#because I did in fact teach kindergarteners for one school year so

[spencerreidenjoyer]

lovebird | spencer reid x reader

Spencer's little girl sets you and her dad up.

wc: 3.3k, rating: teen

tags/warnings: 2+1, kindergarten teacher!reader, single girldad!spencer, fluff, meet-cute, implied sex, use of "Y/N" because this fic would've been impossible to write without it oops

a/n: not sure what possessed me to write this, but i finished writing this in about 2 days lmao. girldad!spencer loml. thank you to my lovely friends over on twitter who fuelled my insanity. for this fic i have season 10 spencer in mind/later seasons spencer who's just full on daddy at that point <3 (also crossposted on ao3!)

Sunday

You’re at the grocery store in a ratty t-shirt and sweats, picking out fucking cereal when you hear the pitter-patter of footsteps running towards you, and a sweet, high-pitched voice calling your name. 

It’s one of your students, Ellie Reid, holding a box of cereal that’s half her height, and she comes up to you in the aisle. 

“Ellie? What are you doing here?” You ask sweetly, pushing your hair out of your face before you squat down to meet Ellie’s height. 

“My daddy wanted to get groceries. He said we would go together. But he had to pick up the phone, and I wanted to help look for the things Daddy needs.”

Her dad, Dr. Spencer Reid, is an FBI agent and a single dad to Ellie. He’s one of the best parents you’ve had this year – the fancy kindergarten you teach at lends itself to spoiled brats and uptight parents, but Dr. Reid and Ellie are a welcome reprieve in a usually stuffy environment. You’re pleased to see her here, on a weekend, but less pleased with the fact that she’s alone. 

“Oh, wow! You’re so helpful, Ellie,” you say, holding her arm gently. “I’m sure your dad is really thankful. But you shouldn’t have walked off alone. I’m glad you found me.”

“Why?” 

“Because it’s not safe for you to walk around alone in the grocery store, Ellie,” you smile. “Let’s go find your dad.”

Ellie nods, her cheeks ruddy and when you hold out your hand for her to hold, Ellie’s little hand wraps around two of your fingers. “Did you come to the grocery store alone? It’s not safe.”

“I did come alone. But I’m an adult, so it’s okay. You’re little, Ellie, so you should only walk around with your dad.” You lead Ellie down aisle after aisle, walking past canned food and bags of chips and walls lined with bottles of drinks. 

“But you shouldn’t walk around alone if it’s dangerous. When we find my daddy maybe he can protect you too!” Ellie says confidently. 

When did this grocery store feel so big? You can’t find Dr. Reid anywhere, and you feel a rising panic in your chest. You have half a mind to pull up the school’s contact information in your phone, but you hear Dr. Reid’s voice calling his daughter’s name, and both you and Ellie turn around.

“Daddy!” Ellie shrieks, almost dropping the box of cereal in her arms as she dashes toward her father. She almost trips as she closes the distance, thankfully landing in her father’s arms before she does fall. 

Dr. Reid scoops her up, holding her tightly. “You had me worried, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, Daddy,” Ellie mumbles against her father’s shoulder. “But I found Miss Y/N and she helped me find you!”

“I told her not to run off alone in the future,” you say. “Right, Ellie?” 

The sweet girl nods. She giggles into Dr. Reid’s shoulder, and his hand comes up to pat her back, a soothing gesture.

“I’m glad it was you she bumped into,” Dr. Reid says, sighing with relief. “I wouldn’t know I would do with myself if–”

“It’s okay, Dr. Reid,” you assure him. “It’s not a problem at all. You’re– You’re doing a great job with her.”

“Thank you for saying that. I– I’ll see you at the parent-teacher meeting next Friday, right?”

“Yeah, next Friday.” You smile at him. “Have a good day, Dr. Reid. Bye, Ellie!”

“Bye!” Ellie, sweet girl, waves excitedly, her gummy smile overtaking her face. Dr. Reid walks toward the checkout, holding Ellie with one hand and pushing his shopping cart with the other. 

You feel how warm your cheeks are when Dr. Reid and Ellie are finally out of sight, your hand clammy around the handle of your shopping basket. You slap your cheek lightly, willing yourself to pull yourself together.

The way your heart flutters whenever you see Dr. Reid is a cause for concern, and you wonder if you should see a doctor about it. 

Dr. Spencer Reid is a marvel. He’s admirable, juggling his job at the FBI with raising a little girl all on his own, and he’s both a great profiler and a great dad. He’s incredibly sweet with Ellie and incredibly kind to you, which you unfortunately don’t get a lot, especially with the kinds of parents you deal with. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome: his hair is slightly long, wavy and messy in a way that frames his face just right, not to mention the stubble that makes him look that much hotter.

Your little crush on Dr. Reid is certainly inappropriate, but over the parent-teacher meetings and interacting with him when he drops off and picks up his daughter from school, you can’t help yourself from falling for him. 

Tuesday

Ellie Reid is a smart girl, that you know, but you're blindsided by her genius one day at recess. You’re monitoring all the kids at the playground when Ellie comes up to you. She has a contorted look on her face but she says, “Miss Y/N, I fell.”

“You did? Are you feeling okay?” You ask, squatting down to match her height. You look at her knees – not a speck of dirt nor a red spot from falling down.

“My knee hurts. Can you call my daddy?”

“Does it hurt badly? I’ll take you to see the nurse if it does,” you say, not entirely understanding the situation. You’ve never met a four-year-old who wouldn’t be in tears over tripping and falling, even if the injury wasn’t severe. 

The look on Ellie’s face makes you think that she’s trying to match your expectations of what she should be feeling. “It doesn't hurt bad. I just want my daddy to come pick me up. Can you call him?”

You try not to furrow your brow at the strange request. You’re usually trusted to handle any little accidents and mishaps with the children, but at Ellie’s insistence of calling her father, you feel like you should. 

(It’s certainly not spurred on by seeing him at the grocery store last weekend.)

“Alright, Ellie. I’ll call your dad and see what he says, okay?”

“Okay, Miss Y/N,” Ellie says, smiling at you. You get her to sit down on the bench next to you and your co-teacher to oversee the kids before fish your phone out from your pocket to dial Dr. Reid’s number. As you wait for the call to go through, Ellie looks at you with wide, expectant eyes. You smile at her.

On the third ring, Dr. Reid picks up. “Hello?” 

“Hi, Dr. Reid. This is Miss Y/N from Ellie’s school. I’m calling to inform you that Ellie fell on the playground during recess.”

“Oh, my. Is she alright?” You hear Dr. Reid’s voice grow concerned. Ellie looks up at you, and you look the little girl up and down one more time just to be sure.

“Yes, she is. I checked and she doesn’t have any scrapes or bruises. She says her knee hurts, but that she’s also fine. Usually, we don’t call parents over small mishaps like this, but Ellie insisted that I call you.”

“I see,” Dr. Reid hums, his tone indecipherable. “Can I talk to her?”

“Sure thing, Dr. Reid,” you say. You hold the phone out to Ellie as you put the call on speakerphone and tell her, “Your dad wants to speak to you, Ellie.”

Ellie is polite, but clearly excited as she yells, “Hi, Daddy!” 

“Woah! Hi, Ellie,” Dr. Reid laughs, his serious tone while he was speaking to you gone, talking to his daughter with a delightful whimsy. “Miss Y/N told me you fell on the playground today. Does it hurt?”

“No,” Ellie answers, but she looks up quickly at you. “I mean, yes. Just a little. It doesn’t hurt too bad anymore.”

You hide your smile, and you think you can hear the smile in Dr. Reid’s voice as he says, “Okay, sweet girl, that’s good.”

“Can you come and pick me up right now, Daddy?” Ellie asks, a little whiny. It’s adorable, though. 

“Well, it’s only ten in the morning, honey,” Dr. Reid bargains. “And I know you have art class later, right? Don’t you want to stay around for that?”

“I do!” Ellie says eagerly. “Oh, I love art class!”

“I know you do, honey,” Dr. Reid assures. “So, do you feel okay enough to stick around in class until Daddy comes to pick you up at the end of the day?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Ellie nods, even though Dr. Reid can’t see her. “But you have to come pick me up!”

“I always do, Ellie,” Dr. Reid laughs, making Ellie laugh along too. “Okay, honey. Go on and play with your friends. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay! Bye, Daddy! I love you!”

“Bye! I love you too, Ellie!” Dr. Reid matches Ellie’s excitable energy, and Ellie giggles before she runs off to play again. His voice returns to a calm but engaged sort of energy. “Well, that was something.”

“She seems fine,” you say, switching the speakerphone off as you hold your phone back up to your ear. “I’m sorry to bother you in the middle of your work day, Dr. Reid.”

“Oh, please, it’s not a bother at all,” Dr. Reid laughs gently. “I love talking to Ellie. She might miss me or something, if she had to fake a fall so you would call me.”

“Perhaps,” you say, slightly surprised that Dr. Reid would be so quick to call out his daughter’s bluff. Some of the other parents would rip your throat out if you even insinuated their child was in the wrong. “I’ll still keep an eye out for her.”

“Thanks, Miss Y/N,” Dr. Reid insists. “Besides, it’s always a pleasure getting a call from you.”

You don’t remember if you thank him before he hangs up, because all you can think about is Dr. Reid saying he enjoys talking to you.

After putting your phone away, you press your hands to your warm cheeks in an effort to calm yourself and your beating heart down. 

