Quarterlife Millennial

Work is killing me these days. Legally I can’t divulge much anything, but shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit am I tired.

hipsterenglishteacher:

windycitylibrarian:

bizzyinindy:

teachinginthemiddle:

girlwithalessonplan:

allisonunsupervised:

hithertokt:

hipsterenglishteacher:

Nothing. 

I GOT A FULL-SIZED THREE MUSKETEERS BAR

Fittingly, I got an email that Stuco bought donuts for the teachers of the building where I did not teach today. 

Nothing, but there were birthday goodies for a couple of teachers in the front office…sooo…yaaaaayyy birthday cookies?  

Oh. We had Teacher Appreciation Week in February….on a four-day week….that included a few pieces of candy one day and on another there was a breakfast (that none of us could go to because we had to be in our classrooms with kids…you know, our jobs…).

I peaked in to check up. I’m thinking things could be worse than the pack of gum I got in my mailbox.

But I do know I’ll never get to enjoy the crank pencil sharpener they didn’t install in my “room” for our Teacher Appreciation Week. There must be a square footage minimum and my closet turned classroom doesn’t meet it.

We got a “signed” certificate from the now-disgraced Barbara Byrd-Bennett. Whoop de doo.

Bad BBB! At least she didn’t write the check to herself/father, much like a disgraced superintendent has done here in the past.

Oh CPS. You so cray.

(via dudeinthestacks)

quarterlifeincrisis:

Sometimes it was overwhelming. Even years later, decades later, Molly would be overcome with grief. She’d find herself in the middle of the most innocent acts–making bacon sandwiches, brushing her hair, sliding a bracelet onto her wrist–when it would hit her. She would brace herself against the sink, the dresser, a door frame, and the grief would take over. 

At first, she welcomed the grief. She never wanted to be done mourning. She never wanted to “get better” or “get over it.” He was her son. It didn’t matter that she had birthed seven children. They were all her babies and they were all special. If she got over his death, if she moved on, she would be disrespecting his memory. It would blemish the life he lived if she “got over it.”

Eventually, she just wanted to be able to grieve privately. Some days, it seemed like the entire wizarding world was out to remind her that she had six living children, that her family would be forever incomplete. She’d be dusting in the living room and would find some of their old order forms stuffed in a stack of books. She’d meet old schoolmates for lunch in Diagon Alley and be forced to walk by the store. Their old store, that had always been their dream. The Quibbler once ran a cover story: “Famous Witches and Wizards You Didn’t Know Were Drop Outs.” Both boys were on the cover. She knew it was meant to be a sign of respect, but she wasn’t prepared to have it delivered to her first thing in the morning as she sat down to breakfast. She once received an offer from Witch Weekly to be featured in a special showcasing large wizarding families. “We felt it appropriate to ask you as the matriarch of a well-known and respected wizarding family, mother of six…” Molly sent off an owl immediately. “Seven. I have seven children.” She cancelled her subscription the next day.

She was tired of platitudes. She knew people meant well, but it got to be too much. There was nothing anyone could say that would make it better. No one could ever find anything to say that didn’t somehow trivialize her loss or her grief. 

Once, out of the blue, she received a visit from Colin Creevey’s mother. Colin and Ron had never been close; it was always Harry who he had idolized. She didn’t even know how the woman had found her home, and yet here she was, standing in the doorway. “Does it ever get better?” she asked. “Does it ever go away?” Molly looked at her, unspoken understanding between the women. “No,” she said softly. “No it doesn’t. I don’t think it ever will.”

They sat together, neither touching their tea. Mrs. Creevey had come to Molly, hoping that she had some wise words of comfort, that she would be able to say something that lifted her spirits. “How do you do it?” She looked at Molly, desperate for an answer. 

Molly looked back at her, unsure of what to say next. “Day by day. Some days are easier than others, and when I realize that, I feel guilty. Some days…..some days are awful,” she whispered. “But we love our boys with all our hearts. It’s only right that we should hurt for them as much. We can do no less than grieve as strongly as we love them.”

Later, Molly recounted the visit to Arthur, and the cried silently together. “It isn’t fair,” she said. “It isn’t fair. When your parents die, you’re an orphan. When your spouse dies, you’re a widow. There isn’t a word for losing your child, because it isn’t supposed to happen.”

simplypotterheads:

If this were May 2, 1998:

There was a clatter as the basilisk fans cascaded out of Hermione’s arms. Running at Ron, she flung them around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the fangs and broomstick he was holding and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet.

“Is this the moment?” Harry asked weakly, and when nothing happened except that Ron and Hermione gripped each other still more firmly and swayed on the spot, he raised his voice. “OI! There’s a war going on here!”

Ron and Hermione broke apart, their arms still around each other.

“I know, mate,” said Ron… “so it’s now or never, isn’t it?”

(via firewhisky)