V

[V @_vcatricala]

this is my first tweet on here and I would just like to say that we should never forget this moment

[V @_vcatricala]

@netflix why would you do this

[Jen @jenteach13]

Yesterday's post became an argument about time management. Let me be more specific.

Teacher contract hours in my district are 7 to 3. I have a 25-minute lunch, which I spend in line for the restroom and then with students because we have no cafeteria, and it is 90 degrees outside. I have a 45-minute prep period three days a week because I am covering for colleagues the other two. We have two copiers for 75 teachers. They break. Getting copies made for 180 students takes time I do not always have.

So I come in at 6. Before contract hours. To make copies.

The lesson plans I reuse are a skeleton. The students in front of me are not the same students who were there last year. The lesson adjusts. The grading is real. I could assign multiple-choice or true/false questions. I choose not to, because short answer tells me where my students actually are.

When I am in class with students, I am not at my desk. I am teaching, or I am moving through the room working with students individually. When eight kids in your class have 504s or IEPs, that is not optional. You do not sit down.

I have been doing this for thirty years. I know the shortcuts. I use them daily. And I am still working outside my contract hours.

Any teacher who can genuinely do this job from bell to bell and nothing more is either in ideal conditions or not doing it fully. I am not in ideal conditions. Most of us are not.

[Kristal ␌🎢 @kristal_bieber]

🫶🏼

[Purple Base @purplbase]

elite reference she a real one

[emma ★ @jsuisharry]

je pense que toutes les personnes ayant été fan de one direction ou justin bieber au collège peuvent témoigner des moqueries qu’iels ont reçu

[Mimi the music blogger @mimitheblogger]

Like I’m a grown ass woman… this white man got me still

[Cxspxxr✘🧸 @_6signxxx]

people say "women are not paid less, they just pick empathy careers." ok.!!! but who decided nursing and teaching are worth less? like we will pay a sales guy 150k to move numbers around, but pay a nurse pennies to literally keep people alive, or give a teacher crumbs and wonder why future generations are failing every test. it is not that empathy based work is less valuable it is that we’ve normalized underpaying it because it’s "women’s work."

[sofia (she/her) @allaboutthem3ts]

do you think the men from this season of the bachelorette feel like the class of 2020 did when they didn’t get a graduation?

[Jay 💫 @Jayyakamii]

When your boss says "we'll get it done somehow" and you realize you're the somehow

[Dr.L @DrAlmarielao]

A mother who works about 70 hours a week received a school calendar listing all the holidays, early releases, and teacher planning days. Curious, she used ChatGPT to organize every day her kids would be off from school during the year. When she saw the full list, she was shocked by how many days there actually were. Her husband stays home with the kids, but she started wondering how families with two full-time working parents manage all those days off.
School schedules can look manageable at first glance, but when you add up all the days off, it really highlights how challenging childcare logistics can be for many working families. How do households where both parents work full-time handle the large number of school holidays, early release days, and breaks during the year?

[This not the freedom Toussaint fought for @yourhighnessesq]

America has spent literally every second of this presidency letting us know immigrants and first generations are not American and can be removed at their whim and want to complain about people moving accordingly.

[Peach @nerdylilpeach]

someone genuinely explain to me how this could possibly be considered offensive or divisive to anyone

[Kia 🧸ྀི @xevekiah]

I remember the time I went to the ER 3 months postpartum because I couldn’t stop vomiting and my chest felt tight. I kept telling them: this isn’t anxiety. Something is wrong.

The nurse glanced at my chart and said, “A lot of new moms feel overwhelmed.”

A resident came in, barely looked at me, and said, “It’s probably a panic attack. Try to relax.”

They left me in a hallway bed. No monitor. No urgency. Just that look that says you’re being dramatic.

I whispered, “I think I’m going to pass out.”

He laughed and said, “You’re safe here. You’re not dying.”

Ten minutes later I stood up and collapsed.

Suddenly there were doctors everywhere. Suddenly they checked my oxygen. Suddenly they rushed me to imaging.

CT scan: pulmonary embolism. Blood clots in my lungs.