Dr. Reid is one of the last parents to come by during pickup. It’s a somewhat regular occurrence, with Dr. Reid’s busy and hectic job. You are never bothered by spending extra time with Ellie, and you know Dr. Reid always tries his best to pick Ellie up as soon as he can. He usually makes regular pickup so you never get to exchange more than a few words with him, but days like today aren’t necessarily rare either. But considering your interaction on Sunday, you’re secretly pleased with how it’s worked out. 

Only you and Ellie are left in the classroom, you having told your co-teacher to clock out first. You’re pleasantly surprised when there’s a knock on the door frame, Dr. Reid standing there in a cardigan and a button-up shirt with his dress pants. “Ellie!”

His hair is somehow more fluffy and messy than you’d seen him at the grocery store, but it just makes him look even more soft and domestic. You try not to look at Dr. Reid with hearts in your eyes as Ellie shrieks and runs towards him, Dr. Reid picking her up easily and swinging her around before he holds her tight. “Hi, sweet girl.”

“Daddy!” Ellie giggles. “I missed you today.”

“I missed you too, honey,” Dr. Reid coos, pressing a kiss to the top of Ellie’s head. Your insides melt, gooey at the tooth-rottingly sweet display in front of you. “Were you a good girl for Miss Y/N today?”

“Uh-huh!” Ellie nods, her gummy smile absolutely adorable. 

“She was a pleasure,” you add. “Hello, Dr. Reid.”

“Hello again.” Dr. Reid smiles. “It’s nice to see you. Are you doing well?”

“Yes, I am. Other than Ellie’s little incident, today was thankfully uneventful. Thank you for asking.”

Dr. Reid’s face scrunches up in an extremely endearing way, like it’s obvious that he’d want to know about… you. “Of course. I like to know you’re doing well. It’s great to hear.”

You feel like you don’t know what to say to that, perhaps a little too caught up in your little crush on him to come up with a coherent response. You laugh shyly, tucking your hair behind your ear. Dr. Reid has set Ellie down, and she wanders around the classroom, fidgeting with the pencils on the tables, but doesn’t stray too far from her dad. “Ellie seems to be fine from earlier, but you might want to check in with her again.”

“I will,” Dr. Reid says, nodding. “Oh! I almost forgot–”

You look on as Dr. Reid fumbles in his satchel, pulling a crumpled paper bag out. The paper bag looks bulky, oil stains seeped through on the sides and on the bottom. “Oh, it looks bad. It’s good, I promise– It’s a chocolate muffin from this really good bakery near my office. I just thought I’d get you one. Since you’re so helpful with Ellie. Especially today.”

Dr. Reid holds it out for you, and you scramble to step forward and take it. “Thank you, Dr. Reid, you- You didn’t have to. It’s my job to look after Ellie, after all. Not that it’s a burden, or just a job, I mean– Ellie’s great. She’s one of our brightest, but don’t tell any of the other parents that.”

Dr. Reid smiles so bright you feel like you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “I won’t, if I bump into any of them at the parent-teacher meeting.”

You bite your lip, smiling, shy at the attention Dr. Reid gives you. You think he’s flirting(?) with you, but you try to remain professional. You clear your throat. “Thank you, Dr. Reid.” 

“Thank you again, Miss Y/N. I mean it.” Dr. Reid asserts, and you feel your cheeks flush. “Tonight is pizza night, so Ellie and I should be making our way home right about now.”

“Pizza!” Ellie yells, giddy, causing both you and Dr. Reid to laugh. She zooms past you to stand next to her dad. 

“Thank you, Dr. Reid. I’ll see you proper on Friday,” you say, nodding your head slightly. “And I’ll see you, Ellie, tomorrow, yeah?”

“Bye, Miss Y/N!” Ellie waves frantically. Dr. Reid joins her in her waving, equally silly. 

“I look forward to seeing you then, Miss Y/N,” Dr. Reid smiles. “Bye.”

“Bye!” you reply, trying not to sound too eager, and then Dr. Reid ducks out of the classroom with Ellie in hand. You feel like you’re swooning so hard you might faint.

Friday

Parent-teacher meetings go smoothly, thankfully. There are parents who only bother to hear the praise you give their children, so ignorant to the criticisms of their children that you try not to make too obvious. After seeing nineteen sets of parents, Dr. Spencer Reid is your last of the day. You don’t want to say you’ve been waiting for this all day, but checking off the nineteen sets of parents before this has only made you more and more excited. 

Dr. Reid finally enters the classroom, two minutes early for his slot, but he’s alone. 

“Where’s Ellie? She’s totally allowed to sit in for these meetings too.”

“She’s at my boss’ place for a playdate with his son,” Dr. Reid says. “Actually, that sounds pretty weird, doesn’t it? My daughter, having a playdate with my boss’ son?”

“Not at all. They say it takes a village to raise a child. I’m glad your colleagues are so helpful with Ellie.”

“They really are,” Dr. Reid asserts, smiling. “Hotch– My boss, I mean– offered, knowing I had this meeting.”

“That’s really nice of him,” you nod. “So, about Ellie…”

“Please tell me you only have good things to say,” Dr. Reid jokes, and you try very hard not to swoon. 

“Essentially, yes,” you nod. “Ellie is such a bright girl, and she’s so sweet. She’s always helpful with her classmates and polite to everyone and the teachers too. Again, don’t tell this to the other parents, but Ellie’s set high standards for the rest of the class.”

“You’re telling me an awful lot that I shouldn’t be telling the other parents,” Dr. Reid grins. “You sure you aren’t playing favourites?”

“You certainly are my favourite,” you say before you can catch yourself, and Dr. Reid looks at you with wide eyes. You imagine you look equally shocked. “I’m sorry, Dr. Reid, I didn't mean to say that.”

Dr. Reid cocks his head, a little smile toying on his lips. “Miss Y/N, did I ever tell you what I do for the FBI?”

You have no idea how this relates to how unprofessional and inappropriate you are being. You shake your head anyway, too afraid to say anything anymore before you say something even more embarrassing. 

“I’m a profiler, Miss Y/N. I use psychology and study behaviour to catch serial killers,” Dr. Reid explains, using his hands to articulate his point. Your eyes dart down to the motion; but your gaze quickly flits back up to his face. “In general, I’m good at reading people.”

“Is that so?” You gulp. Is he able to read you?

“I don’t mean to profile you, Miss Y/N, I mean it,” Dr. Reid sounds a little apologetic. “But I can’t help but notice the way you lean toward me when we’re speaking, the way you fidget with your hands a little, the way you can almost meet my eyes, but you still seem a little bashful about it. I either intimidate you, or…”

“Or..?” 

“I’m sorry if this is too forward, but would you like to get dinner with me?”

“What?” You ask, disbelieving. “Dinner?”

“You- You’re interested in me too, aren’t you?”

“Too?” You gape, sounding like a parrot as you repeat his words, simply unable to wrap your head around the fact that Ellie Reid’s young, hot, genius father just asked you on a date. 

“I’m usually not too doubtful of my profiling skills, but beautiful women like you make me second-guess if I’m reading this right.” Dr. Reid laughs, avoiding looking at you. 

“Dr. Reid, I would love to get dinner with you,” You say, trying to sound confident. 

Dr. Reid beams as he meets your eyes. “Oh, thank God.”

“Cheesy that you’re calling me beautiful,” you laugh bashfully, waving him off. 

“I mean it!” Dr. Reid insists. “And, um– Would you want to do dinner after this? If you don’t have any other meetings, of course. Or any other plans– you’d probably have plans on a Friday night, right? Way to be presumptuous–”

“Dr. Reid! I don’t have plans tonight. A dinner date sounds great,” you laugh.

“Great! Great, good. I’m glad.” Dr. Reid says, looking a little giddy that you’d taken him up on it. “Also, um- I love when people call me Dr. Reid, but please just call me Spencer. Do you think people would get the wrong idea if you called me Dr. the whole time?” 

You cackle, Spencer looking thoroughly pleased at making you laugh. 

“Okay, Spencer,” you try his first name, and it rolls off your tongue with ease. “Let me pack up and then we can go get dinner.”

“I like when you say my name,” Spencer smiles. “What’re you feeling for dinner?”

If you and Spencer kiss at the end of your dinner date in front of your apartment door, that’s between you and him. 

You pulling Spencer into your apartment with your hands fisted in his hair should also stay between you and him. 

It doesn’t entirely stay between you and him, though, as Spencer calls his boss to turn Ellie’s playdate into a sleepover before he rolls over to kiss you and take you all over again. 

