A math problem about sharing cookies. A book where a rabbit feels sad. They’re not even hiding it anymore.
Let me tell you about school board activism. In 2025, I attended 143 school board meetings across three districts. I have a spreadsheet. I have a rating system for board members (1-10 scale, updated monthly). I have a lavender cardigan I wear specifically to meetings because it photographs well and projects “concerned but reasonable.” I have the documents. And I have finally found what they didn’t want me to find.
Page 47 of my third binder. A second-grade math worksheet. “If Marcus has 8 cookies and wants to share them equally with his friends, how many does each friend get?” That’s the word. Share. Equally. I knew immediately what I was looking at. I circled it in red. I added a sticky note. I cross-referenced it with three other worksheets from the same unit. The pattern is undeniable if you know how to look.
What I Uncovered
The documents fill four binders now. Color-coded tabs: red for “confirmed ideology,” orange for “suspicious,” yellow for “requires further analysis.” I’ll be honest—most of the documents are yellow. But that’s how they operate. They bury it. They use words like “cooperation” and “community” that sound innocent until you connect the dots.
In October, I found a book in the school library called “Rabbit Feels Sad.” It’s about a rabbit who feels sad and talks to his friends about it. I read it four times looking for the agenda. On the fifth read, I found it: the rabbit learns that “it’s okay to ask for help.” I filed a formal complaint. The librarian said it was about emotional development. I said that’s exactly what someone pushing an agenda would say. She made a face I’ve learned to recognize.
My Facebook group, Moms Watching Schools, has 847 members. I post twelve to fifteen times per week. The same six people comment, but I know the others are watching. Silently. Afraid to engage publicly. That’s how movements work. The 847 are counting on me to speak for them.
The Board Knows My Name
At meeting 67, Board Member Patricia Hendricks sighed audibly when I approached the microphone. At meeting 89, they moved public comment to 9:45 PM. At meeting 112, security escorted me out after I exceeded my three minutes by eleven minutes. They said I was “creating a disruption.” I was creating accountability.
I’ve been formally cautioned about “decorum” four times. The fourth time, Board Chair Reynolds said, “Ms. Bellwood, we appreciate your… consistency.” The way he paused before “consistency” told me everything. I wrote it down. I have the quote documented with timestamp.
Some parents have stopped sitting near me at meetings. Karen Hessler, who came to my first meeting in 2021, told someone I “make us look crazy.” Karen’s daughter is in a class that read a book about a bear who learns to apologize. I’m not the crazy one, Karen.
My Family Understands
My husband Greg attended meeting one and meeting two. He has not attended another. He’s taken up building model train sets in the garage. Very elaborate ones. He’s been out there every evening since March. I think it’s his way of processing the fight. Men need hobbies. He’s built eleven trains.
My daughter Olivia is eight. She asked me recently if I could “not talk so loud at pickup.” She said a boy in her class called me “the meeting lady.” I told her that boy’s parents aren’t paying attention. She asked what critical race theory is. I started to explain. She said “never mind” and went to her room. She’s not ready yet. Someday she’ll understand that everything I did, I did for her.
Last week I asked Olivia what book she’s reading. She said “Rabbit Feels Sad.” It’s her favorite. She’s read it three times.
I didn’t say anything. I’m choosing my battles.
2026: The Fight Continues
I’ve identified four new districts within driving distance. I’ve pre-filed records requests. I’ve purchased a fifth binder (green tabs: “emerging patterns”). I’ve upgraded my meeting cardigan to one with pockets, for easier document access.
They want me to stop. The board, Karen Hessler, possibly my husband (he mentioned something last week but I was organizing binders and didn’t fully hear it). But I didn’t sit through 143 meetings—total runtime: approximately 412 hours—to quit now.
The documents don’t lie. Page 47. A math problem about sharing cookies equally.
Exposed.
About the Author
