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Jessica&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Santa grew a beard because he wanted to cover his mouth. Santa grew a beard because he felt like it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Emily&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Santa grew a beard because he wanted it to be blended in with the snow. So he could hide when he had to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Charlie&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Santa grew a beard because it helped him stay warm on Christmas. Because it was Christmas. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Adam&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Santa grew a beard because he liked it and he liked to feel it. The kids can't find him. He is in the house. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Trevor&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Santa grew a beard because it was winter. So he grew his beard because the elves liked it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Rori&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Santa grew a beard because he had 7 brothers and they all had beards. And he wanted to be like them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Marcus&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Santa grew a beard because he wanted kids to notice him. He likes to feel his beard. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Mallory&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Santa grew a beard because Mrs. Claus didn't wanted Santa to get sick. His brothers were sick already.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-114187202980809145?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114187202980809145/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=114187202980809145' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114187202980809145'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114187202980809145'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/03/why-did-santa-grow-beard.html' title='Why Did Santa Grow a Beard?'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-114175601914837437</id><published>2006-03-07T12:22:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-07T12:28:43.596-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Where Does My Tooth Go At Night?</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Mrs. Budach's 1st grade class&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/cbtooth1.jpg"  alt="My mom and dad puts it in a buckit" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/cbtooth15.jpg" alt="She maks it out of a tabl" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/cbtooth14.jpg" alt="It gows to the dentist" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-114175601914837437?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114175601914837437/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=114175601914837437' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114175601914837437'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114175601914837437'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/03/where-does-my-tooth-go-at-night.html' title='Where Does My Tooth Go At Night?'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-114175495553145341</id><published>2006-03-07T12:06:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-07T12:12:17.743-06:00</updated><title type='text'>What I Want To Learn in Kindergarten</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;At the beginning of the year, Mrs. Wallin and Mrs. VanVeldhuizen asked their class what they wanted to learn in kindergarten.  These are their responses.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Mallory&lt;/b&gt; - about clothes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Ally&lt;/b&gt; - numbers and letters&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Adam&lt;/b&gt; - play games&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Hailey&lt;/b&gt; - all about ponies&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Tyler&lt;/b&gt; - about the army&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Cory&lt;/b&gt; - how to grow a flower&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Trevor T.&lt;/b&gt; - dump trucks&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Cede&lt;/b&gt; - computers&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Jacob &lt;/b&gt;- how to be a big kid&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Destiny&lt;/b&gt; - about cutters&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Nick&lt;/b&gt; - how to color&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Autumn&lt;/b&gt; - why worms like to eat apples&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Meressa&lt;/b&gt; - to make a ballerina&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Gunnerr&lt;/b&gt; - to write better&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Matthew&lt;/b&gt; - to read&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Lexi&lt;/b&gt; - how to whistle&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Kaleb &lt;/b&gt;- about the alphabet and listening to the teacher&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Makenzie&lt;/b&gt; - how to play doctor&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Sydney&lt;/b&gt; - how to draw a cat&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Charlie&lt;/b&gt; - about apple trees and dinosaurs and tractors&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Emerald&lt;/b&gt; - about Barbies&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Michael&lt;/b&gt; - the computers&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Zach&lt;/b&gt; - about apples&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Steven &lt;/b&gt;- about sharing&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Kaylie&lt;/b&gt; - how to take care of babies&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Trevor S.&lt;/b&gt; - how to make a paper airplane&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Parker &lt;/b&gt;- how to tie my shoes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Chaya &lt;/b&gt;- how to take care of adults&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Emma&lt;/b&gt; - what do teachers do&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Betty &lt;/b&gt;- how to be safe on the bus&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Emily&lt;/b&gt; - how to say what time it is&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Slade&lt;/b&gt; - numbers&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Cameron&lt;/b&gt; - to play at recess&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Samantha &lt;/b&gt;- who goes first&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Montanna &lt;/b&gt;- to read stories&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Alex&lt;/b&gt; - about eating &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Trent &lt;/b&gt;- art&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Madison M.&lt;/b&gt; - how to be popular&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Thomas&lt;/b&gt; - about dinosaurs&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Marcus&lt;/b&gt; - about bears&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Luke&lt;/b&gt; - numbers&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Clint &lt;/b&gt;- about Jesus&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Zoe&lt;/b&gt; - how to write&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Ethan &lt;/b&gt;- all about dinosaurs&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Gabby &lt;/b&gt;- about dogs&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Rori &lt;/b&gt;- about animals&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Robyn B.&lt;/b&gt; - about horsies&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Halie &lt;/b&gt;- how to paint&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Rylee &lt;/b&gt;- how to blow a bubble&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-114175495553145341?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114175495553145341/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=114175495553145341' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114175495553145341'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114175495553145341'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/03/what-i-want-to-learn-in-kindergarten.html' title='What I Want To Learn in Kindergarten'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-114088024230928425</id><published>2006-02-25T09:10:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-02-25T09:10:42.310-06:00</updated><title type='text'>New York</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Gabby D.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In New York is the Statue of Liberty.&lt;br /&gt;In New York is Chinatown .&lt;br /&gt;Even though my cousin &lt;br /&gt;lives in New York, I &lt;br /&gt;have never been to&lt;br /&gt;Chinatown or the&lt;br /&gt;Statue of Liberty.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-114088024230928425?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114088024230928425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=114088024230928425' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114088024230928425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114088024230928425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/02/new-york.html' title='New York'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-114088020985153910</id><published>2006-02-25T09:06:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-02-25T09:10:09.876-06:00</updated><title type='text'>My Chapstick</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Andreaia S.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rolling on my lips with glitter so bright&lt;br /&gt;smells so good   &lt;br /&gt;like a bunch of  blueberries&lt;br /&gt;hanging&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-114088020985153910?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114088020985153910/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=114088020985153910' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114088020985153910'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/114088020985153910'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/02/my-chapstick.html' title='My Chapstick'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113998006410112439</id><published>2006-02-14T23:04:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-02-14T23:07:44.136-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Cupid's Arrow</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;What would happen to you if Cupid shot your with his arrow and you fell in love with the first thing you laid eyes on?  What would it be?  What would you do?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Andrew&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once I was in Kentucky with my family trying to catch some wild horses while riding on our horses.  My horse was a pinto.  Her name was Sugar.  I saw something in the sky coming closer and closer but then I realized it was CUPID in the sky.  I saw him pulling something back.  It was a bow and arrow.  He let the arrow go.  It was coming right towards me.  Then it hit me.  I fell off my pinto.  I wasn't hurt but I was wondering what happened and the first thing I saw was my pinto.  I fell in love with my pinto.  When we got back, I slept with my pinto every single day.  I fed her.  I would ride her.  I saw Cupid again.  He shot me.  I saw my two dogs.  Now I love them and my horse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Tessa&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day I was waiting in line for Kentucky Fried Chicken.  And then all of a suddent Cupid shot me with an arrow and the first thing I fell in love with was Kentucky Fried Chicken.  I went everywhere with that piece of fried chicken.  And one day I took my piece of chicken and I was so hungry that I took home and wrong piece of chicken and ate the one that I love.  I never found out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Mikey&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was minding my own business and our principal strolled into the room and Cupid appeared and shot me.  I said hi to her and I love you.  So she hauled me off to her office and asked me to repeat what I had been saying the whole time.  I said that I love you.  She thought I was as mad as a hatter.  She called my mom and said your son is mad.  "I'm not mad."  I interrupted.  I love her.  My mom screamed.  Soon after I was asked to talk to the school counselor.  I kept muttering I love my principal.  To make matters worse, I got suspended for the time being and then they expelled me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Cassie&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day I was watching my gerbils.  Cupid sot me.  I fell in love with my gerbils.  I took them out of their cage.  I kissed them 50 times.  I got little red dots on my face.  Cupid shot my mom.  My mom fell in love with some noodless.  My dad fell in love with the shower.  My brother fell in love with me.  We had a pizza party.  We watched TV.  We had fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Zac&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day I was in my classroom and I raised my hand and then Cupid appeared and shot me.  And Ms. Marshall called on me and I said, "I love you."  And she said, "Go flip a card."  And I said, "I love you." and she called my mom.  And my mom said when we get home you go up in your room.  And I said, "I love Ms. Marshall."  And my mom and Ms. Marshall fainted and everyone in the classroom partied and wated American Idol and had cheese popcorn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Emilie&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day I was walking by the curb.  I looked up.  I thought I saw a witch but there's no such thing.  Suddenly I saw a cat.  Cupid shot me with a heart shaped arrow.  I opened my eyes.  I saw a black colored cat.  I fell in love with the cat.  My mom said I could keep the cat.  I named the cat Babybob.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113998006410112439?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113998006410112439/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113998006410112439' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113998006410112439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113998006410112439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/02/cupids-arrow.html' title='Cupid&apos;s Arrow'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113967621538891179</id><published>2006-02-11T10:37:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-02-11T10:43:35.410-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Brave Stories, pt. 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Mrs. Underwood's third grade class&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Brave Chelsea&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/Chelsea.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/200/Chelsea.jpg" border="0" alt="If the nurse would have stuck the q-tip down my throat for one more second..." /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once I had strep throat and a nurse came in the room to stick a q-tip down my throat.  If the nurse would have stuck the q-tipdown my throat for one more second, I would have taken it and thrown it across the room and she would never have found it.  So I was really brave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Brave Caleb&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/Caleb.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/200/Caleb.jpg" border="0" alt="My MawMaw called for my PawPaw to come help me." /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One time when I was at my MawMaw's house, I got my head stuck in the bedpost.  I screamed for help.  My MawMaw called for my PawPaw to come help me.  It hurt but I was brave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Brave Michael&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/Michael.