since we are talking about people who deserve a higher salary i think teachers should be making six figures a year btw. if state superintendents who have never set foot in a classroom can make that much so should the teachers. teachers are quite literally the backbone of our society and if teachers were actually properly compensated we wouldn’t have a shortage or bad teachers who are continually burnout because of a lack of proper compensation.
I’ve told this story ten thousand times and I will tell it for the ten thousandth and first: whenever I think about wearing a costume to work on Halloween, I remember the time I saw a doctor breaking what must have been devastating news to a sobbing patient while the doc was dressed as a ketchup bottle.
There’s a lot of good responses to this but I obviously very partial to the healthcare ones
only one bed trope in good omens world is so funny because :
1. neither of them need to sleep
2. aziraphale DOESNT canonically sleep
3. aziraphale not only has an extra BED (for the sleeping he doesn’t do) but a whole ass SPARE BEDROOM
4. crowley canonically tends to sleep on the walls and ceiling because he’s a fucking looney tunes character
5. both of them have the ability to literally create beds from thin air if they so chose
and yet it’s possible for me to hold all these facts in my head at the same time and still spot the only one bed tag on ao3 and go ooh yippee!! there was only one bed!!!
My dad has one final step of his treatment which is a bone marrow transplant. This process will remove the bone marrow from his body, blast the shit outta his remaining cells and hopefully kill the rest of his cancer.
The procedure will have my dad hospitalized for a month with a 24/7 caregiver (aka my mom lol) and afterwards he’ll have to stay home for 3 months away from absolutely everyone in order to recover bc hell be severely immonocompromized and have to get all his vaccines all over again (like a big Ole adult baby)
this procedure is expensive and the cost of my parents living at the hospital so far is not at all covered - this money would go to paying bills, paying the hospital stay cost and procedure cost and paying for food and such as it’ll just be me and my brother keeping the pets alive home alone
Thank you so much for your support!! sharing really helps <333
i tthink anyone who has ever gotten in trouble for using a red cross as a medical symbol in their video game should change it back to a red cross until the UN starts actually enforcing the gd geneva convention.
Nearly 2,000 years ago, a cloud of scorching ash from Mount Vesuvius buried a young man as he lay on a wooden bed. That burning ash quickly cooled, turning some of his brain to glass.
“Volcano turned a dude’s brain to glass” sounds incredibly fake and if you put that into a science fiction film nobody would buy it. And yet…
Because it’s happened to us on a trek, if you see abandoned clothes, stop and search for anyone nearby. Late-stage hypotherima causes a thing called paradoxical undressing where the person feels too hot and starts taking their clothes off.
for a little bit of an order for this if it isn’t obvious: Take any wet clothes off (including sweaty clothes!! underlayers can become soaked with sweat while working in the cold and lead to hypothermia later) BEFORE you wrap the person in warm dry blankets/clothing.
Also I cannot stress the ‘do not rub’ thing enough. If you have a frozen steak, let it thaw a little bit and then give it a good rub. Take a peek at it via a hand lens. You’ll see tons of little cuts/gashes. That’s from the ice crystals cutting into the flesh. NEVER rub the skin of a hypothermia/extreme cold exposed person to warm them up unless you want the same damn thing happening to their flesh.
Don’t warm the extremities (hands/feet) too quickly. Not only would it be extremely painful, but the vessels in said extremities opening too quickly can lead to shock (part of the direct heat issue).
This deserves another reblog
For writers, AND real life, as places get VERY cold with limited heating being allowed to the people…
“Imagine having a child that refuses to hug you or even look you in the eyes”
Imagine being shamed, as a child, for not showing affection in a way that is unnatural or even painful for you. Imagine being forced, as a child, to show affection in a way that is unnatural or even painful for you. Imagine being told, as a child, that your ways of expressing affection weren’t good enough. Imagine being taught, as a child, to associate physical affection with pain and coercion.
As a preschool special ed para, this is very important to me. All my kids have their own ways of showing affection that are just as meaningful to them as a hug or eye contact is to you or me.
One gently squeezes my hand between both of his palms as he says “squish.” I reciprocate. When he looks like he’s feeling sad or lost, I ask if I can squish him, and he will show me where I can squish him. Sometimes it’s almost like a hug, but most of the time, it’s just a hand or an arm I press between my palms. Then he squishes my hand in return, says “squish,” and moves on. He will come ask for squishes now, when he recognizes that he needs them.
Another boy smiles and sticks his chin out at me, and if he’s really excited, he’ll lean his whole body toward me. The first time he finally won a game at circle time, he got so excited he even ran over and bumped chins with me. He now does it when he sees me outside of school too. I stick out my chin to acknowledge him, and he grins and runs over and I lean down for a chin bump.
Yet another child swings my hand really fast. At a time when another child would be seeking a hug, she stands beside me and holds my hand, and swings it back and forth, with a smile if I’m lucky. The look on her face when I initiate the hand swinging is priceless.