[preciouslandmermaid]

💐💐💐

imagine being a kindergarten teacher who meets reid

maybe its thru JJ, maybe you've got Henry in your class, and she kindly, warmly strikes a friendship with you after Henry moves into 1st grade. and its a little unorthodox but jj and her husband are always willing to help out (when their schedules can allow) with school events and so yeah, you become friends.

and when jj introduces you to her friends/colleagues - there is of course a little bit of an intimidation factor (because hello...they are fbi) but penelope makes you feel so welcome (because of course she does. and you tell her your students would love her. and she offers to teach a tech class and youre like ok they're five but yes let's do it) and morgan shamelessly flirting, and emily being hot and intimidating and then there's reid, quiet, awkward, wont-shake-your-hand reid.

but there's something to it - a mutual nerdiness, perhaps, or how reid doesn't make you feel "stupid" just because you're an elementary school teacher and not a professor at a college (despite the fact that in many places you need a least a master's to teach).

imagine weeks later when you run into reid at the coffee shop. completely random. the sky is gray, uninteresting, and promising rain. he surprises you by remembering your name before there's a shy yet earnest quip when he says he's got an "eidetic memory." and you laugh warmly and spencer thinks its one of the best sounds he's heard all morning.

and it goes slowly from there, but it moves naturally, like a caterpillar forming its chrysalis

(when you tell reid this, somewhere after the 4 month mark since you've long stopped counting individual dates, he says; "did you know the word comes from the greek word 'khrusos' - which means gold - because of the gold color or metallic sheen of some pupae".

and in that moment, that singular moment, you admire the honey-gold tint of his eyes in the late afternoon sun spilling luminescence across the sidewalks and across shiny car windshields and think that you could already see the shape and color of whatever butterfly that was going to burst from its cocoon).

one time you refused to come over his apartment because "the kids used glitter today" and you didn't want to get it all over his place. so he came over instead, and you watched the iridescent sparkles swirl down the bathtub drain together.

imagine spencer reid laying his head in your lap, something heavy and unspoken between you, shaped in the spread of his fingers across your hips, in the erratic pulse of his heart pressing into your shins

the school doesn't celebrate Halloween, but they have an annual "trunk or treat" where people CAN dress up and trick-or-treat out of the trunks of their cars and spencer starts helping you, decorating the trunk with fake cobwebs, and skulls, and eventually diving into convoluted themes that you're not convinced kids aged 5-10 are totally going to get.

"it's jaws." he says, holding a shark head made of paper mache, "you know, the 1975 film? you said we couldn't do slasher horror movies because they're too gory for the kids but i'd argue that this movie stands alone as a great horror film with how Spielberg creates consistent tension throughout the whole film considering we don't see the shark until an hour and twenty-one minutes into the run time."

(the kids don't really get it, it's true. "sharks aren't monsters." they would say, or "sharks aren't scary." or "is this from Baby Shark?" but you and spencer have fun, passing out candy, sharing small looks to each other--so that makes it all worth it).

imagine something soft, sweet, something quiet shared over coffee with spencer. something gentle amidst all the chaos, the heartache, and stress of his day-to-day job.

"I don't know how you do it," you tell him, "seeing the worst of what the world has to offer day in and day out."

his long fingers stroke the underside of your jaw, "i don't know how you manage a room full of fifteen 5 and 6-year-olds." he pulls a face. "especially with the germs."

imagine bringing spencer lunch at the office - earning the knowing, sly looks from his friends and team, knowing you can't hide against a room full of profilers and knowing it doesn't really matter anyways.

:) ok that's all i got. <3

[janeyseymour]

Never In a Million Years... Unless...- pt. 1

back on my bullshit and here with this for you

summary: Melissa feels a certain way about everything. And you? You're just happy to be there.

WC: ~1.8k

Melissa Schemmenti never wanted to be a mother. From the time she was little, she knew that she never wanted to have her own children. After having to take care of most of her siblings after her parents’ devastating divorce and stepping into a more maternal role at the ripe age of ten, the redhead knew what it took. She never wanted to be in that position again. Cooking, cleaning, running to the bus stop to make sure siblings got to school on time before attempting to get herself an education in a rightly manner was more than enough mothering than Melissa knew she ever wanted to have to do.

And she stood by that as she grew older. In fact, that single fact alone ruined quite a few relationships in the woman’s past.

“I don’t want children,” she would tell her partners. They would either try to sway her into changing her mind, or they would outright tell her that the relationship wouldn’t work out. Melissa found that she almost liked when they would just end it right there instead of trying to drag out something that would never work because of her stubborn position on the matter. The only person who didn’t push the idea of children on the woman was Joe- and she ended up married to him. Of course, she divorced him later on, but that’s besides the point.

All that being said though, Melissa Schemmenti knew that children were destined to be in her life one way or another- which led her to teaching. And teaching filled that hole in her heart of not having her own children. Some days, she almost wished she had her own children, specifically after her school children did something absolutely precious. But then there were the days where her school children were absolute menaces, and she was beyond grateful that she didn’t have to go home to her own little monsters (and she knows how Schemmenti children can be).

She led her life that way for oh so long, brushing off questions of when she was going to settle down again and finally have the children that others so desperately wanted her to have.

And then you came along- not that that changed her outlook on getting remarried and having children. But having you come into her life… it was nice. It was different. Melissa genuinely liked having you around, something that she couldn’t say about most of the people she worked with.

It had started because you were a new teacher at Abbott- a new kindergarten teacher to help take the load off of Barbara Howard. Quite frankly, the two veteran teachers weren’t thrilled with your appearance, but once they realized that you truly did have what it took to stay at the elementary school, they welcomed you with open arms- at least somewhat open arms.

And then one day, it changed. The redhead knew how perfect you were with your students, how you helped her best friend with the challenges that came with teaching at an underfunded and, at times, poorly run school, how your heart was in the right place… and that were absolutely stunning to look at. But when she was able to actual witness the magic that you seem to hold, she couldn’t stop herself from asking you out any longer. 

Everything that she stood for was laid out on the table right away, and you respected that. Hell, you leaned into it and promised her that the feelings she had about every matter on the table were valid. 

Your relationship with the sometimes brash and irascible second grade teacher was one of, if not the, healthiest relationships you had ever fostered. She had boundaries, you had your own boundaries, and neither of you crossed those lines. And if you did? The night was spent talking it out in a mature and calm manner, often times leading to making it up to each other in sweet and honest ways.

At this point, the two of you have been dating for a few years, and things still couldn’t be any better.

After a slight hiccup in the road, you’re living together. Domestic life could not come easier for the two of you. It is a blessing to be able to wake up to those sparkling emerald eyes, spend the morning getting ready together, have lunch together, cozy up on the couch after a long day with a warm meal, and then retire to the bedroom where you could fall asleep to the gentle beating of her heart.

Life is perfect with Melissa. There is nothing that you would change about her, and she wouldn’t change anything about you. Sure, the sometimes incredibly short temper on your girlfriend over menial things was challenging, and she didn’t necessarily enjoy the fact that you would kick your shoes off at the front door instead of placing them in the shoe basket you had. But every person has their faults, and you’ve come to learn that she needs space over certain things, and she’s realized that rather than pick a fight, she can just toss your shoes into the bin.

The topic of marriage and future is few and far between. Really, the only times that you ever spoke about it were when you first started dating, and then again when you took the leap and moved in with her. Neither of you were gunning for marriage or children, and that made the redhead breathe easier- knowing that you wouldn’t leave her over the topics.

You, in a blissful and loving haze, don’t know though, that things in Melissa’s mind are changing. You’re younger than her, and while you’ve made it quite clear that you’re more than okay with just being partners, doubts of you leaving her for someone else are never far from her mind. You could have anyone you wanted- a strong and beautiful man or woman who would gladly take your hand in marriage without hesitation and mother or father your children who would no doubt be the complete opposite of what a Schemmenti child is.

So when your girlfriend brings up the topic that is relatively taboo in your household, you’re taken aback.

“What?” you ask over a glass of wine, feet propped up on the coffee table.

“I don’t know, mi amore,” Melissa sighs as she plays with one of the rings sitting on your finger. Subconsciously, her hand begins to rub where an engagement and wedding ring could be sitting if you had decided that you wanted something else in life.

“Mel, I don’t need that stuff,” you tell her softly. “I just need you, and I’m the happiest woman alive.”

“I just…” the redhead trails off. “I’ve been thinking about it lately that you could have anyone you want, and maybe I’m just holding you back.”

At that you turn to face her, bringing your feet under you as you force her to look you in the eye. “Melissa Schemmenti.”

She hums, dropping her own eyes down to her lap.

“I could have anyone I want, and I have the person I want,” you tell your girlfriend fiercely. “You are not holding me back in the slightest. All I could ever want is the life I’ve built with you, and I do not need you getting in your pretty little head about the absurd ‘what if’s’ that are never going to come true. You’re stuck with me. I love you.”

“I love you too, mi amore,” she whispers as she leans in to kiss you.

“You are everything I could ever want,” you promise Melissa quietly. “Smart, sexy, confident, funny… brazen. Everything I could ever want, and then some.”

That night, just like every other night, you fall asleep with your head on her chest. And while the second grade teacher would usually follow suit relatively quickly, her mind is racing. She had always been so against marriage- giving her heart to someone else, only for it to be broken again the way Joe had broken her heart. She had spent so much time putting the pieces back together again, and even then, there were still cracks and scars from that relationship.

But… in every sense of the word other than legal parameters, the two of you are practically married as it is. You’re living together, you sleep in the same bed, she’s already given her heart to you. So maybe… just maybe, marriage isn’t quite off the table. 

She knows that you really don’t mind not being married, that you are perfectly okay with just spending the rest of your days together in the same realm that you are now, but… she also knows that you wouldn’t mind being married. And you’ve been so you about the topic of marriage- kind and understanding of her hesitations, doubts, and fears. You’ve never pushed for it because you’re so respectful of her boundaries. But she’s also heard when your coworkers ask when you’re finally going to have a ring. She’s also heard the way that you sigh softly, just the slightest bit of disappointment traceable in that little breath before smiling and saying that you don’t need one as long as you have Melissa. You’re just happy that you’re able to call her your girlfriend, your partner, the woman of your dreams.

The woman realizes that so far in this relationship, you’ve compromised on every big thing. You were willing to wait until she was ready to date, despite the fact that you knew she was into you way before she finally asked you out (she found out from Barbara that you had confided in your colleague and claimed that you were okay with waiting until Melissa came around to it herself). You were willing to accept her non-negotiable when it came to the romantic aspect of your relationship. You didn’t push her into living together until she brought up the subject, and then almost took back her offer because her own fears and doubts took over. The foundation of this relationship was mostly built upon the redhead’s views, and you were happy to go along with them because all you knew was that you wanted Melissa. 