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/200/Michael.jpg" border="0" alt="It cut my fingertips off." /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I was at my camp playing in a pick-up truck.  When I was getting out, I held onto something sharp.  It cut my fingertips off.  I had to go to the hospital to get them sewn back on.  They had to give me a shot to make me go to sleep.  It hurt but I was brave.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113967621538891179?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113967621538891179/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113967621538891179' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113967621538891179'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113967621538891179'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/02/brave-stories-pt-2.html' title='Brave Stories, pt. 2'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113946721957193810</id><published>2006-02-09T00:29:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-14T15:32:44.580-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Brave Stories</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Mrs. Underwood's third grade class&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Brave Brad&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/brad.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/200/brad.jpg" border="0" alt="I was scared but brave." /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One time my family went to Mass, and when it was over I was dumb enough to go ahead of my mom.  I got lost for a very long time.  When no one was there anymore, I got scared but I had an idea.  I walked to my grandmaw and grandpaw's house.  When I got there I told them the whole thing.  Then they called my parents and told them to pick me up.  I was scared but brave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Brave Erica  (and her twin sister)&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/erica.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/200/erica.jpg" border="0" alt="She got a red cast and I got a spanking." /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was three at my house, I was on the slide.  My sister was in front.  I pushed her.  She held on with one arm.  She flipped off and broke her arm.  I went to the hospital with her.  She got a red cast and I got a spanking.  Emily and I were brave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Brave Lauren&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/laurenf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/200/laurenf.jpg" border="0" alt="I did not like that answer." /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in the hospital for three days and two nights.  It was last year.  I had oxygen.  It was very uncomfortable.  I could not sleep at all.  I would ask my mom if I could take the oxygen off, but she would say no.  I did not like that answer.  I had to have a breathing treatment every day but still I was brave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Brave Brandi&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/brandi.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/200/brandi.jpg" border="0" alt="This guy found me and brought me home." /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was 7 years old, I was going to ride my new purple bike.  So I was in a hurry.  My Dad went to get the camcorder.  I was trying to rode it alone and I fell off.  I was crying.  This guy found me and brought me home.  I was scared, but I was brave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Brave Brittany&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/brittney.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/200/brittney.jpg" border="0" alt="Some people said it was a tornado watch." /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got lost at my school fair and I couldn't find my mom.  But then I found my sister and she was looking for me.  My mom was looking for me too.  So it turned out to be a whole big mess.  Some people said it was a tornado watch but it was a hail storm.  I was scared but I was brave!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Brave Michael C.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/michaelc.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/200/michaelc.jpg" border="0" alt="They grinded the rust out." /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once when I was four years old, I went to the beach and got some old rust in my eyes.  So I had to go to the hospital and get the rust grinded out.  They brought me in a room where they put me on a table and put me to sleep with some sleeping gas.  While I was asleep, they grinded the rust out.  When I woke up, I had a patch on my eye.  I was nervous, but I was brave.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113946721957193810?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113946721957193810/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113946721957193810' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113946721957193810'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113946721957193810'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/02/brave-stories.html' title='Brave Stories'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113883116068371378</id><published>2006-02-01T15:56:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-02-25T03:42:00.193-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Letter to Cpl Leon Howard</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Francisco, grade 4&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/Francisco.jpg" border="0" alt="Good luck on your war." /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Good luck on your war, indeed.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113883116068371378?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113883116068371378/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113883116068371378' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113883116068371378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113883116068371378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/02/letter-to-cpl-leon-howard.html' title='Letter to Cpl Leon Howard'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113795315640537907</id><published>2006-01-22T12:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-01-24T19:54:54.813-06:00</updated><title type='text'>What Will You Be Doing When You Are 100 Years Old? (pt. 2)</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Mrs. Coats' second grade class&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Megan&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will be 100 years old in 2094. I will have brown hair and hazel eyes. I will have wrinkles. I will live in Arizona. I will be married. I will ride horses. I will write good. I won't be squiggly. For exercise I will swim. I will be married to a millionaire. I will be tall and rich. I will not like to be old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Cristy&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I am 100 years old, I am going to have grandchildren. I am going to be married. I am going to have gray hair. I will be in Hawaii. I am going to have a husband named PeeWee Herman. I am going to have hair. I am not going to be rich.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Devlin&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I am 100 years old, I will not like being old. The only thing I will like is having grandchildren. I want to be a fisherman or a deer hunter. I will look like a raisin. I will look yummy. I will live in Green Bay. I am not going to be married.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Austin&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I am 100 years old I will be married to Minnie Mouse. I will have blue hair. I will live on Jupiter. My house will look like a TV. I will have a pet elephant. My neighbor will be an alien and I will make pencils. It will be groovy!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113795315640537907?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113795315640537907/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113795315640537907' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113795315640537907'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113795315640537907'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/01/what-will-you-be-doing-when-you-are_22.html' title='What Will You Be Doing When You Are 100 Years Old? (pt. 2)'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113787589437130739</id><published>2006-01-21T14:34:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-01-21T14:49:44.630-06:00</updated><title type='text'>What Will You Be Doing When You Are 100 Years Old? (pt. 1)</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Mrs. Coats' second grade class&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Stepheni&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I am 100 years old, I will live in an old house. I will be married to a boy. I will have a job in a restaurant. I will have blond hair. I will go to outer space to see the moon. It will be fun to ride in a rocket to see Pluto. I will have to go to the dentist to see if I have any cavities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Michael&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I am 100 years old, I will marry Tashina. I will have 8 children. I will be a semi- driver. I will live in Florida. I think I will live to be 150 years old. Then I will die. But I will be in heaven. Then I will be watching over you guys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Kelly&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I am 100 years old, I will have twelve kids. I will be married to a millionaire. I will have 2 pets. I will be in Australia or Hawaii. My husband might have a cane. I will be retired. I will have 2 grandchildren. I will be rich. My skin will be tan. My hair will be blond. I will have a big house. I will go on trips. I will have an airplane and a jet. I will be a teacher or an author. I will go around the whole world but not Pakistan or Afghanistan. I will have 2 big screen TV's. I will have lots of books to read. I will not have gray hair. I will go to parties. I maybe will have glasses. I will like to be 100 but I will not like to be 100.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Alex&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I am 100 years old, I will not be married. I will have gray hair. I will never, never, never go on a date. I will go to Mars, so no girls will find me. If they do find me, a meteor will blow them up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113787589437130739?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113787589437130739/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113787589437130739' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113787589437130739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113787589437130739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/01/what-will-you-be-doing-when-you-are.html' title='What Will You Be Doing When You Are 100 Years Old? (pt. 1)'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113746323074662482</id><published>2006-01-16T19:56:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-02-13T13:45:18.773-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Retaliation Power</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Jonathan&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/fablejl.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/fablejl.jpg" border="0" alt="TLet me tell you a secret you must promise to keep." /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;One day Leopard and Gazelle were playing around in the field. They came across many bones of dead sheep. Gazelle was going to tell his parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leopard said,"Let me tell you a secret you must promise to keep. If you don't keep the promise, it will be the end of our friendship. " &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gazelle promised that he would not tell his parent this secret. Gazelle told his parents, and then Gazelle's parents phoned Leopard's parents. Leopard was grounded that week. Leopard was so angry he ate his best friend. From that day on Gazelle broke a secret in Leopard's stomach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;Moral &lt;br /&gt;(Don't break secrets)&lt;br /&gt;* There are some cases where you have to break secrets.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: I know this last batch of stories have seemed kind of extreme, but I promise they're genuine.  The kids are Canadian, if that clears anything up.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113746323074662482?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113746323074662482/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113746323074662482' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113746323074662482'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113746323074662482'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/01/retaliation-power.html' title='Retaliation Power'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113735233580794984</id><published>2006-01-15T13:10:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-01-15T13:12:15.833-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Chicken and the Rooster</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Patrick L.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day, the Rooster's friends started teasing Rooster because he didn't have a girlfriend, so... Rooster found a chicken and nervously asked,” Will... will you be my girlfriend?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She furiously replied," Umm... no." Then she walked away and told all her friends. They quickly responded with pointing and laughing at Rooster.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rooster sadly walked away, and then, out of nowhere, Cow popped up and asked him,” Will you play with me?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"NO!" Rooster yelled angrily at Cow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/fablePJ.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/fablePJ.jpg" border="0" alt="Will... will you be my girlfriend?" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;"Please," Cow said in his most annoying voice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Go Away!" Rooster again yelled at Cow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top," Cow said annoyingly again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Fine," Rooster yelled again at Cow," but only if you stop annoying me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right then and there, using Cow's example, Rooster thought of a plan to get Chicken to date him and quickly went home to get ready for the next day. Rooster woke up, got dressed, and put on his dad's best cologne, and started to school. When he arrived, Chicken was alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Perfect time to strike," Rooster murmured to himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So Chicken. I know that you love me and I know that you want to go out with me. I also know that you don't know that, yet but I will give you another chance. Chicken, will you go out with me?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I told you yesterday. I don't want to go out with you," Chicken said to Rooster.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Pretty please?" Rooster said to Chicken in his most annoying voice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Don't make me embarrass you again."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chicken then said it in a voice that makes everyone be sympathetic for you. Better yet, he was doing the puppy face at the same time, and said with his last breath, "Pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top of chocolate ice cream?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Fine. As long as you stop annoying me!" She said unhappily.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;The Moral of the Story is:&lt;br /&gt;Only Roosters can annoy someone into dating with them.