Molly Copp Art

08/17/2026

Nothing like getting to work and realizing HALFWAY through your day that your shirt is on inside out. 😂

I talked to people throughout the building, introduced myself, left to go get more supplies for my classroom… and THEN realized my shirt was on inside out. 🤦‍♀️

The best part? THREE people complimented my shirt today. 😂

Apparently, they didn’t notice either—or they were just too polite to say anything!
Happy Monday! Just going with the flow. 🤷‍♀️😂

I better add a mirror to my classroom so I can check myself before I teach! 👚🪞🤣 awesome sauce!

08/16/2026

Getting back into the classroom after being away for a long time has me looking at EVERYTHING a little differently. 🎨🐝

I can’t afford to buy seven Hues & Q’s board games for my classroom right now, but it’s one of my favorite games to play, and I thought my students would love having it available at one of our activity centers for a fun Friday. So… I’m making my own! 😁

I want my students to learn that you can make something from almost nothing when you know a few basic skills. Give me a pencil, a ruler, some cardboard, and a handful of free paint swatches, and we can turn those simple supplies into something fun and creative. ✏️📏🎨

That’s part of what I want to teach my students: creativity isn’t about having the most expensive supplies or having the most talent. It’s about learning to look at what you HAVE, figuring out what you can CREATE and a repetition of those skills daily.

And yes… that is me standing on my GIB board while using a paper cutter. 😂 I’m being careful and concentrating, but I’m also working on strengthening my leg muscles. Dennis—my dent in my right leg—needs me to keep moving and stay active. 💪🏼

And, of course, Duke the cat is my classroom prep assistant. 🐈‍⬛😂 He makes sure I stay out of trouble and supervises all my projects.

I may be a “newer” teacher, but I’ve been a creative problem-solver for a LONG time. And I can’t wait to show my students that they can be, too. ❤️🎨

08/16/2026

I feel truly honored and blessed to officially be the new Middle School Art Teacher! 🎨❤️
I believe every child deserves a teacher who genuinely cares about them, believes in their potential, and wants to see them succeed. I especially understand the students who may not get the support they need until middle school—because I was one of them.
When I was in elementary school, ADHD in girls was not nearly as understood or documented as it is today. I wasn’t diagnosed or placed on a learning disability plan until middle school. And let’s just say…being sent to the “resource room,” as it was called in the 1990s, was not something I accepted quietly. 😂 I was a rebel, an overthinker, highly creative, and had a huge heart for understanding other people.
Looking back, I realize how much the right adults and the right environments mattered. Art, Technology, Automotive Studies, and the positive adults who believed in me gave me places where my brain made sense and my strengths could shine.
Without those people and those experiences, I honestly don’t know if I would have pushed myself to earn a Master’s Degree.
That is why this position means so much to me.
I want my students to know that struggling does not mean you are incapable. Being different does not mean you are less than. Sometimes the very things that make you feel like an outsider can become the things that make you extraordinary.
I am so proud to be the new Middle School Art Teacher, and I intend to keep a promise I made to myself years ago: to be the best Art Teacher I can possibly be.
And now…my new classroom is getting some MUCH-NEEDED love. 🥰🎨 I’m transforming it and creating an Art Room my students will be excited to walk into—a place where creativity, curiosity, mistakes, individuality, and growth are all welcome.
I’m incredibly proud and honored to be the underdog, secret-ninja Art Teacher. 🥷🎨
And I have a feeling my students are about to find out just how powerful that combination can be. ❤️
Sometimes the kid who needed the most understanding grows up to become the teacher who understands.

08/11/2026

08/10/2026

Climbing a ladder represents progress, ambition, and success—but the higher you climb, the further you can fall.
“Even that castle’s made of sand / Just might slip into the sea.”
That’s a reminder that appearances, reputations, and carefully constructed narratives are fragile.
The past couple of years taught me authenticity, self-awareness, and how to stand firmly in my own energy.
People perceive me as “cute,” “cuddly,” harmless, maybe even weak.
They’re wrong.
I’m a baby-faced gangster. 😂
I don’t need to be believed. I don’t need approval. And I damn sure don’t need someone else’s perception of me to determine who I am.
I allow people to underestimate me.
Actually, I prefer it.
Because when someone’s entire strategy depends on me being too weak, too nice, or too afraid to speak up, they’ve already miscalculated.
You cheat, lie, or steal around me? I will call it out.
Not with insults. With facts. Evidence. Receipts.
I don’t have to create a narrative. I simply have to recognize the one you’re trying to hide.
I have zero tolerance for cheating, lying, or stealing—and absolutely no interest in protecting someone else’s comfort at the expense of my integrity.
I’m not ashamed to speak the truth.
I’m not going to put my head in the sand because someone wants me to pretend I didn’t see what happened behind closed doors.
I loved Nancy Drew as a kid. 😂
I notice things. I remember details. I connect dots. And eventually, the pieces tell the truth.
So if you thought shaming me into silence would work, you picked the wrong woman.
I don’t need to threaten anyone. I don’t need revenge.
I simply stop participating in the illusion.
You did what you did.
I saw what I saw.
I said what I said.
And then I keep climbing.
You can sit with your choices and wonder why I’m no longer around.
I’ll be over here pursuing my goals, protecting my peace, and becoming everything I said I would become.
Because the most dangerous thing you can underestimate isn’t a loud woman.
It’s a woman who knows exactly who she is, isn’t afraid of being misunderstood, and no longer needs your approval.
Ten toes down.
Always. 🪜

08/07/2026

Five years ago today, I asked for a divorce.
I remember the day.
The fear.
The moment I pressed record.
I was in a rental cottage in Upstate New York with my daughters, beside my family’s cottage. I thought distance would keep us safe. I thought I had finally found a place where the walls couldn’t hear me.
I thought I was safe.
Gene, our marriage counselor, was wrong.
For five years, I watched a story become “the truth” simply because it was told first, repeated often, and shouted the loudest.
Repetition is not truth and silence is not surrender.
I was silent because I was surviving.
I watched.
I listened.
I documented.
I remembered.
I waited.
And in the quiet, I began to hear what noise had hidden—the inconsistencies, the patterns, the missing pieces, the people who looked away, and the moments that never quite added up.
I was painted as the problem.
An “unfit mother” was the slander.
My character was questioned while the pattern remained hidden.
But facts are stubborn things.
They do not disappear because someone refuses to look at them. They do not become less true because they are inconvenient.
Silence looked like 256 days feeling like a prisoner in my own home in the basement, face against stamped concrete. Surveillance. Intimidation. Fear. An assault at a rental cottage, trapped behind doors, shoulder checked in the hallways.
And still, I protected my children.
On day 508, I escaped.
When I finally found my voice, restrictions were placed around it. My ability to speak about my lived experiences was taken from me. My fundamental Constitutional and Civil Rights were taken away.
The message was clear:
“You can survive it.
Just don’t talk about it.”
But history remembers what silence tries to bury.
You can silence a voice.
You cannot silence a timeline.
Eventually, the strings show.
The cage casts a shadow.
The missing pieces begin to speak.
I don’t need revenge.
I don’t need a crowd.
I don’t need everyone to believe me.
Truth does not need permission to exist.
It waits.
Quietly.
Patiently.
Unmoved.
Five years ago, silence was how I survived.
Today, I know:
Silence was never the end of my story.
It was simply the chapter they misto