Another one bumps his hip against mine when he walks by in the hallway or on the playground, or when he gets up after I’m done working with him. No eye contact, no words, but he goes out of his way to “crash” into me, and I tell him that it’s good to see him. He now loves to crash into me when I’m least expecting it. He doesn’t want anything, really. Just a bump to say “Hi, I appreciate you’re here.” And when he’s upset and we have to take a break, I’ll bump him, ask if he needs to take a walk, and we just go wander for a bit and discuss whatever’s wrong, and he’s practically glued to my side. Then one more bump before we go back into the room to face the problem.
Moral of the story is, alternative affection is just as valid and vitally important as traditional affection. Reciprocating alternative affection is just as valid and vitally important as returning a hug. That is how you build connections with these children.
This is so goddamn important.
I verbally express affection. A LOT.
My husband… doesn’t. I don’t know why. For the longest time part of me wondered if it meant he loved me less.
At some point I told him about a thing I had done as a kid. Holding hands, three squeezes means ‘I Love You’.
Suddenly he’s telling me I Love You all the time.
Holding my hand, obviously, but also randomly.
taptaptap
on my hand, my shoulder, my butt, my knee, whatever body part is closest to him, with whatever part of him is closest to me
All the time.
More often than I ever verbally said it.
It’s an ingrained signal now, I can tap three times on whatever part of him, and get three taps back in his sleep. Apparently I do the same.
My biggest frustration with the left has always been the inability/unwillingness to work on making progress inside of the system while advocating for greater change.
I remember the first time I came to this realization.
I was nineteen, pregnant. We couldn’t afford to heat the house because we couldn’t afford the deposit to turn the gas on. It was miserably cold. The duplex we were renting was old and rickety and drafty. The window frames were messed up and there were cracks you could stick your finger through that were open to the elements.
Just, like, to give you an idea where we were financially. And this was better than we’d been doing before!
Anyway, I had recently started going to DSA meetings. And that month, they were talking about how a moderate democrat had successfully gotten a small increase in WIC benefits monthly. It came out to, like, $10 a month.
The members talking—mostly male, almost all doing decent—were scornful. The democrat should have pushed harder and gotten more, refused to accept anything until everyone else caved to their demands. I remember sitting there, quietly drinking the latte in the smallest size they had that I had bought with scrounged quarters, listening. Wishing it wasn’t held in an indie coffee shop because it was a luxury I really couldn’t afford, but it would be rude not to. Enjoying the coffee anyway.
I was one of the lucky ones who was getting that additional $10 a month through WIC. Even more exciting, we were now getting a voucher for the farmers’ market. I casually mentioned that WIC recipients would now be getting farmers’ market vouchers, too.
The guy who organized the meetings was a hard worker, passionate guy. Did something in tech.
He was like, “That’s the thing! These people don’t want farmers market vouchers. They want—” and he went on to describe a bunch of pie in the sky desires. That, yeah, sounded good.
But one. I was one of those people! A lot if the tamiles were super excited about it, myself included.
I had never been to a farmers’ market before. I tried arugula for the first time, a piece pulled from a bunch by the grower as he explained the flavor difference. I hadn’t known before then that different lettuce greens had different flavors, that it was more than just the texture and shape. I tried pesto, which delighted me. Goat cheese. I got three full pounds of strawberries for two dollars, since they were closing soon and the old man selling the berries got a kick out of me.
Anyway. It was like, you have a decent life. Not great but decent! The things that are life changing for me, for us… you already have.
The ten dollars at the grocery store made the difference between a meal of broken-noodles-with-some-half-horrible-pantry-scraps and a meal. It kept me full and healthy! And the additional farmers’ market voucher was world changing for me.
The democrat who worked for those things barely got them through. And it was means tested to hell and back. They weren’t able to get everything they wanted. But what they got made such a huge difference for me, for people like me.
my favorite scene in LotR as a kid was when Sam started miserably freestyling in the tower of Cirith Ungol and the only reason he ever found Frodo was because he deliriously tried to join in
…i did read some of the novels, but i couldn’t get through them entirely…
…and so i genuinely have no idea whether or not this is serious. coz i mean, obviously, it could be a joke. but it could also have legitimately happened. people who have only seen the films underestimate the amount of random things that happen in the books that could come off as utterly silly and ridiculous if removed from their context.
Haha, well, it is pretty much what happens. Sam is looking for Frodo in the tower of Cirith Ungol and is despairing that he will ever find him. He sits down and does what any self-respecting Tolkien character does during their moments of hopelessness and bursts into song.
It’s a really good song (ten year old Ship had it memorized) and as he begins the refrain a second time, he hears Frodo’s voice answering weakly from above. Frodo is poisoned and despairing and beaten but he is still a Hobbit and cannot resist a singalong even while on the brink of death.
I just have to reblog because it makes me laugh EVERY TIME
once again i ask of you to please stop looking towards celebrities and influencers for political commentary and their takes on catastrophic and inhumane world events and to instead focus your attention on experts, journalists and world leaders