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113735233580794984?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113735233580794984/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113735233580794984' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113735233580794984'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113735233580794984'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/01/chicken-and-rooster.html' title='The Chicken and the Rooster'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113724805533365876</id><published>2006-01-14T08:13:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-01-14T08:14:54.990-06:00</updated><title type='text'>It Doesn't Matter</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Evan A.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day, four mice were walking along the prairie. The mice were so busy looking at the sky, which looked depressing and grey, that they failed to notice the large and completely noticible hole in front of them. Suddenly, all four mice fell screaming into the dark, dry hole. All but one of the mice started to panic. One mouse went insane and started running around the hole screaming,''Hee hee hee'' over and over again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One mouse started to scream for help until he lost his voice. One mouse tried to climb out of the hole, but it was too hard and too deep, so the mouse fell and broke his leg. But one mouse remained calm, and when the grey sky began pouring a flood of rain, all the mice floated out. Today, the insane mouse is in therapy, the mouse that broke his leg is on crutches, the mouse that lost his voice still can't talk, and the mouse that remained calm got hit by a gasoline truck two minutes after he got out of the hole.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;Moral: It pays to be calm, but it doesn't matter if you're a mouse.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113724805533365876?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113724805533365876/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113724805533365876' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113724805533365876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113724805533365876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/01/it-doesnt-matter.html' title='It Doesn&apos;t Matter'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113720455954100352</id><published>2006-01-13T20:01:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-01-13T21:15:03.606-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Mouse and Mongoose</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Jordan&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/fableje1.1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/200/fableje1.0.jpg" border="0" alt="A mongoose named Rick" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Long ago Freddy the mouse went to school for the first time, but since he was the only mouse; he made friends with a Mongoose named Rick. After school, Robert, Cedric and Blaine, the weasels, tied up Rick and left him behind. Freddy came along and saw that Rick was in need of help so he chewed him free of the ropes that held him down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Thanks, that was a close call,” said Rick, “I could have been left there all night!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eventually Freddy and Rick became such good friends that they would have each other over every Friday. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/fableje2.1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/200/fableje2.0.jpg" border="0" alt="A fatal error" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day, when Freddy’s family was getting ready for dinner, an evil cobra named Osama Binladin snuck into his house to eat Freddy and his family. Meanwhile Rick’s dad was walking Rick to Freddy’s house, and when they got there Rick’s dad came in and saved the day. Freddy’s mom called the Rodent Canadian Mounted Police. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a party because the notorious Osama Binladin was gone. At the party the weasels wanted to go for a canoe ride. When they got far out, Blaine stood up, which proved to be a fatal error because the canoe tipped and the Weasels were never seen again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;Moral: don’t stand up in a canoe.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113720455954100352?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113720455954100352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113720455954100352' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113720455954100352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113720455954100352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/01/mouse-and-mongoose.html' title='Mouse and Mongoose'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113675468862710034</id><published>2006-01-08T15:10:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-01-08T15:11:28.636-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Sorry for the wait, folks</title><content type='html'>Sorry for the lack of new content for a few weeks.  I've been at home for Christmas vacation and all the tinsel and figgy puddings just distracted me too much.  I'm also working on a complete redesign of snoozejersey.com - and when that's complete, this blog will move over to become a feature of that site.  I'll have stories soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113675468862710034?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113675468862710034/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113675468862710034' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113675468862710034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113675468862710034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/01/sorry-for-wait-folks.html' title='Sorry for the wait, folks'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113466928088731760</id><published>2005-12-15T11:52:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-15T11:55:15.990-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Pot</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Sarah&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was once a boy named Nicholas Bean.  He lived in Topeka, Kansas with his mother Ms. Bean.   Nicholas looked and acted like a bean. He always asked his mom to cook him in the oven so he could get a tan. Nicholas had only one enemy, a cooking pot, whose name was Mr. Topachacco.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    One day he said to his mom, "How am I ever going to get this pot away from me?  It told me its name mommy".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    "Then what is his name?", Ms.Bean declared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    "His name is Mr.Topachacco and he said that he was going to eat me," explained Nicholas.   When everybody was asleep that night, the pot went in Nicholas' room and woke him up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   Mr.Topachacco whispered in Nicholas' ear, "Tomorrow when you get back from school you will be cooked and eaten by me.  You made your death wish when you told your mom about me yesterday."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    The next morning Nicholas woke up ran into his mother's room screaming, "Mommy! Mommy! I want to go to that day care!".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    "Why don't you want to go to that day care now?", questioned Mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    "Well because... because....".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   "Well come on, say it," Mother muttered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   "Because the pot said he was going to kill me because I told you that he was alive," Nicholas informed her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   "Are you sure you're feeling ok honey?", she asked sarcastically.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    "Yes mom!", shouted Nicholas.&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/14ThePotEdit.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/14ThePotEdit.jpg" border="0" alt="You made your death wish when you told your mom about me yesterday." /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    The next day Nicholas forgot all about that old pot, but when he came home from school, he saw the pot with a knife in his hand. Nicholas dropped his backpack and ran. The pot hopped right after him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   Nick's mom came home and saw Nicholas's backpack on the floor and his school work scattered all over the place. Then she saw the pot with one of her kitchen knives and Nicholas pinned up against a wall, shivering and crying. When she saw what the pot was about to do, she picked it up and kicked it out the door. Nicholas and Ms.Bean never saw that nasty old pot again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113466928088731760?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113466928088731760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113466928088731760' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113466928088731760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113466928088731760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/12/pot.html' title='The Pot'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113457765634852838</id><published>2005-12-14T10:26:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-14T10:27:36.350-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Crystal's 14th Birthday Party</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Clairessa&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was my sister Crystal's birthday 2 years ago and she invited some of our cousins and friends to come over.  I told Crystal,   "I am going to tell everyone to dip your head in the cake."  Then she said, "You better not." I went to tell all of her friends about it.   "Sing happy birthday then we will put her head in the cake."  We sang happy birthday, but they forgot to dip her face in the cake.      "Dip Crystals head in the cake." I whispered to my cousin Veronica. Then she told her friends to do it. Before Crystal cut the cake, Veronica and her friends whispered, "1,2,3," and they got the cake and dipped her face in it. She said, "I can't believe you guys did that to me!" and then she got mad at me. In the morning they put shaving cream on each other. Then they dared Crystal's friend Jessica to eat something with an egg but it wasn’t cooked and she did it. Everybody had fun. Before everyone left Crystal said " Thank you for coming."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113457765634852838?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113457765634852838/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113457765634852838' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113457765634852838'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113457765634852838'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/12/crystals-14th-birthday-party.html' title='Crystal&apos;s 14th Birthday Party'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113440544614367834</id><published>2005-12-12T10:36:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-12T10:38:08.046-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Big Fake</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Jeremiah, also the author of yesterday's &lt;a href="http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/12/imagine-possibilities.html"&gt;wonderful essay&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once my cousin and I went to the park to see my other cousin play volleyball. We told her, "We’re going to the cemetery to visit my uncle.’’  Then I went to the mortuary to buy some flowers, to decorate my uncle’s grave.  The florist said, "The flowers cost $20.00.’’  I went to go get the money from my cousin, but when I arrived he wasn’t there.  I went back inside the mortuary, went into the morgue and opened all the coffins.  Then I opened the last one and he was inside covered with ketchup and acting like he had been killed.  I got so scared that I fainted.  After we set up a funeral for him we found out he got killed by a pumpkin. The pumpkin said, "Go inside the coffin and act like you're dead."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;FOR FAKE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CAN’T YOU TAKE A JOKE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HA! HA! HA!&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113440544614367834?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113440544614367834/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113440544614367834' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113440544614367834'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113440544614367834'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/12/big-fake.html' title='The Big Fake'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113432430353447468</id><published>2005-12-11T11:59:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-11T12:07:03.496-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Imagine the Possibilities</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Jeremiah&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Possibility of imagining is to imagine my aunt being married to The Rock (a famous pro-wrestler). If they get married, the Rock will be my new uncle. My aunt likes the Rock.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/BC-The%20Rock.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/200/BC-The%20Rock.jpg" border="0" alt="If they get married, the Rock will be my new uncle." /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My aunt has a lot of Rock collections. She has her own room that is covered with the Rock. She has the Rock Book, blanket, magazine, Valentines Cards taped to her mirror, posters, a poster that she made of the Rock, a Rock necklace, Rock shirt, the bramo bull tattoo that the Rock has, and a lot of other stuff that I can’t even name.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On July of 1998 my aunt, 5 of my cousins, and I went to the arena to see the Rock, wrestle just for my aunt to see.  My cousins and I were wearing wrestling shirts.   My aunt was wearing her jump suit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every Thursday at 7:30pm my aunt hop’s in the shower to get washed up for the Rock on smack down at 8:00pm.  She puts on her Rock pajamas and gets ready for the Rock.   She makes her own sign that says &lt;u&gt;MY SEAT ISN"T ANY GOOD!&lt;/u&gt; You know when you’re at home and not at the smack down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In conclusion, you should see my aunt’s room and her self to believe it.  So what do you think about my paper?  Can ya smell what the Rock is cookin!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113432430353447468?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113432430353447468/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113432430353447468' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113432430353447468'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113432430353447468'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/12/imagine-possibilities.html' title='Imagine the Possibilities'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113424227195768976</id><published>2005-12-10T13:17:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-10T13:17:52.020-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Big Fall</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Edgardo&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was walking along the Grand Canyon and suddenly I saw a bright light heading towards me. All I felt was myself falling further and further down. All I remember was waking up on a cloud.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113424227195768976?