And maybe… maybe it’s time she think about you. Of course, she still has doubts and fears about it, but jumping into a relationship with you was terrifying, and she thinks about where she is now. She said never in a million years was she going to get married again, but here she was- almost certain that at some point in the near future, she would be asking you to marry her. 

TAGS (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo

[etirabys]

Apologies if this is personal and you don't want to answer (or you don't want to answer for any other reason!); if that is the case no worries. But anyway by virtue of the fact that I am (sort of) a linguist I often get curious about people's language situation. You speak English obviously but spent your childhood in Korea, and often went to the English language book store while there? What is like, your personal linguistic history? Like, what language(s) did you grow up speaking, which ones did you learn later and when, etc? How fluent do you consider yourself in both English and Korean? If you don't mind my asking.

Haha, this is a dream scenario for me (someone asking about a situation I find fascinating about myself because I've never met anyone else with that background, but is probably boring to most people). Here's a longer story than you probably want:

My parents emigrated to the US before I was born, stayed for a decade, and moved back to Korea right after I was born. They're conversational in English, and my sister (12 years my elder) is fluent. Speaking English is valuable in Korea, so they raised me to be bilingual. They taught me the alphabet, bought me English language children's books, and sent me to an English language school run by Christian missionaries for preschool, kindergarten, and part of first grade.

My sister left the country when I was three to go to a boarding school in the US, but she came back every year for holidays, spoke exclusively in English to me, and refused to let the conversation move on if I mispronounced a word.

When I was six, my parents moved further away from the missionaries' school and switched me to a neighborhood public elementary school. At this point I was mildly more fluent in English than in Korean. Reading (English books) was a self-sustaining reaction I spent every free hour on. There were fewer interesting Korean books for children. Korea had industrialized ~30 years prior, and the hangeul writing system had only been in full use ~50 years at that point. As far as I knew, there was no CS Lewis of Korea, no Tolkien, no Diana Wynne Jones. In Korean bookstores, many of the prominent books on display were translated – The Little Prince was popular for children, and there was a children's fiction fad around another French author (who afaik never made a splash in the States) whose name I forget.

So I'm reading like 10 hours a day, at the dinner table, on the escalator when my mom takes me while she's shopping, sometimes under the desk at school flipping the pages with my toes, because the teachers don't care. (This is a huge W as far as I'm concerned for Korea – public school teaching is a somewhat competitive and standardized government job, it attracts people who lack great passion for either teaching or controlling children.) Meanwhile my peers don't like me much because my vibes are rancid: I have a compulsive laugh tic I haven't gotten under control, and I don't seem to understand their preferences very well or actively seek to understand them. Fair enough. I have one friend at any given time and she's usually on the fence about me.

When I'm old enough to take the train on my own, some weekends my mom gives me 5000 won for the train ticket + lunch, and I go into Seoul to visit one bookstore that has a 10-shelf English section. I pick a book, spend the day finishing it, and go home. Instead of my English language skills lapsing and being overtaken by the language I'm immersed in, I'm going deeper into English. Which increased the disconnect between me and my peers. I remember overhearing a conversation about an anime (The Black Cat) and eagerly asking if they'd also read the Edgar Allen Poe short story. I wanted to much to talk about shared interests, but it didn't occur to me to "invite myself into their interests" by picking up the manga they talked about.

...this all made my childhood weird in ways that have shaped me hugely but are difficult to describe. I was isolated and not, happy and not, stimulated and not, developing unevenly...

At eleven I discover fanfiction.net, probably one of the most impactful events of my life. I'm running out of physical books, I've read everything five or ten times, but then the computer! has made a deal with me! It contains INFINITE LITERATURE, although sometimes people seemed to misspell things on purpose and I didn't know why. (I had, approximately, never encountered misspellings in written material before.) In return the internet would take MY SOUL FOREVER although I didn't realize this at the time. I post a 100K Harry Potter epic over the next year where Harry is trained by a special assassin cult that lives under a mountain.

My parents have no idea what is on the internet. They're on a new temporal continent with no clue there's a parasite that can turn your daughter into a fujoshi. They do know that they have a worrying child. But! Her grades are really good, especially when she's testing in English. Good enough that although they originally intended not to send me to the US (my sister got depressed and burned out, and they attributed it to sending her to a different country for school), it made much more sense for me to go. I was on track to get a full ride at an Ivy, a carrot they were Not Immune to, and I obviously despised Korea and wanted to leave.

When I arrived in the States, I was terrified of speaking English to real native speakers. My language experience was "reading/writing: 95% English, speaking/listening: 90% Korean". I could perfectly pronounce any English sentence when I tried, but I'd occasionally and bizarrely mix up R and L, or the vowel sounds "ih" and "eeh" if I weren't paying attention. This went away after a year but I felt extra shy and didn't talk much. I'd guess 80% of my social cachet in freshman year came from writing funny Facebook posts.

I remember my time in Korea without feeling bothered by any single aspect, but overall I still have a big sense of "wow I didn't like that", have avoided non-Americanized Korean people since getting here (ten years ago), and now speak Korean haltingly. I'll try to teach it to my children so that they have the option of that cultural connection, but I don't think I can do a good job. It's feels 90% true thinking/speaking Korean is just a normal skill, a thing I do sometimes on the phone – and 10% true that the happier and more whole I become in the US, the more unsettling it feels to speak Korean at all.

[helly-watermelonsmellinfellon]

Recently, through Twitter, I have become aware of the fact that modern American parents have been very ignorant of their parental duties when it comes to their children. Parents are banding together to complain about the schools their children attend because their kids are getting bad grades in class, or they're getting detentions for doing bad consistently, or they're being held back because they're just not at the same level as their peers.

There was an entire thread of some woman whining about how the school was failing her kid, because his English class grade was so bad. There were thousands of comments agreeing and various reposts with anecdotes from other parents with similar experiences.

"My 26 y/o son can't even write a check for God's sake!"

And one single person finally replied with, "Do you guys not teach your kids anything at home before they start going to school?" Which then spawned people with actual common sense questioning the level of involvement these people had in the lives of their kids.

This is what led to a large surge of people complaining about how it's the school's job to teach them everything and they did their job just keeping them alive.

Now, I don't want to be mean, but it's gonna come across that way.

Parents are lazy these days.

When I was a child, my Nana and mom had me learning with Hooked on Phonics before I entered pre-K. I was 3 years old and already sounding out words that rhymed. I was practicing how quickly I could say them in under 30 seconds so I could progress to the next lesson.

mat hat sat that cat vat pat bat fat lat rat brat

etc...

When I was in pre-K(4 years old), they had a single, really old computer that had a bunch of Winnie the Pooh CD-ROM games. Because I always got my work done faster than everybody else, they let me use the computer because I could actually read and follow Pooh's instructions, and it kept me busy.

And when I entered kindergarten for the first time, I was really surprised to see that Hooked on Phonics was actually part of my curriculum and I was already very well ahead of everyone else. My mom and Nana took traching me very seriously. They not only read to me, but they would also get me Madeline books and cassette tapes from the children's library downtown. And then I would listen to the cassettes telling the story while reading the book at the same time to get used to the words.

At three years old, I was helping out in the kitchen, learning all of the different kitchen utensils and types of measurement. My mom often went between English, French and American Sign Language at random times so I picked up a lot of stuff that way. We never had a computer in the house for the first 12 years of my life, but I did have an old keyboard to learn how to type. Nana gave me basic piano lessons for a couple years. Mom taught me how to hem my clothes because she would buy me bigger clothes, hem them to size, and then let them out as I grew. Hell, Sperm Donor taught me how to write a check when I was 8. He was also a Financial Adviser, so I got a lot of lessons on money management, investments, and 401Ks and shit.

All these incredibly simple things ended up benefiting me later on, because I was so far ahead of all of the other students that it consistently put me at odds with them. I was better at reading, cooking, sewing, music, languages, etc... I was allowed time to do whatever I wanted while the rest of them had to catch up.

There is a lot more to being a parent than just making sure your kid eats three meals a day and doesn't die in a stupid way. And it seems like a lot of parents these days have completely forgotten that they have a duty to their kids beyond the feeding and clothing thing.

Certain things SHOULD be taught in schools, like how to balance a checkbook. But if it's clear that the school won't cover it, why aren't YOU doing something about that? And why do so many parents have no clue what the hell their kids are even getting up to in school? Why don't y'all get involved in your kid's lives?

[innytoes]

"I'm a nice person but I'm about to start throwing rocks at people.” Feels like a very Flynn to say.

Julie never expected Flynn to get into teaching. Honestly, they'd always dreamed of being on stage together, touring as Double Trouble. Except their styles of writing clashed so much it never really worked out, and then Julie got a ghost band turned human band turned international sensation. So yeah, while Flynn did make some cool remixes for the bonus track of their album, she decided her future lied elsewhere.

"It's basically the same thing," she'd joked once when they'd been hanging out in Julie's mom's studio, like the Old Days, even though that couch definitely wasn't as kind on 30-something's backs. "You have an audience. I have an audience. But if mine gets lippy, I can send them to time out."

Luke's head had popped up from his song book, but Julie pointed a warning finger at him. "No."

"Aw."

"Besides, I've realised I can achieve my ultimate childhood dream," Flynn had said.

"Become queen of the moon?" Julie asked.

"My other childhood dream: become Ms Frizzle."

