childrens march

The Instruments As Shit My Extended Family Did Over Thanksgiving
  • flutes: spilled red wine all over the tan carpet
  • clarinets: spent 95% of the time playing pokémon sun
  • saxophones: viciously heckled anyone playing mariokart if they were not in first
  • trumpets: wore a bluetooth headset constantly despite never using it
  • horns: took a generous sip of scotch besides being generously pregnant
  • trombones: brought up politics™
  • baritones: claimed more alcohol made him better at mariokart; was correct
  • tubas: guilt tripped everyone into watching college sportsball
  • percussion: made a disturbingly convincing case for my weird uncle being a former government spy
my favorite things from the Women’s March, D.C.
  • little girl holding a sign that says “dear theodosia we’ll fight for you”
  • people cheering when you got off the metro
  • someone was dressed as a middle finger
  • my 52 year old mother: “look at all the pussy hats!”
  • the not one, not two, but three mothers who were breatfeeding their children as they marched (the most metal thing i’ve ever seen)
  • “if you get arrested we aren’t bailing you out” “why are you only talking to me” “olivia, look at you”
  • the little girls (like 6 or 7), chanting “show me what democracy looks like!” and their father responding “you are what democracy looks like!”
  • the same little girls high fiving passing marchers
  • this exchange between my mom and brother, on how long it takes to move half a million people: mom, “this must be what moses felt like for 40 years” brother, “well he only had to deal with a gold calf, not a golden shower”
  • the fact that there were SO MANY women that we all decided to use the men’s bathrooms as well as the women’s bathrooms
  • starting a chant of “love trumps hate” as we marched past the trump hotel
  • really all of the chants though
  • “can’t build a wall / hands are too small”
  • (women) “my body my choice” / (men) “her body her choice”
  • passing a big portrait of obama and everyone shouting “thanks obama!”
  • some people were bouncing up and down (for warmth, idk?) and one guy said “think about it: if we get everyone to do this it’ll be the world record for most number of people doing this”
  • the number of old ladies in attendance
  • a man holding a sign with a downward arrow that read “angry feminist dad”
  • “we shall overcomb”
  • the federal mint has harriet tubman’s face on a big banner right next to washington, lincoln, and hamilton!
  • honestly there were so many moments i probably can’t list them all

reblog and add your own faves and the city you were in!!

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Some highlights from a middle school band camp I worked a few years ago

Parental Guidance #1

To say you were confused when James called you to his office was an understatement. To say you were incredibly confused would probably be a much more accurate description with your wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Your husband was a complete workaholic and liked to thoroughly immerse himself in the tasks he had to do. He’d often spend hours or even nights at a time completing paperwork and reviewing documents regarding business opportunities. He loved to work alone and preferred working in complete silence as it helped his ‘thinking process’.

You remembered the huge fuss he kicked up when you had walked into his office to drop off some lunch. He was completely enraged and had said some rather hurtful things to you; claiming that you had ‘zero respect for his work commitments.’ Since then, you both had grown as people and moved on from what happened. You were in a much more loving, happy relationship and wanted to focus on a brighter future. Things had changed considerably for you and James. His hotel was successful and had made thousands in cash whilst you were one of the most beautiful and desired women in LA. But the most important change for you was the birth of your son…Aidan.

Aidan was the apple of your eye. He was a gift from above; a true angel and you were eternally grateful that God had blessed you with such a wonderful son. He was perfect. He had the kindest personality and was extremely loving and affectionate; often showering you with kisses and latching onto you at night. He had a great sense of humour and his cute little giggle would often lead to full blown laughing fits. He was a happy little boy and you were determined to keep him that way. In terms of looks, he was practically identical to James with a mess of brown, curly hair and deep chocolate eyes; framed with dark, thick lashes. His skin was somewhat pale but he had rosy cheeks and the cutest little dimples. You could already tell that he would be incredibly handsome when he would grow up. You loved him with all of your being and no words could ever describe the amount you adored that sweet boy of yours. 

You made your way to the door of James’ office and slowly knocked. You were incredibly confused as to why after 4 years of marriage you were suddenly allowed to enter his beloved office but you supposed that it was good James was finally opening up more.You could hear James’ muffled voice calling you in the office and so you opened the door; putting your head halfway through.

“Hello James…is everything alright?” You asked in an almost meek fashion.

He looked up from the papers on his desk and smiled warmly at you. 

“Yes, come in and sit down Y/N.” He spoke in a calm and almost hesitant voice. This in itself was peculiar to you as he was always confident and spoke in an authoritative, decisive voice. 

You walked up to his desk and sat opposite him; holding his large hands affectionately. You looked at him and gave him a nervous smile.