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113424227195768976/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113424227195768976' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113424227195768976'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113424227195768976'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/12/big-fall.html' title='The Big Fall'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113413776395302972</id><published>2005-12-09T08:15:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-14T10:20:38.166-06:00</updated><title type='text'>My Dog Muffin</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by James&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It all started on a Saturday when I was home alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I found a dog in my backyard for my birthday present.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why was it there?  The dog was very playful.  I named the dog Muffin because she liked to chase tennis balls. That is just the start of my story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next in my dogs life she got very very sick and she almost died.  But she did not.   She had dogititis so I took her to the vet.  I saved her and she got better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I got another dog.  A pit bull.  It was a mean dog!   It was so mean that it killed 4 dogs . Then it killed 8 more dogs.  It killed muffin because it was getting mad at it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113413776395302972?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113413776395302972/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113413776395302972' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113413776395302972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113413776395302972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/12/my-dog-muffin.html' title='My Dog Muffin'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113408075326915037</id><published>2005-12-08T16:17:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-08T16:25:53.286-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Nutcrackers</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;Today was the first very heavy snowfall here in Chicago, signalling that it's about time this blog started to get into the Christmas spirit.  So, here are some poems about nutcrackers by fifth-graders from California.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Justin&lt;/h3&gt;Oh nutcracker&lt;br /&gt;Oh nutcracker&lt;br /&gt;Crack me some walnuts&lt;br /&gt;Oh nutcracker&lt;br /&gt;Oh nutcracker&lt;br /&gt;You’re crazy and nuts&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Kayla&lt;/h3&gt;Nutcracker Nutcracker how are you?&lt;br /&gt;Nutcracker Nutcracker I love you.&lt;br /&gt;Nutcracker Nutcracker crack my nut.&lt;br /&gt;Nutcracker Nutcracker thank you very much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Lauren&lt;/h3&gt;The nut&lt;br /&gt;Needs to be cracked&lt;br /&gt;By someone in blue&lt;br /&gt;And his name is John the Bomb&lt;br /&gt;And&lt;br /&gt;The cracker’s&lt;br /&gt;Name is Richy Itchy&lt;br /&gt;Richy Itchy cracked and John the Bomb helped&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Shaylene&lt;/h3&gt;Nutcracker oh Nutcracker&lt;br /&gt;Why oh Why did you have to be alive?&lt;br /&gt;I do not like you one bit&lt;br /&gt;Nutcracker oh Nutcracker&lt;br /&gt;Why oh Why do you have to be so mean?&lt;br /&gt;To those precious nut’s that you crack&lt;br /&gt;You hurt there feelings When you do that&lt;br /&gt;Nutcracker oh Nutcracker&lt;br /&gt;Why oh Why do you have to do that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;small&gt;Bad oh Nutcracker&lt;/small&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Ray&lt;/h3&gt;The nutcracker went to the mall bought his mom a house.  He went to go home and wrapped it. The nutcracker went to the mall bought his sister a car he went home wrapped it up and put it under the tree.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113408075326915037?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113408075326915037/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113408075326915037' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113408075326915037'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113408075326915037'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/12/nutcrackers.html' title='Nutcrackers'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113400093602514266</id><published>2005-12-07T18:12:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-07T18:17:56.373-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Boy Cried</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Tasha, 5th grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brian is always crying.  As soon as he steps out his front door he falls to the ground kicking his feet up in the air, screaming and hitting his fists on the ground.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just a while ago he was running up and down the street screaming his head off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He pulls his hair out when he runs.  He pulls his little sister’s off their bikes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When his eyes turn blood shot red he screams even louder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He is wearing a green shirt that is soaked by his tears, and his black pants are wet too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brian gives me a headache.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113400093602514266?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113400093602514266/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113400093602514266' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113400093602514266'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113400093602514266'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/12/boy-cried.html' title='The Boy Cried'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113390162769999297</id><published>2005-12-06T14:37:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-06T14:49:41.906-06:00</updated><title type='text'>In the News</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;I guess this is a &lt;b&gt;real&lt;/b&gt; blog now.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Tree Decorated by Okla. Students Removed&lt;/h3&gt;OKLAHOMA CITY - A Christmas tree that elementary school students decorated with discarded lottery tickets was removed from the state Capitol over the weekend after a lawmaker complained it was inappropriate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rep. Randy Terrill, who opposes the lottery, said he spotted the tree on Wednesday when it was erected as part of the governor's annual Christmas tree lighting ceremony. The Republican lawmaker called the Westwood Elementary School principal, who apologized and asked the governor's office to remove the tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sherry Fair, spokeswoman for Oklahoma City Public Schools, said the teachers and children did not intend to offend anyone. The teachers went to various convenience stores and got used lottery tickets, which were cut into various geometric shapes and placed on the tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"They had been studying about the lottery and understood that the lottery money benefits public schools," Fair said. "They came up with a theme about the gift of education."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Terrill said the principal had invited him to talk to students at the school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Paul Sund, a spokesman for Gov. Brad Henry, said the governor's office had nothing to do with decorating the tree and referred questions to the school district. The office of the state school superintendent selects the schools that decorate the trees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;You can read the principal's blog &lt;a href="http://drjansblog.blogspot.com/"&gt;here.&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The school's slogan, according to its &lt;a href="http://www.okcps.org/es/westwood/"&gt;website&lt;/a&gt;, is &lt;b&gt;The Hippest School In America.&lt;/b&gt;  Hmm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/Princi1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/Princi1.jpg" border="0" alt="The Hippest School in America" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/beck.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/beck.jpg" border="0" alt="The Hippest Beck in America" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More stories soon.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113390162769999297?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113390162769999297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113390162769999297' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113390162769999297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113390162769999297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/12/in-news.html' title='In the News'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113381510091764716</id><published>2005-12-05T14:34:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-11T18:20:14.636-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Venn Diagrams</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Ms. Marques' 3rd Grade Class&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/Venn%232%20alex%20y.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:center; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/Venn%232%20alex%20y.gif" border="0" width="460" alt="Mammals/Brown Things/Nocturnal" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/venn%20jared.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:center; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/venn%20jared.gif" width="460" border="0" alt="Knights/Flying Things" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/Venn%20eva.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:center; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/Venn%20eva.gif" width="460" border="0" alt="Pretty/Cutie" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113381510091764716?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113381510091764716/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113381510091764716' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113381510091764716'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113381510091764716'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/12/venn-diagrams.html' title='Venn Diagrams'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113373945808784653</id><published>2005-12-04T17:33:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-04T17:37:53.003-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A Day in the Life of a Nickel</title><content type='html'>&lt;h3&gt;Conor&lt;/h3&gt;Wesley was playing with the money in his piggy bank. He took out a shiny new nickel to play with.&lt;br /&gt;Wesley had a model airplane and he put the shiny nickel on it.&lt;br /&gt;he nickel was about to fly on a plane and he was afraid to fly!&lt;br /&gt;He went so high he could see the ceiling fan whirling around.&lt;br /&gt;Then the plane turned up side down and he fell out!&lt;br /&gt;A green thing was waiting for him when he hit the ground.&lt;br /&gt;It was a screaming pickle that had escaped from the pickle jar.  &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;The pickle ate the nickel!&lt;br /&gt;A ninja pickle beat up Screaming Pickle and crammed him back onto the jar.&lt;br /&gt;They lived happily ever after!&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;About the author: Conor is quite a character. He is a lot of fun when he is playing kickball.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Evyn&lt;/h3&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: Worst variation on that name ever.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once there was a nickel and the man who owned the nickel bought a pickle.&lt;br /&gt;       The nickel was sent to the bank.&lt;br /&gt;       A Japanese man robbed the bank and stole the nickel. &lt;br /&gt;       He wanted to buy a plane ticket and travel around the world. &lt;br /&gt;       The first place he went was Brazil. He wanted to study the wandering spider that lives there. He learned it was the most venomous bug known to man.&lt;br /&gt;   He then flew to Africa to study the goliath beetle. That is the largest beetle in the world.&lt;br /&gt;       Madagascar was his next destination. He landed and sought out the hissing cockroach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He learned that the breathing holes on his side are used to force air out with great pressure. That is what makes the famous hissing sound.&lt;br /&gt;       He went back to the United States to study the black widow spider. He had discovered that it spins a silk similar to caterpillars. They use it to wrap up their prey in sort of cocoon. The genetic code is different but the use is similar to the worms.&lt;br /&gt;Unbeknownst to him the police and scientist had genetically altered a spider. They had made it the size of an elephant! &lt;br /&gt;       The police knew he would be coming to town to study this newly discovered spider. They lured him to the zoo where the spider was in a huge cage.&lt;br /&gt;       The man wondered why a little spider would need such a large enclosure. But as he approached the cage the spider snuck up behind him!&lt;br /&gt;       The spider very quickly shot out a drag line and pulled the man to him. He wrapped him in silk and encased him in a cocoon. He then bit him, sucking his juices out. THE END!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;About the author: Evyn is bright and articulate as you can see by his wonderful story. Evyn loves to read both fiction and nonfiction books. He has a special interest in cockroaches and other bugs.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Kyle&lt;/h3&gt;I had a nickel and I bought a crunchy European pickle.&lt;br /&gt;Then I dropped it in the parking lot of Wal-Mart.  Something made a swashing sound and a car had run over it&lt;br /&gt;I picked it up. Then some one ran by and stole the pickle from me.  They took it back into Wal-Mart and returned it! &lt;br /&gt;The cashier dropped it! The wind blew it out of the store.&lt;br /&gt;A tornado picked it up and catapulted it into orbit. &lt;br /&gt;The pickle was never seen again.&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;About the author: Kyle has a wonderful imagination. He is creative and very intelligent. Kyle has a terrific personality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Note: The fates of all these pickles is kind of disturbing.  Someone's family must need them.&lt;br /&gt;...inside joke.  Zing!)&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113373945808784653?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113373945808784653/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113373945808784653' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113373945808784653'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113373945808784653'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/12/day-in-life-of-nickel.html' title='A Day in the Life of a Nickel'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113363683148485639</id><published>2005-12-03T13:06:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-03T13:07:11.543-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Air Walking People with Flying Cars</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by José&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One sunny morning I was walking across the street and it was deserted. I had looked everywhere except up so I looked up and I saw everybody walking on air. I said, “What are they doing up there?!?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This cool looking Mexican guy said, “I don’t know, I think it is the new shoes that are being sold at Payless.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“No way! I said, “I am going to buy some of those shoes so I could fly. Watch me! I am going to be doing back flips, front flips, cartwheels, and all types of tricks. Too bad they don’t make cars that fly too. If they did I would be so happy I would do anything to get one.