The same doctor who told me to “relax” came back acting shocked.

He said, “Good thing you came in.”

I looked at him and thought: I didn’t just come in. I begged to be taken seriously.

Why am I telling you this?

Because if I didn’t collapse in front of them, I genuinely think I would’ve been sent home with “anxiety” and a pamphlet about breathing exercises

[Soph ❤︎₊ ⊹ 🪩 Misses 5sos @soap_114]

Why does this make me want to cry

[sarah⸆⸉☁️ @eyesviolett]

are we ever gonna find out why wasn’t debut included in the tour

[floor ◟̽◞̽ ໑̣ @Tomlinbucks]

3 consecutive wins is crazy like this man is unmatched

[Niall Horan’s Gallery @NHGALLERY93]

Niall Horan WON The Voice season 28.

That’s his third win in a row. He has never lost a season he’s been on.

[Travis Akers 🇺🇸 @travisakers]

A message from a Kindergarten teacher:

After forty years in the classroom, my career ended with one small sentence from a six-year-old:

“My dad says people like you don’t matter anymore.”

No sneer. No malice. Just quiet honesty — the kind that cuts deeper because it’s innocent. He blinked, then added, “You don’t even have a TikTok.”

My name is Mrs. Clara Holt, and for four decades, I taught kindergarten in a small Denver suburb. Today, I stacked the last box on my desk and locked the door behind me.

When I started teaching in the early 1980s, it felt like a promise — a shared belief that what we did mattered. We weren’t rich, but we were valued. Parents brought warm cookies to parent nights. Kids gave you handmade cards with hearts that didn’t quite line up. Watching a child sound out their first sentence felt like magic.

But that world slowly slipped away. The job I once knew has been replaced by exhaustion, red tape, and a kind of loneliness I can’t quite describe.

My evenings used to be filled with construction paper, glitter, and glue sticks. Now they’re spent filling out digital reports to protect myself from angry emails or lawsuits. I’ve been yelled at by parents in front of twenty-five children — one filming me with his phone while I tried to calm another child mid-meltdown.

And the kids… they’ve changed too. Not by choice.

They arrive tired, anxious, overstimulated. Their tiny fingers know how to swipe a screen before they can hold a crayon. Some can’t make eye contact or wait in line. We’re expected to fix all of it — to patch the gaps, heal the trauma, teach the curriculum, and document every move — in six hours a day, with resources that barely fill a drawer.

The little reading corner I once built, full of soft beanbags and paper stars, was replaced by data charts and “learning metrics.” A young principal once told me, “Clara, maybe you’re too nurturing. The district wants measurable results.”

As if kindness were a weakness.

Still, I stayed. Because of the small, holy moments that no spreadsheet could measure —
a whisper of, “You remind me of my grandma.”
a shaky note that read, “I feel safe here.”
a quiet boy finally meeting my eyes and saying, “I read the whole page.”

Those tiny sparks were my reason to keep showing up.

But this last year broke something in me.

The aggression grew sharper. The laughter in the staff room turned to silence. The light went out of so many eyes. I watched brilliant teachers — my friends — vanish under the weight of burnout, their joy replaced by survival.

I felt myself fading too, like chalk on a board that’s been wiped one too many times.

So today, I began my goodbye. I pulled faded art off the walls and tucked thirty years of handmade cards into a single box. In the back of a drawer, I found a letter from a student from 1998:

“Thank you for loving me when I was hard to love.”

I sat on the floor and cried.

No party. No applause. Just a handshake from a young principal who called me “Ma’am” while checking his notifications.

I left my rocking chair behind, and my sticker box too. What I carried with me were the memories — the faces of hundreds of children who once trusted me enough to reach out their hands and learn. That can’t be uploaded. It can’t be measured. It can’t be replaced.

I miss when teachers were partners, not targets. When parents and educators worked side by side, not in opposition. When schools cared more about wonder than numbers.

So if you know a teacher — any teacher — thank them. Not with a mug or a gift card, but with your words. With your respect. With your understanding that behind every test score is a heart that cared enough to try.

Because in a world that often overlooks them, teachers are the ones who never forget our children.