And she had. Flynn had awesome, over the top outfits for just about every subject she taught, and Julie loved every selfie she sent while they were on tour. The guys had even turned it into a guessing game, trying to figure out what today's lesson was about.

Between the amazing fashion and the fact that she knew Actual Rock Star Julie Molina, Flynn was clearly the coolest teacher in school. Especially when she got Julie and The Phantoms to play at the school Christmas Charity Drive. The kids loved it. The band loved it. The teachers loved it.

The problem were the parents. Or, certain types of parents.

Julie had lost Alex to a bunch of earnest middle schoolers, Reggie to the Bake Sale, and Luke to a bunch of children who thought an electric guitar was the coolest thing. She'd been making small-talk with the lovely kindergarten teacher when Flynn flopped against the stage beside her, shoving an entire cupcake into her mouth in one go, handing the other one to Julie.

The kindergarten teacher gave them a smile, obviously used to Flynn's antics, and wandered off.

"You okay?" she said as Flynn thankfully at least chewed instead of just washing the whole thing down with soda like some kind of carbonated drink loving cobra. She patiently waited for Flynn to be finished, wincing at the sound nearby of Luke letting one of the kids try out what playing with an amp was like.

"I'm a nice person," Flynn said. "But I'm about to start throwing rocks at people."

"That bad?"

"One of the PTA moms asked me why I couldn't get Trevor Wilson instead," Flynn said. "And then tried to get me to talk to you about playing her kid's birthday party."

"Wow," Julie said.

"Fuck Debra McManning."

That name sounded vaguely familiar. The way it rolled off Flynn's tongue, she was pretty sure she cursed that woman's name a lot. "Wait, wasn't that the lady who complained you put her son in time out because he bit like three kids?"

"Yes," Flynn said, smiling a smile with gritted teeth. "And I'm not allowed to leave this room until we get the amount we need for the fundraiser, and if she talks to me again I am throwing hands. Or rocks. Or knives."

Julie knew that look. It happened right before Flynn did something they usually both regretted (because of course Julie wouldn't let her do the stupid thing alone.)

"Band huddle!" she called, decisively. Three heads popped up from various places in the gym, and her boys made their way to her.

"What's up, boss?" Luke asked, only pouting a little at being pulled away from his favourite thing: talking to people about music who were just as feral as he was. In this case, eight-year-olds who loved loud noises.

"We need to donate..."

"Five hundred twenty-seven dollars," Flynn said.

"Five hundred twenty-seven dollars," Julie repeated. "So Flynn doesn't commit manslaughter."

"Oh it won't be manslaughter," Flynn said. "It will definitely be premeditated."

"I need to taste at least five more things from the bake sale," Reggie said. "But I can start tipping well."

"Get me one of those giant cookies," Luke said, and Reggie shot him a thumbs up.

"There's an art auction in the corner, some kid drew a raccoon furry on a skateboard," Alex said. "I'm getting it for Willie. Think two hundred dollars will help me win it?"

"I'm going to get my nails painted at the booth over there," Julie said. "I'm sure their artistic vision will be worth more than they're asking."

They all looked at Luke expectantly, and he blinked, before grabbing the dinosaur wallet from the chain on his pants and giving Flynn a hundred dollars.

"Or that," Alex sighed.

"Or that," Flynn agreed. "Thank you."

"Of course," Julie said, giving her a hug. "You can't be Ms Frizzle if you're in jail."

[tiredclemont]

My family and I have had a very estranged relationship with Christianity over the years. My parents used to be VERY devout Christians, I may even consider them a bit conservative at the time. I went to a catholic school in Kindergarten, went to church every Sunday, my dad was in the choir, all of that.

We eventually left because we realized the place was just a big concert hall full of hypocrites. Even I realized this at that age, since people just complained about unrelated stuff during Sunday school instead of teaching us.

We tried many different churches, many different denominations (my favorite was the very old and very tiny Episcopal church that did sermons at like 7 in the morning and had a real silver goblet with wine), my Mom was the first to stop attending any church altogether. My dad and my brother finally settled on a Presbyterian church, but by that time I had stopped attending as well.

When we moved an hour away though, my brother stopped going. And then finally my dad stopped. He was the last to stop and hasn't found another church because of the exact reasons you and I don't. They're full of hypocrites and hateful people.

I still feel sad for him because he's one of the kindest people I know, he's been told he's one of the actual "good christians" by multiple people. So the fact that he can't have that anymore makes me sad.

But at the same time, I realize that he hasn't lost anything, he cast aside a falsehood. He sang and played trombone for something that would have made Jesus flip tables again. And he doesn't have to do that anymore.

My point is, it makes me sad that conservative Christians have completely taken over the religion's reputation and places of worship, not for my sake but for people like my dad. Hold on to the fact that no matter what you believe in, be kind to others.

[fluffyllamas-23]

hi just fyi i love jason with my entire heart and would love to read anything you wanted to tell us about him and ryan!!

omg 🥺🥺🥺 I'm so glad, I love them both a lot and I'm glad other people do too! If there's anything specific you ever want to know about them, there is not a time I will ever say no to that!

I do have a few facts about them!

Ryan is a criminal defense attorney who specializes in working with people who have been falsely accused and imprisoned, and is an aspiring judge. Also, he looks great in a suit lmao

The school that Jason is a principal at, before he was hired, was kind of falling apart. The owners (it's a private school) had been dealing with a major health crisis, so they both had their attention taken away by that and the school kind of fell by the wayside. When everything was fine and the one who was sick was healthy again, they came back and realized that it was kind of in chaos, and decided they needed a change in leadership and replaced the principals (it's a large school, there's a preschool, elementary, middle, and high school).

Jason was hired on to be the elementary principal and he decided that there needed to be a major change. There was a lot of tension and apathy amongst the teachers and support staff when he got there and it just wasn't a very great work environment. He, in a moment of very ADHD fueled middle of the night panic that he needed to fix things RIGHT NOW decided on a mass grade level change. He moved Chase and Alexei (@robbiefischers Alexei) down to kindergarten and it very nearly killed Chase and he was THIS CLOSE to quitting teaching forever lmao (Alexei fared better and ended up kind of loving it because he realized that sixth graders are not very different from kindergarteners emotionally but also he will never do that again don’t you dare, Jason 😂).

The only thing that saved Chase's career was that Jason promised him he could move back to fourth grade the next year lmao. He's really not entirely sure of the logic behind that decision, he just knew SOMETHING needed to change and this really weeded out all of the teachers who sucked and needed to go. It did end up working though and now that school is a REALLY great work environment. He also promises to never do that to anyone again unless absolutely necessary and he gets their permission lmao

[nothingtherefornow]

Sadly and furiously, there's worse teachers than Bustier and Mendeleiv, and worse principals than Damoclès in real life

I've just read stories and testimonials from people about their years in primary and secondary school in France, And I've realized that, in fact, there are really so much worse cases than Miss Bustier, Mrs. Mendeliev, and Mr. Damocles as teachers and principals in real life :

Teachers and principals who aren't just enablers, but bullies themselves. Teachers who select one of their students as a scapegoat to vent all their frustrations, often punishing them unfairly, and ignoring or making fun of their difficulties, humiliating them in front of other students, etc. To the point that it also encouraged others students to bully the scapegoat student. One testimony particularly schoked me :

"I had a teacher who found all possible excuses to punish me, when we had presentations/assignements to make, the others in my class had 1 week to do it... I had to do it for the day after. She very often deprived me of recess, prevented me from going to the toilets, but above all, she couldn't see me so much that she very often sent me to the principal's class to do my punishments. She and the director were very good friends, and the director also had fun punishing me and saying mean things about me in front of her students. I was the student not to become. And this had quite a repercussion since the class of the director attacked me physically and also mentally during the lunch break (the only recess I had the right to because I had to eat), which , over the months, had rounded up all the other classes who came to harass me too (except my class, being aware that I did nothing wrong). And the harassment was even sometimes sexual and I confess that I do not understand how no supervisor could see what was happening."

it's terrifying how Miraculous actually only shows a fraction of school bullying and what a bad teacher is

Fortunately there are also testimonials on teachers who have helped students a lot.

A favorite youtuber of mine spoke of a teacher in a large kindergarten section who had traumatized her, and led her to withdraw into herself and never participate in class again. Then in CP, she had a teacher who was the exact opposite, fair, kind and attentive A teacher who helped her heal the wounds of the previous year. as kindergarten and primary shared the same canteen, the bad teacher and the good teacher already knew each other, and one day the youtuber witnessed a conversation between the two teachers of which she was the subject. The good teacher complimented her student and expressed her joy to have her in her class, while the bad teacher dared to ask "are you sure she is not mentally retarded?" about her former student, and she added that "according to science" students who are too well behaved hid a vice, and that one should not hesitate to often punish them, even if it means going as far as corporal punishment. The nice teacher replied that if she were to come across a teacher punishing his students this way, she would report them to the rectorate, slash their car tires, and set their house on fire. Then the good teacher asked to her colleague "I sure hope you're not that kind of teacher, right ?" Karma is rare in real life, but when it does its job, it's a jubilant moment ^^.

This story may be exaggerated, but I found it interesting to cite it

Myself I had an immense chance to have a schooling which took place without aplomb despite my autism thanks also to the presence of my twin sister (my parents always and rightly arranged for us to be in the same class) and I have always had relatively good teachers.

But reading and listening to this kind of testimonies really makes me realize that there are still a lot of bad teachers who do not just enable but also participate in the bullying of one or many students. Those kind of "adults" are the shame of teaching, people who shouldn't even have the right to teach nor approach children.