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“They are also being sold at Kid’s Foot Locker for $5.00.” Then I turned around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I turned back, I saw the cool looking Mexican guy had a flying car. I was following him to know where he bought the car, but the car was too fast. I kept looking for 5 days and 5 nights then I gave up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the cool looking Mexican guy just popped out of nowhere. He said, "Meet me at the downtown mall. Don’t tell anyone I am here, and hurry up. I will be waiting tomorrow at midnight."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said “O.K.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next morning I said to myself, "What does he want me for? Maybe he wants to give me the flying car. No maybe it is because he is going to tell me were to buy the car. Maybe he makes the cars. Well I need to go.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few minutes later he got there. He yelled out “Hello! Anybody here?” He turned around and saw something move, so I turned back and I saw him in my face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked him, “What do you want me for?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He said, “I am the one who makes the shoes and the cars. Don’t tell anyone or you will be sorry”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Yes I guessed right!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The end&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113363683148485639?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113363683148485639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113363683148485639' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113363683148485639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113363683148485639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/12/air-walking-people-with-flying-cars.html' title='Air Walking People with Flying Cars'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113345758846144607</id><published>2005-12-01T11:19:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-01T11:19:48.520-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Fat Lip</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Gabe T.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ha Ha Ha! You’re it! Some friends and I were playing tricks. I got out my belt and became a cowboy. I started doing ninja stuff and pretended to use nunchucks. I swung it around my neck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wham! Next thing I knew I got a nasty taste in my mouth. I spit it out. I had a bunch of blood in my mouth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I went to my bathroom to get a washcloth and get all of the blood off my face. I looked at my lip. I had a hole through my lip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I went to school the next day, everybody teased me. When I got back home, all my friends teased me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A week later I didn’t have a fat lip. All of the friends that teased me had fat lips.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113345758846144607?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113345758846144607/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113345758846144607' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113345758846144607'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113345758846144607'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/12/fat-lip.html' title='The Fat Lip'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113339172239346185</id><published>2005-11-30T17:01:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-30T17:02:02.443-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Day of the Mystery</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Candace&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It all started when I went into bed. I heard someone yell across the street over the thunder. Although it was loud, I heard light screaming in the distance. It sounded as if it was a girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly, I heard someone yell help. I dashed out of bed. I put on my raincoat and hat and boots. I ran a far distance and looked through a window. There all it was the stabbing of the runaway stabber. His clothes were dark black.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You nasty old critter, I got you now!” I said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Hey, son, I heard there was a stabbing.” said the police captain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“ Yes, sir, there is, up the hall and to the bedroom.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“ Thanks, son,”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Yep.” I answered. “ Man, they’re fast.” I thought to myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Son, do you know how to dust for fingerprints?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“ Yes, sir .”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You do?”said the chief.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“It’s a cool mystery. Let’s get back on the story. As I was going to say... Hey! Here it is!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Lifeguard, lifeguard,” said Fred.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Lifeguard? What is that?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“That is someone who saves someone’s life. We’re dealing with police.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Hey, son did you say you know how to dust for fingerprints?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Yes, sir I do.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Good, you found out who the stabber is.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“The stabber is Mr. Wattigin.” I said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;The End&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113339172239346185?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113339172239346185/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113339172239346185' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113339172239346185'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113339172239346185'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/11/day-of-mystery.html' title='The Day of the Mystery'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113330080634392244</id><published>2005-11-29T15:40:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-30T20:28:40.723-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Mystery of the Meanest Teacher</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Jordanne&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Note: I've been home for Thanksgiving this last week.  I'm sorry for the lack of updates.  Since some of you were probably worried all weekend trying to figure out the mystery of where I was, today's story is a &lt;b&gt;mystery&lt;/b&gt;...apparently.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Also note: The capitalization is the author's.)&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THERE WAS A BOARDING SCHOOL IN INDIA. THEY HAD THE MEANEST TEACHER EVER. HER NAME WAS MISS MADCOW. I WONDERED IF SHE WAS A MAD COW? IF THE STUDENTS STOMPED THEIR FEET, THEY HAD TO GO TO THE ATTIC WITH THE VENUS FLYTRAPS, LOCUSTS, ANTS, SNAKES AND WOLVES. IF THEY CHEWED GUM IN CLASS, SHE WOULD CUT THEIR HEADS OFF AND MAKE A GLOBE OUT OF IT. THE ATTENDANCE CHART WAS THEIR HEADS. THEY HAVE TO WRITE A STATE ON IT. IF THEY DON’T KNOW A STATE THEY HAVE TO WRITE A 500 WORD ESSAY.&lt;br /&gt;IT IS NOW THE BEGINING OF THE YEAR. HERE I GO TO ROOM # 106. NOW THE BELL IS RINGING. .I’M WALKING IN THE DOOR.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“ARE YOU REALLY MISS MADCOW?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“YES.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“YOU LOOK BETTER THAN I THOUGHT YOU WOULD.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“THANK YOU,” SAID MISS MADCOW.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WE NEVER HAD TO WRITE AN ESSAY OR DRAW A STATE ON OUR HEADS. NOTHING FROM THE FIRST PARAGRAPH EVER HAPPENED.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;THE END&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113330080634392244?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113330080634392244/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113330080634392244' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113330080634392244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113330080634392244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/11/mystery-of-meanest-teacher.html' title='The Mystery of the Meanest Teacher'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113252547437378022</id><published>2005-11-20T16:24:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-20T16:24:34.390-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A Thanksgiving Story</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by T.J., second grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The hunter's family was hunting. The hunter heard a gobble. They saw the turkey. "Bang!" went the gun. He hunters ate the turkey. Then the hunters hunted again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113252547437378022?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113252547437378022/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113252547437378022' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113252547437378022'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113252547437378022'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/11/thanksgiving-story.html' title='A Thanksgiving Story'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113243192687124916</id><published>2005-11-19T14:15:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-23T06:02:28.636-06:00</updated><title type='text'>If I Were Johnny Appleseed, or: The Most Poorly Thought Out Assignment Ever</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;Just what exactly did Mrs. Zider expect her first graders to say?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;table&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/0%2C2306%2CIL-39624%2C00.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/0%2C2306%2CIL-39624%2C00.jpg" border="0" width="240" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/0%2C2306%2CIL-39623%2C00.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/0%2C2306%2CIL-39623%2C00.jpg" width="240" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;If I were Johnny Appleseed I would plant seeds of apple trees.&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;If I were Johnny Appleseed I would plant apple trees.&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/0%2C2306%2CIL-39469%2C00.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/0%2C2306%2CIL-39469%2C00.jpg" width="240" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/0%2C2306%2CIL-39640%2C00.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/0%2C2306%2CIL-39640%2C00.jpg" width="240" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;If I were Johnny Appleseed I would plant trees.&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;If I were Johnny Appleseed I would eat the apples.&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/0%2C2306%2CIL-39636%2C00.jpg"&gt;&lt;img  src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/0%2C2306%2CIL-39636%2C00.jpg" border="0" width="240" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/0%2C2306%2CIL-39634%2C00.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/0%2C2306%2CIL-39634%2C00.jpg" width="240" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;If I were Johnny Appleseed I would do the same thing he did like make friends with animals.&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;If I were Johnny Appleseed I would go to New York and every place.&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: One of those is not a pot.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113243192687124916?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113243192687124916/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113243192687124916' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113243192687124916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113243192687124916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/11/if-i-were-johnny-appleseed-or-most.html' title='If I Were Johnny Appleseed, or: The Most Poorly Thought Out Assignment Ever'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113236091514152210</id><published>2005-11-18T18:39:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-18T18:41:55.156-06:00</updated><title type='text'>If I Were the President... pt. 3</title><content type='html'>&lt;h3&gt;Zac&lt;/h3&gt;If I were president I would go in a pool and do all my work from there. Then I would eat my yummy breakfast and do the rest of my work. And at 11:00 I would go take a nap and at 12:00 I would go eat lunch and go back in the pool. At 5:00 I would eat and do all the rest of my work and then go to bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Andrew&lt;/h3&gt;If I were the president I would make speeches like Martin Luther King did. My knees would shake a little. I would have a lot of money, so I would buy a lot of horses. It would be scary when I make speeches because pretty much everybody in the world is watching me. I would have Scottie dogs and Golden Retrievers. I could learn some history from the pictures on the wall and my mom and dad would be so happy because I made president. I could of goten vice-president. I would be okay with signing autographs. I would save some of my money for the hospitals so they would have more supplies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Cayla&lt;/h3&gt;If I were the president on my first day I would be in the office. In the office there are computers and telephones. My office will have some magic ones to help me write. Then I will use them to make wonderful speeches. Everybody will be happy. I will be the first black woman president.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Teresa&lt;/h3&gt;If I were president I would follow the laws. I would make the world a better place and I would have a big meeting and when the meeting was over everyone would be at peace and have no war. Then I would swim in the pool and jump off the diving board. Then I would go in my office and think of what I did that day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Ian&lt;/h3&gt;If I were president I would be a good president but I am only 7 years old. I would have 5 football fields, 2 baseball fields, 1 swimming pool, and 3 theaters. If kids wanted to come, they could. Grown ups could have lots of money and jobs.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113236091514152210?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113236091514152210/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113236091514152210' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113236091514152210'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113236091514152210'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/11/if-i-were-president-pt-3.html' title='If I Were the President... pt. 3'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113229133936743220</id><published>2005-11-17T23:15:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-17T23:27:09.860-06:00</updated><title type='text'>If I Were the President... pt. 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;h3&gt;Emilie&lt;/h3&gt;If I were president...I would give everybody in the war $200 if they stopped the war. I would give to the poor money and clothes. I would work hard plus help people solve their problems. I would love to give Santa a break and deliver presents to children!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Frances&lt;/h3&gt;If I were president and it was my first day being president, I would look at what the laws are. After that I would write a speech just in case I would have to give a speech. Making a speech would take a very long time I think. I would put more paint on the White House. I would love to be president.