“James, are you okay? You seem somewhat…off!” You asked in a very concerned voice. 

You were worried about him and wanted to know what had caused this shift in personality. James was calm man but this was a strange type of behaviour was quite puzzling. He seemed somewhat…troubled.

“No darling, I’m fine but I believe that we have something to discuss.” He looked at you with a serious expression and this made you feel somewhat anxious. He gave a look of stern intensity and this made the situation uneasy for you. 

“What is it that you wish to discuss?” You asked almost shyly. It was a few moments later when gave you quite a strange reply.

“Business,”

He looked down and removed his hands from your own before continuing. You felt your heart beat in your chest. Although the reply itself was surprising, it was his actions that were unnerving you. He was being so strange and well…quiet.

“See Y/N, things of a darker nature have been taking place here at the Hotel and I would like to come clean with you.” 

You froze in your seat; shock filling you. What did he mean by the word ‘darker’? The way how he said it scared you. His voice became deeper and a lot more frightening. It rolled of his tongue as if he liked these ‘darker things.’ He sat straight in his seat and stared at you in eye. You gulped as throat began to feel dry but you tried to keep your composure.

“Um…what do you mean by ‘darker things’ James?” You asked while trying to keep your voice steady but failing miserably. 

No reply. 

Just silence.

“Answer me!” You rose your voice in annoyance. You just wanted to know what was going on. You hated the silence he was giving you and you just wanted a reply. The sudden attitude seemed to flip a switch within James as within a matter a few seconds he had quickly leaned forward, gripped you and with a look of true malice he whispered one word.

Murder.

You felt bile rise in your throat a you tried with all your might to comprehend what had just come from his lips. What could he have possibly meant by murder? Was someone killed in the Hotel? If so then who could have done such a thing? Was that why he had kept you so far away from his work? It seemed possible! You felt your body shake and beads of sweat began to form on your forehead.

“W-what?” You whispered shakily in your state of shock; hoping that he would just laugh it off and explain that it was a joke but this conversation would only get worse.

“I am a murderer. I’m awfully sorry I kept this from you but I imagine you would have never married me if I revealed this earlier on.” He spoke softly and you felt his long fingers caress your cheeks. 

“No..this is a joke right? THIS HAS TO BE A JOKE!” You exclaimed as your eyes began to fill with tears. You were scared now.

 You were shaking mess; petrified in every sense of the word. Your husband had just told you he...killed people. You could taste blood in your mouth; a metallic and coppery sensation violated your mouth just from hearing those horrid words.

“I’ve never been the joking type Y/N…we both know that.” He spoke in a hushed tone. You realised that he had been wiping away tears that you never noticed were flowing in your state of terror. He shushed you but that only angered you.

“Let go James! I want to leave! Please…” You begged pathetically.

“I can’t let you leave. See Y/N, the police are onto me.. catching up to me and it’s only a matter of time before they do catch me. I can’t leave you and Aidan in such a way so I decided… to take you with me.” 

“Wha-”

You never finished your sentence as you felt your flesh tear. A sharp, painful feeling took possessed you body and you felt paralysed. You tasted thick blood in your mouth; feel it dripping down your torso. Gasping for air and choking on your blood; the last words you heard were hushed and spoken in a sad tone.

I’m sorry Y/N.”

What’s up my smol beans? I totally loved this request so went straight in for it. The name Aidan was chosen by the wonderful anon who asked for this so don’t look at me strangely through your computer screens. Feel free to imagine it as something else. After all this is an IMAGINE blog. Anywho, part 2 will be posted soon and I will do my best to make it up to you. Be sure to tell me what you think as feedback is always useful. -Mavis 

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What happens when the band director kicks us out of the band room? We climb the roof and can’t get down. (And very, very narrowly avoid getting caught)

I Marched For My Students

I Marched For My Students

I marched because children of undocumented residents shouldn’t have to live in fear of their family being split up.
I marched because my students will someday grow up and they deserve the right to make choices concerning their bodies.
I marched because my students don’t understand why making fun of people and bullying people isn’t allowed at school, yet you can still become president if you do it.
I marched because some of my students might someday realize they are gay, and they deserve the same marital rights that I have.
I marched because some of my students might someday realize they are trans or non binary, and their life is so much more valuable than being reduced to what bathroom they should use.
I marched because I have access to lifesaving healthcare, and every single one of my students deserves that too.
I marched because public schools need more funding– not diminished funding due to a “voucher system”.
I marched because if any of my students convert to Islam, they deserve to practice their religion with the same freedom that I as a Christian have.
I marched because I love my black, brown, and white students with all my heart, but all lives won’t matter until black and brown lives matter.