SPOILER WARNING ABOUT MIRACULOUS SEASON 5

That's why the episode Confrontation had me starting to despise Caline Bustier and Denis Damoclès a lot less, because it's better to have a teacher and principal regretting their past bullying enabling actions and misleading, and wanting to make up for it and become better, rather than teachers and principals who do enjoy abusing their students and never get caught

[prose-among-the-trees]

I missed you when I was five

We would play together and you’d hand me your boy clothes and toys and I’d hand you my girl ones, and our parents would oversimplify it and tell people we were just two kids who wanted to share the world with each other, even if we didn’t belong in the things we received. We’d know though, in furtive glances at the other to make sure the clothes fit, to putting pretty bows in your hair and dresses on your body, to letting you adjust a necktie that’s far too big for both of us around my small neck. We’d know exactly why we gave what we did to each other, exactly the meaning behind it, and exactly what the future would hold. Our parents would joke that we would be destined for marriage, the sort of story all childhood friends get told, but we know will never really happen, especially if I liked boys and you liked girls, because I wasn’t a girl and you were never a boy. You’d tell me all about being in a grade higher than kindergarten, and I’d be so so jealous.

I missed you when I was eight

We would be at school together and a boy wouldn’t like the fact that I wanted to play all the boy games and not wear girl clothes, and I’d cry because he didn’t like me. I was too much of a boy for him. You’d sit with me and tell me jokes and help me tuck my hair into a baseball cap. You’d teach me how do undo it quickly before we went home. A girl would call you names and I’d naively try everything I could to ruin her life, a shallow definition of a life at eight, telling girls that she steals others lunches and that she likes a boy who the whole class thinks is mean. We’d stick up for each other. When my parents split up you’d be there for me through all of the turmoil. You’d convince your parents to let me come over and start sleeping over like I did when we were little so I wouldn’t have to hear or see the fighting. You’d be at the summer camp with me when I got picked up illegally and you’d be the first to call my guardian to let them know what had happened.

I missed you when I was twelve

I’d cry when I went over to your house about how awful middle school was. The teachers were unfair and the girls didn’t make sense and boys didn’t make sense either, and what if I liked girls too? I wanted girls to see me as a boy, and what did that even mean? I’d tell you about how my parents are on me about grades I can’t remember let alone keep up with, and how my grandma was dying. You’d explain that high school wasn’t much better, that teachers expected so much, and the cliques were almost as bad as how they’re shown in movies. You’d tell me how girls there were really pretty and how you wouldn’t be able to take all the art classes, but you’d teach me everything you were taught. You’ll reassure me that it’ll be okay and that even if we went to different schools, we’ll still be best friends.

I missed you when I was 14

You’d navigate me through where to sit, and where to avoid if you want to dodge senior couples making out during passing period. I’ll join the theatre program and make a few friends there, and one of them will absolutely adore you and put flowers in your hair and draw in sharpie on my chin for facial hair. We’ll both look at each other and understand what we knew at as young as five and seven years old. You’ll show me this new book series you found and how well you draw all of the characters. You’ll watch the plays and musicals I act in and I’ll come to every single art show you have. When parents continue to fail us, we’ll know we have each other. You and I will continue this corrupted little pastime of trying to act like the ‘wrong’ sex, never in front of family of course. We’ll sit in your room in the middle of the night and listen to the foxes, and I’ll silently put makeup on your nervous lips with my shaking hands as we make sure your mother won’t hear us.

I missed you when I was 17

I’d explain to you that things didn’t make sense in my head, that I didn’t know who or what I was at any given moment. You’d feel the same. We’d mourn one of my guardians moving away so I’d have to live with the other full time. You’d take me on long drives at night to avoid them, and you’d plan out the life we’d live together, best friends, fighting the world. You’d confide in me the feelings of hopelessness and I’d have us make an agreement to stay alive at least as long as the other person did. I’d scream and kick and fight and sob at every corner of my senior year, and you’d hold me and tell me you believed me, and that the lies I’d been told about myself were just that. You’d plan for both of us to get help for the problems with our heads and we’d spend nights laughing at the absurdity of it all after crying our eyes out about it just ten minutes prior.

I miss you now

Speaking with you nightly, knowing that we understand each other better than any person on earth. We collectively know each other inside and out. We never lived together, never laughed together before I turned 18, and yet, I miss the childhood I never got with you. I miss sleepovers and exploring in nature, I miss stargazing and taking you to restaurants you could eat at. I miss us both cursing about our parents behind their backs and laughing at how sneaky we were. I miss the child you never got to see in me, and I miss the life we never shared until it was 18 years too late for me, and 20 for you.

[ivansergeyevichturgenev]

i like my mentor teacher and i'm learning so many things! and i especially like her classroom management strategy of NO BRIBES! but i'm angry at how social studies and science have been reduced in most k-5 classrooms and it like actually enrages me. for my entire elem experience, we had daily social studies and science instruction. if not in kindergarten, i know for a fact it was daily at least in first and beyond. DAILY. now it's been reduced to a 45 min block called "content" that teachers may or may not get to. i don't love standardized testing but tbh getting rid of the tests meant teachers and districts as a whole ditched science and social studies! it's crazy to me because research has shown time and time again that children's literacy suffers when they don't have the necessary background knowledge about the world AND the achievement gap widens when students don't get regular social studies instruction! and today we did a read aloud on the history of the us flag and one out of the only two black students raised his hands and asked if african americans were enslaved during the revolutionary war. (this school is 90% white.) and my mt responded yes, slavery did not end until later, and that we'd talk more about black history in FEBRUARY. i'm like actually really frustrated...black history shouldn't wait until february. in my classroom next year i'm injecting as much social studies as i can. and in my lessons here i might ask to do some social studies because this is a disgrace. i literally had a better social studies education in my rural elementary school even if it was problematic in a lot of its teaching. what????

[otome-crow]

This this 1000x this!!

I’m 43, but I’m a high school teacher, and I’ve taught 9th grade (14-15 year olds) for almost 20 years. Listening to them talk about how they’re treated by parents and bosses and sometimes my fellow teachers appalls me. To me, these are children, some of them become MY children (I’m very out as queer and ND and I run part of the theatre program, so the LGBTQ/ND kids tend to find me) because they struggle with their own parents…but they’re way more than just children.

My dudes. They’re young adults. There’s a reason we have that term. Are they adults? No. But they’re not JUST ‘young’ either. They’re in that middle ground where they’re building who they’re going to be as a full adult, hopefully within a space safe enough to make mistakes and learn from them without wrecking their lives. Sure, they need guidance and structure, but they don’t need to be monitored the same way an 8 year old does. In fact, they NEED space to take risks and FAIL. Failure is so important at any age, but even more so now. They need to learn their true limits, and how far they can go before they fall off the cliff - because the cliff, at this age, is about the size of a step or two, instead of a real cliff. Let. Them. Experiment.

Also, maybe just listen to them? Like I said, I teach 9th grade. But there are kids who come and see me a few times a week after they leave my class. Why? Because I’ll listen about their video game news or mangas or whatever. I may not read their mangas, but if they explain enough about it (and find me a teen that doesn’t like infodumping to someone about their favorite thing), I can have an intelligent conversation about character arcs or whatever. Or at least ask intelligent questions.

And if you won’t treat a teen as a person because they’re ACTUALLY PEOPLE, look at it as development: every time they explain the newest plot twist of their manga to me, they’re practicing communication and critical thinking skills. In fact, whenever they READ a manga, they’re practicing understanding pictures and words, which sounds like a kindergarten concept until you have to read charts or a fact sheet on a car you’re thinking about buying. Also, just….reading is good? Any reading? Video games are good? Hello? Hand-eye coordination, problem solving, puzzle skills, critical thinking, and perseverance?

There’s a reason parents are encouraged to involve their kid in age-appropriate ways in home finances. Helping them budget their allowance/work income helps them budget their salary when they’re an adult. The fact that we have entire YouTube channels dedicated to teaching us stuff our parents never did shows that we’re not involving kids and teens in our everyday lives anymore. It’s really fucking sad.

Sometimes people ask me the best part about teaching teens (it’s a rare question, most people want horror stories). I always say I’ll never become one of those ‘kids these days’ people because kids don’t change. The only difference between teens 20 years ago and teens now is the cell phones, and that’s another rant. Now, it might just be the kids who find their way to me, or it might be the culture of my school, but I see way, way more kids completely accepting of their LGBTQ/ND peers than bullying them. I have kids come up to me frequently asking how they can help someone who’s struggling, or if we can start a food drive, or their friend’s parents are having problems paying their bills, is there some way I can help? They’re so concerned about others, about helping and protecting people weaker than them, and they accept help from others in ways I don’t see in adults. There’s an openness that the world shuts down in them.

you cant ever let yourself forget what it felt like to be 15. how adults treated you. being treated without a shred of respect because people think youre too young to have thoughts and feelings of your own. the lack of autonomy. you cant ever forget that because if you do you might become the kind of adult who treats kids like theyre not people

[sarcastic-nebula]

Teachers deserve better

I just got hired to be a grader at my university. TLDR, I've learned a lot in the week and a half I've had this job. Rant below.

I have had to look at homework papers where students, college students!, don't write in complete sentences, answer the whole question being asked, or even label the questions they're answering (something you very much want to do in a STEM class). I don't even think some of them know how to answer a question they don't know. Some just spouted off facts that were only partially relevant to what was being asked. I'm not being pretentious when I say that some didn't even appear to try. Maybe because they don't care about the class, maybe because they ran out of time (happens to all of us), but consistently not ending a sentence with a period? Referring to Mars as a star? Answering only the first part of a question rather than all three?