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Adam&lt;/h3&gt;If I were president I would say no war! My animals would be...121 horses to pull me in a wagon. The buffalo would guard my Whiite House and some hens. The hens would give me eggs. I would also have a Golden Retriever, a Rotwiler, Scottish Terriers, and a Saint Bernard. I would also wash my White House once a week. I love it!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Mikey&lt;/h3&gt;If I were president I would say every kid could have as many game systems as they wanted and the game system that they wanted for work. I would bowl. Everytime I didn't get a strike, I would change some laws like anybody could vote as long as they were in school and you could at least be married to run for president.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Final installment tomorrow...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113229133936743220?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113229133936743220/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113229133936743220' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113229133936743220'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113229133936743220'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/11/if-i-were-president-pt-2.html' title='If I Were the President... pt. 2'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113219689561722220</id><published>2005-11-16T21:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-17T23:24:02.296-06:00</updated><title type='text'>If I Were the President...</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;Opinions by Ms. Marshall's 2nd Grade Class&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Wolfie&lt;/h3&gt;If I were president I would visit schools every now and then. My name would be William R. A new coin would be a 75 cent coin that I would invent. I would be on the front of the new coin. I woud make a new law that you can marry when you are 5 years old. I would be great!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Jonathan&lt;/h3&gt;If I were president I would do a lot of paper work. It would be hard. Then I would go to a meeting for 9 hours. Then I would eat. Then I would go to my private room and go to another meeting and go to bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Julia&lt;/h3&gt;I would be the first lady president president and I would be very busy. I would be happy because the White House has stables, a bowling alley, a swimming pool, and the best stationary. I would work hard but I am happy with all of the best of the best! But, I have so much stuff I would gve some of it to the people who need it. I love being prsident.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: Stationery!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Cassie&lt;/h3&gt;If I were president I and it was my first day, I would make a team to work for me. They would give an announcement to the town. They would say there is a new president. Then they would come back to me. I would say, "Good Work!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;More tomorrow...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113219689561722220?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113219689561722220/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113219689561722220' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113219689561722220'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113219689561722220'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/11/if-i-were-president.html' title='If I Were the President...'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113209170554721526</id><published>2005-11-15T15:53:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-15T15:59:29.796-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Swan Lake</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Joanna, first grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/joanna1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/joanna1.jpg" border="0" alt="Swan Lake" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Once upon a time there was a swan named Snow.  She loved to dance.  Tomorrow is Monday, the day she goes on the stage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Snow could not dance good because she did not have her dancing shoes.   Then a frog came over and brought her shoes. Snow danced good. She was happy and kissed the frog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The frog turned into a handsome prince. They got married and lived in a magic castle for 160 years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: So the frog is a prince...but she's still a swan, right?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113209170554721526?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113209170554721526/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113209170554721526' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113209170554721526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113209170554721526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/11/swan-lake.html' title='Swan Lake'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113200698433598513</id><published>2005-11-14T16:16:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-14T16:25:47.050-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Ms. Ross's First Grade, pt. 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;h3&gt;Kodie's story&lt;/h3&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/pickodie.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/200/pickodie.jpg" border="0" alt="It is almost Earth Day." /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are five days in a week. There are two days we do not have school. It is almost Earth Day. There are nine days until Earth Day. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Liza's story&lt;/h3&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/picliza.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/200/picliza.jpg" border="0" alt="His mom had babies!" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My dog lost his bone. He went to the park. He kept looking and looking. He didn't find it. So he just went home. He found it under the bed but when he went to the home, his mom had babies!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;James's story&lt;/h3&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/picjames.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/200/picjames.jpg" border="0" alt="They can't get me." /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I see a tyrannosarus rex. He is going to eat me! Now I see a brachiosarus. Now I see a pterosaur. They are after me! I should run. They can't get me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113200698433598513?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113200698433598513/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113200698433598513' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113200698433598513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113200698433598513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/11/ms-rosss-first-grade-pt-2.html' title='Ms. Ross&apos;s First Grade, pt. 2'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113189894482071920</id><published>2005-11-13T10:15:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-13T10:38:21.466-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Ms. Ross's First Grade</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/picanthony.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/200/picanthony.jpg" border="0" alt="The Tyrannosaurus" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;h3&gt;The Tyrannosaurus&lt;/h3&gt;&lt;i&gt;by Anthony&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The tyrannosaurus likes meat. The tyrannosaurs found his mother! They all ate meat together. &lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Zachary's story&lt;/h3&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/piczachary.1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/200/piczachary.0.jpg" border="0" alt="Easter Eggs" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like Ms. Ross because she did help everybody. I like Easter Eggs. The Easter Eggs are in the water. They have to be found.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113189894482071920?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113189894482071920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113189894482071920' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113189894482071920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113189894482071920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/11/ms-rosss-first-grade.html' title='Ms. Ross&apos;s First Grade'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113181187680241506</id><published>2005-11-12T10:08:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-13T10:35:32.336-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Three Little Pigs</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;retold by Zachary M., Mrs. Stein's second grade&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day John, Bill, and Jack made one house for all of them one piece of the house was made out straw and the other piece brick one pig got a splinter because one piece of the house was made out of wood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A wolf came, the streams were clogged. He died in the desert. The three pigs came back from their vacation from Orlando Florida. They went digging in the desert.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then they went in a pyramid, they saw something shiny. They saw a diamond stuck in the wall. They looked at it with a flashlight to look at the diamond better. The diamond brought to life a wolf.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; One pig said, “Holy cow, milk.” The other pig said, “Ah, I can take him.” The last pig said, “What a hologram!” The wolf blew fire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;John said “Don’t worry, we have nine lives. Wait, that’s a cat.” One pig found a torch and burned him. The wolf ran away saying “Ouch.” &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The three pigs had a great vacation in Orlando Florida. The pigs had a bad thing. The bad thing was that three wolves were in Orlando Florida.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One pig said, “Here we go again.” Bill said, “Want to go to Mexico?” Jack said, “Yeah, let’s go to Mexico!” But then they saw two wolves. Jack said, “Lets ignore them.” They all agreed, “Yes.”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113181187680241506?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113181187680241506/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113181187680241506' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113181187680241506'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113181187680241506'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/11/three-little-pigs.html' title='The Three Little Pigs'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113165910564619422</id><published>2005-11-10T15:35:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-10T15:46:10.593-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Mrs. Meyer's K-1 class</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;These kids are definitely their teacher's students.  The front page of Mrs. Meyer's website features a picture of Bill Clinton giving a thumbs-up and says:&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THUMBS UP, OAK RIDGE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My students often hear me say, "Thumbs Up". It's my special way of reminding my students of my high expectations for them. "Thumbs up" also tells my students that they are SUPERSTARS!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;And now, the stories:&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Mom&lt;/h3&gt;My Mom told the client to "Get up and get your sweater and put it on." And my Mom said, "That bus ain't going to wait for you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Peacocks&lt;/h3&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/grntky.GIF.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="fl10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/grntky.GIF.gif" border="0" alt="Peacocks" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peacocks are blue peacocks. These are birds in Africa. They are big birds. And, (I think) they eat fish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;The Shark&lt;/h3&gt;I went to Disney World. I got scared when I saw a shark. I went somewhere else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Vixon&lt;/h3&gt;A vixen is a fox. He lives in grass. The fox lives in the United States of America. He lives in tall grass. He is orange and brown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;My Brother&lt;/h3&gt;I went to the hairdresser and my brother ran around the hairdresser. I (was) mad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113165910564619422?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113165910564619422/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113165910564619422' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113165910564619422'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113165910564619422'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/11/mrs-meyers-k-1-class.html' title='Mrs. Meyer&apos;s K-1 class'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113148789226571176</id><published>2005-11-08T16:00:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-08T16:15:23.986-06:00</updated><title type='text'>What If Hercules Were Alive Today......?</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;Mrs. Stryksy and Mr. Kramer's fourth graders answer this important question.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Alexis&lt;/h3&gt;If Hercules was still alive I would ask him to fish, hunt , and weave for the Indians to help them live. Or I would ask him to make houses, plant corn, and get a life supply of food so the Indians can live like real people. This is important because if you do not now how to live than you can not live at all. I would also ask Hercules to make a school all children need an education. I wish Hercules was alive to do these things to help the Indians.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Kyle K.&lt;/h3&gt;If Hercules were alive today I would give him an impossible mission to build the Twin Towers but stronger and more powerful. He could do that by lifting all the steel bars in place and he could do everything else like put the walls up. He could do it faster than regular people do it and by himself too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hercules would also help the army, navy, and the air force by capturing the Taliban. He can do that by trapping the people by throwing boulders around the caves that they are hiding in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If there is a volcano erupting he can save the people and make sure the lava doesn’t hit any buildings like gas stations. He can do that by putting boulders around the lava as it flows out from the volcano.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If there’s a tornado Hercules can put a big piece of wood in the middle of the tornado to make sure no one gets hurt and if anything breaks he can fix it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Scott&lt;/h3&gt;If Hercules was alive today, he could put Mount Everest in the hole of the most dangerous volcano in Hawaii, Mount Mona Luau. He would lift up Mount Everest and stick the point in the hole of Mount Mona Luau. If Mount Mona Luau blew up, Mount Everest would go straight up in the air and fall back in Mount Mona Luau. Some time later, since Mount Everest is so cold, it would make all the magma in Mount Mona Luau freeze. Then Hercules would put Mount Everest back were it was. Hercules would carve a highway underneath the mountain. He would be in all the newspapers like the New York Times. He would be famous in the United States of America, Brazil, Australia, Antarctica, China, and Russia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;James&lt;/h3&gt;If Hercules was alive today an impossible task he would be given is to build a dam through the ocean. He might solve it by gathering wood and having 3 million people helping him. He could get the wood by cutting down trees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Rachel&lt;/h3&gt;If Hercules were alive today, I would tell him to go try to put a computer together or try to use one. But he would not know how he would use it, or why he would want or how.