So now I've sat and cooled down and processed things

I'm ready to Write a Note about the "Indian" thing. I feel a little weird, as I'm not Native American (unless there's somebody on my dad's side, but it hardly matters since I wouldn't know and wouldn't identify with them if I did), but I'm looking at this as analogous to if it was part of my own heritage that was slurred, I'd want somebody to put a stop to that if I wasn't around to do it. (Actually, there are a surprising number of Belgian-Americans running around, so no doubt somebody would be able to do that themselves, but that's not the point.)

Yesterday, Ana's "reflection journal" (she has to write three sentences every day about her day. I help by limiting her topic further and setting a timer - if I don't make her RUSH through her sentences she sits and dawdles and whines about it instead, so it's less frustrating for her if she has to spend a minute or less on each) came back with a note from her teacher in it. In purple marker. In purple, grape-scented marker.

Man, I could smell it the second I opened the bag. I loathe grape-scented products. I think I'm gonna let this go, though. It's been only, what, three school days since I spoke to the teacher already? Forget that. I'll suffer though.

Blech.