This all has made me realize, personally, not just from social media or what I see as a student, how much shit K-12 teachers experience. If this is what I see in my first week from college students at a major university, what are they seeing every year in their high schools? Middle schools? What do they see when they ask their fourth graders to use complete sentences? Keep in mind, I'm seeing maybe 30/100 kids making fundamental errors like this, so I'm barely scratching the surface.

They offer so many resources, whether it's coming to school early or staying late, offering to let students retake their tests, answer any question to the best of their abilities. And most of them try to set their kids up for success. I've realized that by teaching me to read, answer questions on texts, and write answers in complete sentences with correct punctuation that they are preparing me for the rest of my education and my life. I can't understand my HIPAA rights, or my part of a loan repayment plan if I can't read or understand what I read. I can't send an email to an employer or a colleague if I can't write. And that's not even the math or science part of what I'm studying!

I would be nowhere without my algebra, calculus, or physics teachers. They put in the time and patience and energy to help me when I asked for it. They truly cared. And I am beyond grateful, I can barely explain it. I'm using skills that all of them taught me, and I am a senior in college. I'm doing derivatives that my high school teacher taught me, because she did it better than my college calculus professors did. This same woman saw me having a rough day, and let me put my head down for her class period. At the end of the year, she saw me studying for her final exam, and gave me a B even though I earned less because she saw me put in effort that no one else did. I'm able to do algebra because I had a fantastic teacher in eighth grade. I'm able to understand some physics because my high school teacher did it well. I wish I could reach out to her and tell her how much she has impacted my life. Same goes for precal; the unit circle he made us memorize? Helping me with my classes to this day. All of them got me to where I am today. Waking up early sucked, sharpening my pencil on a Sunday afternoon sucked because I needed to keep writing complete sentences wasn't ideal, but I am where I am now because they said to do this homework, write this way, read this.

Don't get me wrong, my parents played a part too. They raised me to give a shit about my education. They stayed up and helped me do my reading exercises in kindergarten so I would be literate. It must have been agonizing to have a five year old shout "STOP!" after a day at work, but they did it. They helped me sound out words, practice spelling tests, help with math homework until they couldn't anymore because of how hard it had become, so I could get here. They told me how all of my great aunts went to college for at least a year because Great Grandpa Nebula believed in education. This was 1950s America, and all four sons and all five daughters were given the same chances toward higher education. One of those aunts graduated from law school.

I remember when I graduated high school, and some teachers I still saw regularly were earnestly congratulating me. Fifth grade English teacher (I really didn't like her when I was in fifth grade but she's cool now), fourth grade science teacher, on top of my high school teachers. I didn't get it. I had done decent in high school and got accepted to a good university. Wasn't Ivy League or anything. I felt like I had achieved the bare minimum. I asked my dad about it, and he said something along the lines of, "They're probably really proud of you. Some of them don't see all of their former students walk the stage or go to college."

And it's probably true. Not everyone is able to finish high school, whether it's due to situations they didn't sign up for, not enough support from where they need it, or it just became too hard, and they dropped out.

Or worse.

Imagine the heartbreak at not seeing some good kids walk the stage and get their diplomas.

Teachers pour years of time, effort, money, patience, and love into their students. And we don't pay them tuition. They don't have to give so much. My school district was shit, but I was extremely lucky to get my education almost entirely from teachers who wanted to go above and beyond and who knew what they were teaching.

Now, imagine how they feel when students complain about having to write in a complete sentence? About having to do front and back pages of a homework assignment? The complaints they get about too much work, too hard of a class, expecting too much, from students, admin, parents, etc. Not every assignment is great, but there's a method to the madness.

I would not be where I am today, studying astronomy and passing my university classes, it if weren't for them. Even the mean and strict ones had a reason.

Now, I know I am lucky. My teachers meant well, and I know that's not how it is everywhere for everyone. But my hardest teachers knew what they were doing, at least for the most part.

I have no way to truly show them how grateful I am. I'm trying to tell the ones I can still contact, but I don't quite know how. "Hey, I know it's been literal years since you've seen my face and looked at my name, but you're one reason why I'm passing my classes! Thanks a bunch!" doesn't cut it for me.

They deserve more. So much more. I had a little cry earlier because it's not fair, the way they get treated, and how little they get recognized. Our society doesn't care about its kids. Underfunded schools; putting sports above arts so much so that arts barely get funding, teachers barely being able to have what they need. Some parents aren't parenting the way they should to create members of society (not all! dear god, there are so many good parents out there; parenting is so hard!). To name a few reasons.

My K-12 teachers have done so much for me, so, so much. And I never truly understood, and never complete will, because I have such a small taste of what they get, all because I graded a few papers for an intro course.

The tears were also of gratitude, by the way.

[frankfortkentucky]

“Are You A Feminist?”

At 4 years old, I was taught that when a boy bullies a girl, that means he liked her. I thought “Oh, so that means I should bully [my little pre-school crush], because if boys bully girls to tell them they like them, it goes both ways!” So I raced around the playground with him at recess, I poked him in class to tell him jokes, and laughed when he tripped while helping him up and he did all the same to me. In my mind, this was bullying, but as you can probably tell, it was no where near it. But still, whenever he whined about losing the race, I got in trouble because “I wasn’t playing fair;” whenever he laughed to loud, I got in trouble because “I was distracting him;” whenever I took a second to long to help him up, I got in trouble because “I had pushed him.” But whenever I whined, or laughed to loud, or was on the cold linoleum floor for to long, he was never in trouble, it was still always my fault for not being fast enough, “it’s okay, you’re just a girl.” For not ignoring [crush], “he’s just trying to get a rise out of you.” For being unlady-like and absentminded, “you have to pay more attention.” My teacher was a woman.

At age 6, right before starting kindergarten, I was told my dad was not my “real dad” and how all my brothers, but one, came from different fathers. My mother had several conversations with me throughout that year explaining in detail how three separate times, 3 guys lied and manipulated her into a relationships with them. Throughout this she told my about the abuse and sexual assault towards herself and us kids in every house. Once my full-brother had gotten to 6 I asked, “Will you tell him to? I can help if you want” but she surprised me by responding, “Of course not, he’s much to young go know all that!” “But that’s how old I was when you told me?” and her response to that is something I wish I could rip out of every throat that’s ever said it to me since. The fact that the first time I heard it was from my mother will always haunt me. “But it’s different because you’re a girl” To this day she hasn’t told my 3 younger brothers anything and they are all well over 6 years old. My 2 older brothers only know because their dad has split custody, but they know nothing except that their dad provided the sperm for them. I will have to live with this knowledge for the rest of my life, and have had to since I was learning to tie my own shoe laces, but my grown brothers will be “protected” from that information and will likely never know about the abuse my mother had to go through.

Growing up with five brothers wasn’t easy. I don’t like any stereotypical “boyish” things and neither do half my brothers, but while they were asked interesting, thoughtful questions about what they did like, whether or not it was just “boyish” things (it was always just football or video games), I was always dismissed as just liking makeup and fashion and barbies. I didn’t like any of those things growing up. I liked looking at what ancient sculptures used to look like, and how land animals evolved from sea creatures, and how other languages came together into the one I speak, but of course no one wanted to hear me talk about those things. My brothers flourished in school and everywhere else; I was labeled as dumb and a loner. Soon I was forced to “like” stereotypical “girly” things so I could have normal childhood friendships, but my brothers, even though also not conforming to gender norms at all, were not forced to being anything bug themselves. They were celebrated for being different, I was berated for not being “normal.”

From 7 to 8 years old, my mother refused to buy me glasses, and wouldn’t tell me why, even though she knew I really needed them. Around that time she also started refusing to let me wear my hair up in a ponytail or pigtails. She made me start wearing long sleeves in summer. She refused to buy me new shorts after I grew out of my old ones. She started teaching me how to make a grown man “go to sleep” with kicks to the groin, thumbs and pepper spray to the eyes, and sharp objects to the throat.

Throughout my life I have experienced many, MANY horrible things. I decided to tell some passive sexist things I’ve had to go through that has fucked me up emotionally and mentally and will continue to, just like my physical assaults have and will as well. All men benefit from the patriarchy, even if just to be celebrated for being decent human beings because the bar is set so low, or to not get the blame as a child, or to be “protected” from knowing women's struggles, or to be loved and appreciated as a child, or to not have to be trained how to not get raped at 7. Even if it’s “not all men,” all men still reap the benefits whether they know it or not. EVERY woman is a victim to the patriarchy and sexism, even if she hasn’t been physically SA’d.

[hilliska]

Belgium was one of the first countries to legalize gay marriage, exactly twenty years ago - for the kids I'm teaching at university it's literally all they've ever known. I'm a bisexual woman married to another woman, we got two kids, and both of our names are on their birth certificates. We didn't even need to apply for that, it's just how things go. My kid's not the only one in his class with 2 moms; in fact, I know of at least 4 other queer parent couples at this (admittedly fairly progressive) school. We had a gay prime minister over ten years ago, we currently have a trans minister of public administration and public enterprises - first one in Europe. A recent study showed that gay and lesbian people are slightly MORE likely to be hired when interviewing for a job (yes, you read that correctly). We're n°2 in the Rainbow Ranking.

Like. I'm one of the lucky ones, I'm very aware - to the point where I sometimes forget that my being married to a woman might raise eyebrows because it's such a non-issue 99,99% of the time. I have a good life! Like in terms of legal protections, societal acceptation, ... I'm basically in the best place I could possibly be!