It wasn’t because my candidate lost that I marched. It’s because of the values I believe in that are being encroached upon. Although the march may have ended, the labor that it will take to fight for these values has just begun.

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Tomb of Mohammad’s granddaughter
Zainab, the daughter of Ali in Damascus, Syria

Zainab accompanied her brother Hussain, as did most of his household to Iraq. After Hussain and all his 72 companions were brutally killed at the Battle of Karbala by the order of Yazid, Zainab was taken captive by the army of Yazid. Zainab and the other survivors of Hussain’s expedition, most of them women and children, were marched to Damascus, Yazid’s capital, where they were held hostage.
Zainab, already in anguish due to the death of her brother Hussain and her sons was forced to march unveiled and beaten. This was an extreme indignity to inflict on a high-ranking woman, the granddaughter of Muhammad.

Teach your daughters how to fix cars, survive a week in the wilderness, repair a pipe that burst, and love themselves without the frill. 

Teach your sons how to braid hair, bake a homemade pie, sew a hem, communicate raw emotion, and clean a house.

Then teach your daughters to braid and bake and sew and communicate and clean. And your sons to fix cars and survive and repair and love themselves.

And while you do all of that realize that if you choose to confine your child within their gender, you will degrade their potential by 50%.

—  On raising children without gender standards // March 2016

politicalmamaduck  asked:

Political activism, who needs Rhaegar? ;D <3

She’s wearing a bright pink headscarf and is pushing a stroller with a toddler sitting in it, a smaller baby strapped to her chest and Lyanna can’t look away.  It’s loud–people are shouting and there are brass bands who showed up just to make music and noise but it’s like the whole city is quiet as Lyanna sees one woman with her two children marching in a crowd of hundreds of thousands of people. 

It’s a warm day, and sunny, and the Loop is usually full of cars, but not today.  Lyanna has her own son strapped to her chest and Jon is unusually calm as he watches the people pass.  More than once he reaches a tiny hand up to grab at the dangling strings from the pink hat Lyanna had ordered from Etsy that have giant pompoms on the end of them.  She doesn’t stop him from doing it, or from chomping down on one of them with toothless gums.  

Jon’s behaving well, but the muslim woman’s baby is clearly agitated, and moments after Lyanna had caught sight of the little family, the baby has burst into tears and the woman looks around, clearly trying to find a way to get her stroller out of the crowd so she can tend to her baby.

“Hold up,” Lyanna says loudly, stepping forward, and some of the marchers look around confused until the woman pushes the stroller through the opening and marches towards the sidewalk.  Lyanna follows her.

“Need help?” she asks, resting a hand on Jon’s back while he chews on the pink pompom.  

“Could you just…” the woman says as she gestures to the stroller, and Lyanna grabs hold of the handles so it doesn’t begin rolling away.  Then the woman sighs.  “Oh Aegon.  You need a changing, don’t you?”  She looks around, chewing her lip.  “Any good places near here?  I took the Metra in and don’t come downtown very frequently…”

“There’s a McDonalds a black away.  I can show you,” Lyanna says.  “I’ve got diapers if you need one.  I’m Lyanna, by the way.”

The woman smiles.  “Elia,” she says, extending a hand and Lyanna shakes it.

“Aegon?” Lyanna asks, and Elia nods.  

“Aegon and Rhaenys.”

“This is Jon.”  

Jon makes a burbling sound at the mention of his name and Elia’s eyes crinkle warmly when she looks at him.

you love a girl made of stardust
constellations splayed across bare skin
and with a supernova at her fingertips
she is the stuff of dreams
a shooting star that burns too bright
her wings are tattered and jagged
feathers frayed with years of neglect
you start to wonder if she will ever see herself
as you do
you love a nebula waiting to explode
to become a star
a girl waiting to soar
a phoenix waiting to rise

you love a girl rooted in the earth
made of iron and steel and healing
you love a girl with ghosts in her eyes
with a lion’s mane matted with blood and dirt
you love a girl so broke with guilt
that she scrubs her hands clean with blood that isn’t there
you love a girl with shoulders heavy with a burden way beyond her years
you kiss the scars anyway
she appreciates the offer and you cling to one another
in the hopes that her spirit stays with you both yet

you love in a time of chaos and war
you love in a time of uncertainty
you love in a time of children marching in boots
fashioned for soldiers ages apart
you love in a time of casualty counts like competition
one on top of the other
you love in a time that does not give you the luxury
you love you love you love
you love

stars cross, uncross, then cross again.

—   i’ll crawl home to her | isha k.
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