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So he would try to find a person to help him, but nobody would help him until he got to a place where he saw a big and beautiful house. So he knocked on the door and a teenager opened it. He asked if she would teach him how to use a computer. “Yes,” she said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hercules said that he would get all the things they needed for tomorrow. Then he went to the girl’s house to pick her up and get to work. When he got there they worked on putting it together for hours. Finally they finished. The Hercules asked what the girl’s name was and she said Anna. Then she asked what his name was and he said Hercules. Then he told her that his master told him to make a computer and when hew was done to bring it to him. So they did. His master was very pleased.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Graham&lt;/h3&gt;If Hercules were alive today he would be assigned from the president to tackle the terrorist and criminals. He would put them under extreme super vision. Hercules and Martin Luther King would team up and try to get people from other countries to like each other. Martin Luther King and Hercules could also make people feel happy again especially after the September 11th tragedy in the United States!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;Josh&lt;/h3&gt;If Hercules were alive today, I would ask him to help with the problems of global warming. One way he might help would be to gather up all the icebergs and put them back in the Arctic. Maybe he can take one of them and put it in the world where there is a drought.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113148789226571176?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113148789226571176/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113148789226571176' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113148789226571176'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113148789226571176'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/11/what-if-hercules-were-alive-today.html' title='What If Hercules Were Alive Today......?'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113138916179432302</id><published>2005-11-07T12:44:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-15T17:17:19.406-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A couple of good moral lessons from students of Mrs. Stumbo's class</title><content type='html'>&lt;h3&gt;A Lion Named Molo&lt;/h3&gt;&lt;i&gt;by Jordan&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day there was a lion named Molo. Molo he looks nice. Molo is real big. He lived in the jungle. Molo had a problem. Nobody liked him because everybody thinks he is crazy! He started to put on cool clothes and became cool. He feels happy! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;A Lion Named Tiara&lt;/h3&gt;&lt;i&gt;by Teantra&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day there was a lion named Tiara. She was a girl. She was medium in size. She has a pretty body. She lives in the forest. She has no boyfriend and she wants one. Finally, she puts on make up and she got a boyfriend. I picked this story because I am reminded of my friend Tiara she is the best friend in the world.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113138916179432302?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113138916179432302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113138916179432302' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113138916179432302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113138916179432302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/11/couple-of-good-moral-lessons-from.html' title='A couple of good moral lessons from students of Mrs. Stumbo&apos;s class'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113130681080915619</id><published>2005-11-06T13:51:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-06T13:53:30.826-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Buster's Bad Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Autumn&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Buster is a dog. He has a seeing disability. That means he can't see. One day, Buster was walking home when he tripped over something. "Oh, my shoe strings." he whimpered. "Excuse me mam, but can you please help me tie my shoes?" he asked politely to someone he sensed in front of him. "Buzz off!" said the lady rudely. Then he realized she was gone. Buster just smiled and sat on a bench at a bus stop. "I'll just wait for my bus."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/buster.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/buster.jpg" border="0" alt="'Buzz off!'" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;5 minutes later,.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hey! That's my seat!" said a mean bully.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, of course, how silly of me!" "Here, take it." Buster said in a sad voice. He stumbled all the way home in bed. He layed there and thought for a moment. Then he said, "Goldie (his gold fish) I had a bad day today, but there will always be others."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With that in his mind, he drifted off to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The moral of the story: Make what you can with what you have!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113130681080915619?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113130681080915619/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113130681080915619' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113130681080915619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113130681080915619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/11/busters-bad-day.html' title='Buster&apos;s Bad Day'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113120502871088406</id><published>2005-11-05T09:36:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-05T09:37:08.723-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Two Dogs That Were Lost</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;by Darran, 2nd grader&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day there were two dogs named Vicious and Giant. One day they were loose and the door was open. They ran out the door. They ran into the jungle.  Four men came to kill the dogs but the dogs ran away. The men never ever caught them. Vicious and Giant lived happily ever after. Vicious said to Giant, "I love you".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Best ending ever.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113120502871088406?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113120502871088406/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113120502871088406' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113120502871088406'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113120502871088406'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/11/two-dogs-that-were-lost.html' title='The Two Dogs That Were Lost'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113114171635772914</id><published>2005-11-04T16:01:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-04T16:03:48.580-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Ivy</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;By a student in Mrs. Maxwell's Second Grade class.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a story about Ivy. She loved to travel. She helps her family. She loves the airport. She is a member of a club. Ivy traveled around the world. Ivy saw a princess. She saw some fish. Ivy saw a restaurant. Ivy took a bath. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The End&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;hr&gt;&lt;b&gt;Comment from her classmate:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think this is a wonderful story. Very well written, imaginative and well thought out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113114171635772914?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113114171635772914/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113114171635772914' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113114171635772914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113114171635772914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/11/ivy.html' title='Ivy'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113107661389915956</id><published>2005-11-03T21:53:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-04T16:04:17.603-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A Kid That Turned Into a Wolf</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;By a student in Mrs. Maxwell's Second Grade class.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once upon a time, there was a kid that turned into a wolf at night. He had a friend named Tim. One day, at midnight, he went into the woods on skaters. He fell in the river. He found somebody with a hat and a stick. He said, "Whooooooo are you?" He told the wolf-boy that his parents died. And then he said, "I am your grandfather." He was a wolf, too! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He went to school. He went to P.E., then he turned his hand into a wolf-claw. He climbed the longest. He had enemies at his school. He is smart, too. Then he saw Superman and Batman and Spiderman. Then he became famous and rich. He was funny. He said, "Batman is mean." He had a fist. Then he pointed up and his thumb went the other way. Superman said, "Loser," and everybody laughed and laughed and said, "Auuuug."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The End&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;hr&gt;&lt;b&gt;Comments posted by his classmates:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aliyou your story was great espeially when the boy had that wolf claw all of the famous characters you named I have seen I have seen all of their movies the character i feel sorry for is christopher reeves (superman) when he fell of that horse anyway your story was great I will be hoping to read your classes stories keep up the good thinking and stories students in ms Maxwell class&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i like your story&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;you should be a author and write books&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;great thinking&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;put your mind into stories and books you could be a legend&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your story is non saying it is of the hook&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cant say nothing but your story was great&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113107661389915956?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113107661389915956/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113107661389915956' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113107661389915956'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113107661389915956'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/11/kid-that-turned-into-wolf.html' title='A Kid That Turned Into a Wolf'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113096279652855214</id><published>2005-11-02T14:16:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-02T14:20:30.673-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Dweller of the Cave</title><content type='html'>Nicholas Krause has written to me in an e-mail, alerting me to an amazing song for grade school level choir:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;Evan,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Click on the link, scroll to the bottom and listen to the clip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a song that I remember singing in elementary school.  It first debuted in fourth grade around Halloween.  It was an immediate hit in Mrs. Benett's music class.  As I remember everybody though it was a pretty awesome song.  We sang it again in fifth grade, and until looking up this link I hadn't heard it since then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My younger brothers also had the pleasure of singing this in elementary school.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Listen to &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.musick8.com/store/alphadetail.tpl?cart=333361359696850&amp;productgroup=364"&gt;Dweller of the Cave.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113096279652855214?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113096279652855214/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113096279652855214' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113096279652855214'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113096279652855214'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/11/dweller-of-cave.html' title='Dweller of the Cave'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113082422566589608</id><published>2005-10-31T23:37:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-03T22:24:28.696-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Halloween Stories, pt. 3: Ms. Lesher's Fifth Grade class</title><content type='html'>These stories were apparently begun by one student and then passed on to a new student to write each paragraph.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;&lt;b&gt;'Cher's Halloween'&lt;/b&gt; begun by Caitlin C.&lt;/h3&gt;Once upon a time there was a girl named Cher. It was Halloween night and it was cold, rainy, and dark like every Halloween. I had just gotten my costume on to go trick or treating. My friend Amber came to my house so that we could go trick or treating. When Amber got here she said, "Are you ready?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said, "Yeah." First we went to my neighbor's house but no one was home. It was weird because they said they would be home. So we went to the next house. No one was there either. We went to every house on the block and no one was home. We went to every house on the next block and no one was there either. Finally all the people on the block after that were all home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The curfew was 7:00 and it was 7:30 so we had to go. When we got home our parents weren't there. It was weird. We went into the kitchen and my mom and dad were bleeding to death. We both screamed. We called the paramedics. When they came, they took Amber and me to the hospital. Finally, my parents came back, but they were still in a coma. Three days later, they both came back. But there still is an unsolved mystery that Amber and I will never forget!!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;&lt;b&gt;'A Scary Squirrely Tale'&lt;/b&gt; begun by Jeffrey S.&lt;/h3&gt;Lightning flashed, thunder roared as the squirrel got torn limb from limb. But the cat gave no mercy. I TOLD YOU NOT TO ENTER THE BACKYARD.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hi, I'm Joey, the Squirrel. I got killed by a stupid cat. But when I was growing up, one of them was baby-sitting me. I figured that he wasn't very mature. So I tricked him and that was my first trick ever. Now, that I'm dead it's easy to trick them. So nowadays whenever I see a cat , I run and scare the daylights out of them. My brother got eaten by one of those evil cats. He got eaten by a Siamese cat so he died for good. I, on the other hand, got eaten by an alley cat so I'm a ghost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So If you bother any squirrels you better &lt;i&gt;&lt;u&gt;watch out&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/i&gt; because I`ll get you!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;&lt;b&gt;'The Spooky Haunted House'&lt;/b&gt; begun by Catherine M.