- Gale: Don't cha wish your boyfriend shot squirrels like me
- Katniss: Gale, stop-
- Gale: Don't cha wish your boy got all the girls like me
- Katniss: Just-
- Gale: DON'T CHA
- Katniss: Pleas-
- Gale: DON'T CHA
- Peeta: Don't cha wish your boyfriend was fun like me
- Katniss: Oh god not you too-
- Peeta: Don't cha wish your boyfriend baked buns like me
- Katniss: Peeta-
- Peeta: DON'T CHA
- Katniss: Make it stop-
- Peeta: DON'T CHA
I will reblog this everytime I see it on my dash. You’ll never know who needs to see Boggle for that day <3
It’s interesting…
this is the first time I can recall having a crush on a boy who is not Caucasian. It’s oddly exhilarating.
He’s Indian, by the way.
(Madeline walks up and gives me a kiss.)
Madeline: “What are you thinking about, Mommy?”
Me: “I’m thinking about homework. Reading. What are you thinking about?”
Madeline: “I thinking about ladybugs.” (Resumes digging in the dirt) “I find ladybug for you, Mommy.”
She always knows how to make my heart smile.
What I am reading instead of doing homework. →
11:30 pm. My daughter is sleeping. And instead of working on some pending assignments, this is what I type in: How to be more confident.
This article made me smile.
But the fact I looked this up was WAY nerdy, too.
I don’t see why people consider their elderly loved ones a burden. I would be honored to live with and care for the two adults I love most, my grandfather and my mother. My grandfather is at an age where the end of his life is not too far off.
What I wouldn’t give to make up for all the love and care he gave me as a child.
What I wouldn’t give to ease the aches and pains that his old age brings him.
What I wouldn’t give to speak his language.
What I wouldn’t give to see him live another twenty years.
When my mother grows old, I know without a doubt that that is something I will do until I myself am too old to do it. And if it causes my bones to crumble in doing so, so be it.
LOL
Words of wisdom I agree with completely.
I have a Brazilian professor this semester.
She is a firecracker, terrible naughty and completely inappropriate.
She told us she was a Marxist, Communist and Feminist, and if we didn’t like it, not to hate her, just leave the class. She said she chose favorites and either she loved or hated students. And when asked the length the papers should be for the class, she had a student quote her response from last semester.
“Papers are like men’s penises. It doesn’t matter their length as long as they get the job done!”
Heaven help me.
So I have an English class in the same room I had my English class last semester. Last semester, it was my favorite class, with a bond felt by my fellow students, forged strong because it was a class built around trust and acceptance.
A Creative Writing Class.
When I realized the same room was being used for far from similar purposes, I felt like crying. I didn’t realize how much those hours of reading into other people’s thoughts, inspirations and trying experiences made me KNOW each person on a very personal level. One girl wrote a delicious poem about tea that was posed as a riddle. Another wrote about a sultry relationship that made you blush and wonder. Another wrote about her love’s proposal. Another wrote about his experience of racism because of 9/11, even though he is Indian, and quite nice and severely funny. Another wrote about his dear dear baby brother and his overwhelming love for the child born 16 years after him. Another wrote about sad Christmas gatherings and another wrote about a the terrible secret she had yet to reveal, of finding out about her mother’s infidelity while her father still did not know.
I walked into the class, centered around the Haitian Diaspora, and teared up, realizing those wonderful Thursday mornings were gone.
And I sat, desolate and despondant. Until I noticed a few extra people walking in. Three of my old classmates! They smiled big and waved. I suddenly felt loads better. Even if we barely talk all semester, those smiles assured me that the kinship I felt was far from imagined and that, indeed, they remembered too.
Beginning of the semester anxieties.
I’m inexplicably terrified of this semester. I always fear I’ll fail, that I can’t pull off being a mom AND homework assignments.
Thought of the day.
It’s a scary thing to think that had I lived a hundred years ago rather than now, I’d be dead, my mother would be dead and my child and sisters orphans.
Thank God for modern medicine and technology.
Today is one of those horrible days…
where I am just plain angry with the world and everyone living in it.
It’s not their faults, but nevertheless I blame them.
Would you rather have a pretty blog or save a life? If you scroll past this without reblogging you’re heartless, this is not at all a joke. She is 12 years old and missing, reblogging this could save this poor girls life. Don’t even hesitate to reblog.
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