And yet, if you now think that Belgium is some sort of queer walhalla - it is not. The same study I mentioned above did very much still find discrimination against trans people. The other week a young gay politician was beat up in a hate incident. And just today, I read in the newspaper about a march on Brussels, protesting the new(ish) compulsory curriculum on sex and relationships in the southern part of the country, saying (and I quote): "They want to surrender our children to pedophiles." and "Which parent could accept that their son is taught by people who want to turn him into a girl?"

(For context this is a 2x2hr sex ed program for 12 year olds to teach them about consent and relationships.)

Like. We're doing great! Compared to other countries, the freedom and protection queer people have here are great! And STILL people pull this shit, STILL the reaction to "hey we're gonna teach your kids gay people exist" is to photoshop a picture of a drag queen in a kindergarten and call teachers pedophiles.

So we're not done! They'll tell you: oh you've come so far, you've got so much, isn't it enough? And the answer is NO. It's not! As long as it's a game of chance whether the country/family you live in will accept you, it's not enough!

god i am always the FIRST to rally against the failures of just fighting for tolerance from straight cis ppl, but also we haven't even fucking reached tolerance yet.

we still need "We're Queer We're Here Get Used To It", because i don't know about you guys, but from what I'm seeing, they aren't fucking used to it.

we need that old school "we're your hairdressers, your teachers, your neighbors, your siblings, your friends" energy back ASAP. quietly queer isn't cutting it for me anymore. in your face dykes fag queer trans forever until i'm fucking dead.

[latina4rmbx]

Real. Not Real

I usually post about perspective and how people see things as people are and not as the situation actually is, but this time, this is about memory.

Memory is a tricky thing. You can trick yourself into believing something is true although it may very well not be. This could be due to circumstances that aren't very good or plain ol' good imagination. I have some situations where I don't know if the situation is real or not real so I'm just going to share a few of these with you.

REAL: I am an army brat. I grew up in military housing for a good portion of my young life.

REAL: I've lived in Texas and in Germany

REAL: I went to kindergarten in Germany

How old is a person when they're in kindergarten? 5? 6? The scenarios I will pose are during those 5 to 6 year old stages.

REAL: Living in Germany, my mom was a housewife. She made everything from scratch. Pies, cakes, cookies, even clothes.

Scenario 1: Outside of the living complex there was a field. to a 5 year old it looked like hundreds of acres of grass. I used to cross the road and eat the nectar from the stems. REAL? I'm not sure. Why would I be out there alone eating stems? How didn't I not kill myself? Did I know what I was eating?

Scenario 2: I came home from school, alone. My snack was Chips Ahoy cookies and Pepsi (at least I think it was Pepsi). I go to the bathroom because my stomach hurt and vomited all over the floor. I cleaned it up and no one was ever the wiser. REAL? Why would i be getting home alone? Where was my mom? Was she asleep? Why did I throw up and clean up and no one ever knew? I'm not too certain this one is real.

Scenario 3: Playing hide and seek and I got locked in the laundry room for what seemed like hours. I cried myself to sleep. REAL? I don't have the foggiest idea.

These 3 scenarios I specified above seem to be CORE memories for me, but in truth, I don't know if they actually happened. I like to joke and say I have a vivid imagination and that can be true, but to imagine a life and scenarios that didn't really happen and have my brain process them as core memories is a scary notion for me.

What else do I have in my brain? What other Not Real things happen that my mind processed as real? Can I trust my brain and my memories?

Scenario 4: I lived with my dad and his new wife in Texas, when I was about 7 or 8 years old. They were on the outs and she kicked him out. In doing so, she kicked me out too (not sure if she actually kicked me out or if the fact that I was his kid and not hers, he just took me with him) and we used to live in the car. REAL! We lived in the car for a couple of days. Maybe a week. I remember us eating a lot of Church's Fried Chicken.

Scenario 5: Before we got kicked out of the house, I used to walk to school on the side of the road and it seemed like I was walking hundreds of miles (so when people say: When I was your age I used to walk barefoot in the snow for 5 miles to get to school, they're not actually wrong. This is how they're small brains saw the trek). i had a bestfriend Susie who used to live in a lone house on the way to school. I would stop and pick her up. She had very long straight here. like down to her knees. One day I picked her up and her hair was short and very curly. REAL? Partly. Like I said, I did walk to school, alone, and I did have a BFF Susie who had long hair and one day cut it. The NOT REAL part is...the walk. I'm sure, at 7 or 8 years old, I wasn't allowed to walk long ways alone. I'm almost certain the school was maybe up the road (like maybe 3 city blocks). The fields weren't as long (because 3 city blocks) and Susie's house probably wasn't the only one on that side of the road. But yet again, another core memory.

Scenario 6: After the living in the car situation my dad and I moved in to a 1 bedroom apt. I used to drink Carnation Instant Breakfast every morning before school. He was teaching me to iron using a handkerchief and I burned my stomach. REAL! We did live in a one bedroom apartment. I slept on the pull out sofa in the living room. I drank the Vanilla Flavored Carnation Instant Breakfast (may be why I like Prolessa) and I have the burn mark to prove the whole ironing thing. Yes, over 30 years later, I still have the little line where the hot iron met my belly flesh :(

Scenario 7: I had never ridden the bus before (huh, this explains a lot, I'll tell you what I mean after this scenario) but my dad was in the military and he had to go to work. I had to go to school so I'd take the bus. There was another hispanic little girl in our complex who used to take the bus too. I was advised to get off the bus when she does, so I could make it home. At the end of the school day, I got off the bus and followed the wrong little girl to her complex. REAL! Now this was definitely before the age of Cellphones and I was only 7 or 8, maybe 9, so what would I be doing with money? I walked up and down a street that would be akin to lets say 3rd Ave and 145th Street. A street with lots of shops. I walk into a bar and a biker looking man asked me what was wrong. I was crying and I said I was lost and didn't know how to get to Prince Street. He said, I was just around the corner and walked me over. REAL? How the fuck do I know? Yes I did get off on the wrong stop and followed the wrong girl. I was walking up and down a street but in truth, I might've just been circling the same block. I did walk into a business crying and said I was lost, but I don't think I went into a bar. Why would I? I'm almost certain it wasn't a biker who helped me get home. Maybe just a kind older man (I have to say older because I'm older and I don't want to call him old, although that's how I saw him at the time, in case he was the age I am right now) who showed me Prince Street was just around the corner. Was the name of the street really Prince Street? No clue, but another core memory for the books because I distinctly remember saying Prince Street.

Side Note: The realization I made above has to do with my son. Mind you, he isn't 7 or 8 or 9. He is a 13 year old, intelligent young man. All his life I have driven him to and from school. I wanted to put him on the bus because them Bronx highways are always jammed with traffic, but was always too scared to. Why? I'm going to guess it's because of my little Scenario 7. I'd die if he got off on the wrong stop and he was lost. That's my shit though, not his. Now that I'm moving, I'm afraid to put him on the bus at the new spot because he's been getting driven to school and takes the bus home. What if he gets off on the wrong stop? I'd die if he gets lost. Did I mention that I'd die?

Scenario 7 (cont): When I finally got home, the little girl, her mother and my father were there waiting for me. i'm sure they were scared, but I have a feeling of, the mom was more scared for me than my dad. REAL? Who knows. What I do know now, but didn't know then was my dad and the lady had exchanged numbers and he wanted her to call him when her daughter got home to make sure I made it home. Oh boy, that must've been one doozy of a conversation. The next day, the little girl sat next to me and when I went to get up, at the wrong stop again, she stopped me. REAL? I believe so. I hope so.

I know these stories are boring. I'm not here really to entertain. At least, this post isn't for that. I wake up with these thoughts in my mind and I have to let them out. Mind you I've been awake since like 3 AM. Do with that, as you will.

The brain is a complex body part. It controls everything. Can you even fathom that? If what they say is true, we only use 10% of our brains, then the complexities are just beginning. The memories stored in our brains are for a reason. Either to help guide us. Like to use as a tool to do or not do something. Like, as a kid, you touch a flame. You burn yourself. your brain stores that into the "Do Not Do" column. Get it?

Memory is a trickier part of the brain. Memories can be manipulated. Obviously memories can be created out of fiction but there is something REAL in every NOT REAL. Something did happen to create that particular memory. It may not be exact, or even close to what your memory perceives it to be, but in the memory there is some core of truth. I mean, why in most of my CORE Memories I'm alone? That has to be the NOT REAL part of the memory. Who knows? That may be the only REAL part. Either way, accessing some of these memories, or when they flood in (and they do from time to time) I tend to pay attention to what I see in my minds eye. I try to take in the view and try to access the sounds, smell the smells.

Ok, last Scenario. Scenario 8: I lived in a military building in Germany (REAL). The complex was shaped into a 3 sided square (REAL?). In the back or the middle of the 3 sided square there was a playground (REAL). I used to play outside because our balcony faced the playground (REAL). The play ground always smelled like fresh laundry (REAL?). I fell and busted my chin open in said play ground (REAL).

The things that I mention above that are REAL, it's because I have tangible evidence (I don't have it on hand though) of their existence. I have pictures of the playground from our balcony (at least I hope it's our balcony or I really need to rethink my memory). The playground always smelled like fresh laundry is iffy. The laundry room was in the basement of the building. The vents did ventilate outside to where the playground was. I probably walked by those vents every time I went to the playground and it's why whenever I smell Downy I can picture the playground. Well as for the busted chin, you be the judge.

Well my sweets, I need coffee and badly. Thanks for joining me on the trip down memory (?) lane.

Thanks for reading

XOXO