&lt;/h3&gt;Last Halloween I went to a haunted house. When I knocked on the door a very spooky mummy opened the door. It grabbed me and pulled me into the door. I turned around and it was gone. The house looked kind of spooky to me, and after that mummy grabbed me I got kind of freaked out. So I ran to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked. I decided to look around the house and see if there was anyone home, or if there was a telephone I could use.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First I entered the dining room. At least I think that it was the dining room. I mean for all I know it could have been the basement! It looked hideous!!! The new kid at school grabbed me by the throat and kept saying, "You are now my girlfriend."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said, "NO! NO! NO! I am eighteen years old and I don't want a boyfriend like you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later that evening in a small cramped room he said, "You will never leave this house again!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh well," I said as I fell into a sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly I woke up. I walked outside, nothing stopped me. It almost seemed like a bad dream. Maybe it was. No! It couldn't be if it was too real. Then I had an idea. Maybe the whole thing was part of the haunted house. I decided it was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the next day in school, he came up to me and said, "Next Halloween I will get you." I ran home as soon as school had ended. First I convinced my mom that we needed to move. That wasn't hard. My mom never had liked the neighborhood. Then that night we both convinced my dad. The next month we moved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My new neighborhood is fine, But I still remember last Halloween. It was the scariest Halloween I have had.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;&lt;b&gt;'Deadly Halloween'&lt;/b&gt; begun by Ariana B.&lt;/h3&gt;It was a dark scary night and, I was all alone. Suddenly I heard a rapping at my door!!! I saw a headless person outside my door. Blood was oozing out of a big cut on his neck. I was really scared, so I shut the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went inside my room because my parents weren't home. I was laying down and I heard another noise. It came from my window.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was about to close my drapes and a ghost came up and screamed, "Beware, Beware stay away from the Old Messerman Place."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I was reading a story about a house called the old Messerman place. Just then the doorbell rang. I jumped! It was just my brother's girlfriend, Janet. I'm not fond of her but she seems to like me. She came to eat dinner here. And then she and my brother Steve were going out to the movies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am bored to death now, and things just got worse because mom told me that Steve and Janet were taking me trick-or-treating when they came back from the movies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Janet arrived, she said she would kill me and Steve if we did not give her 100,000 million dollars. But we did not have the money so I took a knife and slashed her neck off. The next second she died.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later that night I thought about what happened, at first I felt bad then I felt HAPPY! It felt good and bad at the same time. Then a cold wind went by me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day I was expecting my parents to come home from their vacation. They didn't. Since I didn't know that, I got so anxious that I made food, decorated the house, and all those other things. My parents came home latter that night. Their plane had been very late. The next morning we had a big breakfast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;&lt;b&gt;'Chain Saw'&lt;/b&gt; begun by Chirag B.&lt;/h3&gt;It was a dark stormy night at Chicago Lab School. I was all alone at the front of Blaine Hall. Suddenly I heard a noise that sounded like a chain saw, but I wasn't sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I followed the sound and it took me outside. Right then I saw a man with a chain saw get struck by lightning. I had not realized it was lightning. Suddenly he came back to life. I was so scared I didn't even scream. Instead I fainted. When I woke up, I was in land where there was no light. There was nothing it seemed like. There was a mist all around me and the single weeping willow. Then I saw something move. It was purple vomit!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! Then it said something, "Yummie!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later that day I saw some of that stuff and looked at it for a long time. Carefully coming up to it, I touched it, yuck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It moved around and around me, and then took the shape of a furball, it bounced around making weird sounds, friend, yip yip yap, yip yip yap. "What the??"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stuck my hand near it. "Arrrrr, ccrrr," it said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"OWW!! You bit me!!" I tried it's language, "Woy."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It said something. ''Leave or die. I will hunt you down anyway".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly I remembered that my dad had given me a knife for my 11th birthday. I took it out of my pocket and stabbed the guy, but he didn't even get hurt. Suddenly I realized I was having a dream and woke up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;&lt;b&gt;'Attack of the Hamburgers Story'&lt;/b&gt; begun by Octavian C.&lt;/h3&gt;&lt;i&gt;Note: This story deserves to be included if only for the reference to the Arch Deluxe&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a dark night and I was all alone. Then all of a sudden a giant hamburger jumped out. It was big.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got out my machine gun and shot it right between the eyes. Then it got mad and shot out ten chicken nuggets. I started running. It threw two huge ketchup bottles. They crashed on top of me. Then came an arch deluxe (without fries). It ate me up. I smelled the nasty smell of BACON. Since I still had a rifle I shot a hole in its side and crawled out. It was dead so I broke off a chunk since I was hungry and ate it with extra ketchup.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I finished eating, the monster hamburger turned me into the monster!!!! I ate everything in site as I became bigger, and bigger. I went outside. I started eating people. (They tasted pretty good too.) I ate more and more until I had eaten almost everybody in town. I felt kind of ashamed of myself so.... I barfed them all up. Then a HUGE burp came out. I felt better. After I burped I went back to normal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got home I went to sleep. I had dreams about the Arch Deluxe, the hamburger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day I got chased by french fries. When I got to a telephone I called my friend Jerry. When he got here I gave him a pill that made him get machine guns, bombs, grenades, and med kits. Then we shot the french fries to Satan. (AIR MIAL!) Then a hash brown jumped down near Jerry. Jerry shot it. Then all of a sudden a XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXL Big Mac jumped out and ate Jerry. It ate me too. After that all the hamburgers invaded the planet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113082422566589608?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113082422566589608/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113082422566589608' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113082422566589608'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113082422566589608'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/10/halloween-stories-pt-3-ms-leshers.html' title='Halloween Stories, pt. 3: Ms. Lesher&apos;s Fifth Grade class'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113070929536113074</id><published>2005-10-30T15:51:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-03T22:01:04.830-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Halloween Stories, pt. 2: Ms. Kennedy's Second Grade class</title><content type='html'>&lt;h3&gt;&lt;b&gt;Elsa the Witch&lt;/b&gt; by Mercedes H.&lt;/h3&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/halloween_4.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/halloween_4.gif" border="0" alt="Elsa the Witch" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;There once was a witch. Her name was Elsa. She was a very bad witch. She would pick on another witch about her toes. Elsa would scare kids by jumping in their window.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day her best friend didn't want to be her friend anymore. She was sad. Soon she had to go to witch school to learn her manners. She learned to be nice and respect others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soon she had to learn how to drive a car. Then her friend was proud of her. Then they were friends again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;&lt;b&gt;Haunted Mansion&lt;/b&gt; by Adrian G.&lt;/h3&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/halloween_6.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/halloween_6.gif" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;There was a creepy haunted mansion. In the walls there were creepy spiders, mummies, and zombies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The upstairs had broken windows. It was dark and filled with shadows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a key that opened a secret door and secret passages.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One night the ghosts were eating cookies and milk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Vampires were sleeping until the ghosts woke up the Vampires. The Vampires tried to bite the ghosts, but they always fell down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the ghosts finished their milk and cookies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;&lt;b&gt;The Girl Who Freed the People in the Eerie Haunted House&lt;/b&gt; by Yessenia M.&lt;/h3&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/halloween_2.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/halloween_2.gif" border="0" alt="The Girl Who Freed the People in the Eerie Haunted House" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Once there was a nice pleasant house. A mother, a father, and their daughter lived there. But one day a volcano erupted. The family escaped just in time. The house was ruined.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Five years Later, a witch found the house. "I will be Queen of this house, she cackled. The windows were broken, there were at least One hundred spiders and cobwebs. There was a graveyard. It was the perfect place for a witch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A week later she told one hundred ghosts about all her witch friends and forty bats. The bats, witches, and ghosts built more rooms in the house. They named it Eery Hanuted House. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fifty people, thinking the Haunted House was pretend, went in there. But the ghosts pushed them down the stairs while the bats blinded themand the witches took them tothe Witch Queen. Then she locked them in a coffin. They will never escape thought the witch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Four years later, the girl who used to live there, now sixteen, came to the house. The ghosts pushed her down the stairs, while the bats blinded her while the witches brought her to the Witch Queen. But alas, no more coffins! She escaped, freed the people, and they lived happily ever after.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113070929536113074?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113070929536113074/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113070929536113074' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113070929536113074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113070929536113074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/10/halloween-stories-pt-2-ms-kennedys.html' title='Halloween Stories, pt. 2: Ms. Kennedy&apos;s Second Grade class'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18435755.post-113061004329221208</id><published>2005-10-29T13:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-04-14T13:21:19.870-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Halloween Stories, pt. 1: 'Who's That?' by Lauren</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;What better time to start collecting stories written by children posted on their class websites than Halloween?  Our inaguaral story comes to us courtesy of Mrs. Thonus's 3rd grade class.  Read on...if you dare...to find out...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h3&gt;&lt;b&gt;Who's That?&lt;/b&gt; by Lauren&lt;/h3&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/1600/0%2C2306%2CMA-40978%2C00.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4084/1804/320/0%2C2306%2CMA-40978%2C00.jpg" border="0" alt="Lauren" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;One night I got locked in my dark attic. I stepped on the last step and it creaked like a creepy growl from a spooky ghost in a scary basement. The light turned off. The wind was whistling like a goblin running. I felt the cold. It was as cold as a wet ice cube in a freezer touching my cheeks. The rain was dribbling like loud thunder in the sky. I could not see anything. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What's that?" I saw a dark shadow. That's all I could see. It was just standing there. I got scared. Finally, someone opened the door and the lights turned on. All it was was my dad's soldier uniform. I ran down the stairs and got out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next night my dog and I were playing ball near Roger's Graveyard. The ball went in the graveyard and I saw someone. I could not see him or her clearly because it was so foggy. My dog started barking and then I turned around and said, "Be quiet!" I turned back and he or she was gone!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went back to our house and told my mom and she said, "No, I don't believe you." I turned around and something was there. It had a bright yellow glow around it. It's eyes were red, as red as apples hanging from a tree. It was dark as a night like this. It was a dead soldier. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He said, "I'm lost and don't know where I am."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said, "You're in my home. Where is yours?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't know," he said. Then my mom said, "Who are you talking to?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said, "I'm talking to him," pointing toward the soldier. Then I thought he might be my dad who died in World War II. I said, "Dad, is that you?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly, I realized it was my dad who died in World War II! He said, "Emma, is that light for me?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said, "I don't know. I can't see it." He took two steps and was gone. I said, "Bye, Dad." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was so happy to be able to say goodbye to my dad. I will remember that for the rest of my life and I will always love him no matter what.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18435755-113061004329221208?l=childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113061004329221208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18435755&amp;postID=113061004329221208' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113061004329221208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18435755/posts/default/113061004329221208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://childrenofthefuture.blogspot.com/2005/10/halloween-stories-pt-1-whos-that-by.html' title='Halloween Stories, pt. 1: &apos;Who&apos;s That?&apos; by Lauren'/><author><name>Evan C.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12714693555069950593</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
