Katy (she/her)

Working on it

[Jordañ!!! 🇺🇸🇩🇪🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿✨ @Jordan_Milam]

This woman is the highest paid actress on prime time television, has a 6’5” husband, has three beautiful babies and gets to see Chris Maloni whenever she damn well pleases and called last night the “greatest night of her life”

I LOVE DRAMATIC ASS SPORTS GIRLIES 😂😭

[NCAA March Madness @MarchMadnessMBB]

ARE. YOU. JOKING.

IOWA LEADS. THIS IS MARCH. #MarchMadness

[ESPN @espn]

IOWA ELIMINATES THE DEFENDING CHAMPION GATORS 😱

The Hawkeyes are heading to their first Sweet 16 since 1999‼️

[Bleacher Report @BleacherReport]

One of the cutest things you’ll ever see 😭❤️

His reaction when he saw himself on the Jumbotron 🥹

(via stillscrawny/TT)

[Just Jen ℞ 🫡🇺🇸 @JustJenRX]

With deep sorrow, we say farewell to Pearl Harbor survivor George W. Blake, a soldier who stood in the fire of history on that fateful morning of December 7, 1941. Under a sky filled with flames and chaos, he held his ground as America’s innocence burned away, and its resolve was born. For decades after, he carried the memory of those who never came home, not as a burden, but as a sacred duty. Today, his watch has ended, and he joins his 1,177 fallen brothers in eternal peace. We remember his courage, his humility, and the quiet strength of a man who never stopped honoring the day that changed the world.🕊️🇺🇸⚓

[Buitengebieden @buitengebieden]

If I win the lottery, I won’t tell anyone, but there will be signs.. 😉

[Pawzazzle @Pawzazzle]

They don’t steal, they survive.

Every morning, the butcher leaves a box of bones outside his shop. Not for profit, not for attention, but for the ones with no home, no bowl, no guarantee of a next meal.

One by one, they come. Each takes just a piece, carefully, almost politely, like they understand it’s a gift.

It’s not much, but to them, it’s everything.
And to the man who leaves it there, it’s a quiet act of kindness the world could use a little more of.

[Nostalgia @NostalgiaFolder]

checking for movie times in the newspaper

[Darshak Rana ⚡️ @thedarshakrana]

The teenager bagging groceries today asked if I wanted my bread on top.

I said yes.

He nodded seriously and said, "Good call. Structural integrity is everything."

Then he arranged my bags like he was building a cathedral.

His coworker laughed at him.

But my bread arrived home unpunched, my tomatoes unbrushed.

Sometimes the people who care too much about small things are exactly who we need.

[ToonHive @ToonHive]

Happy 47th birthday to the talented Dionne Quan.

Fun Fact: Her scripts were written in Braille as the voice actress is legally blind.

[Blessing chidera @blissartbc]

The algorithm finally showed you my art,you’re welcome 🤗

[𝗁𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗋𝗊𝗎𝖺𝖺𝖽💂🏾‍♂️ @hoodfarquaad]

we been on this app for a long time bruh

[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.

[ABC News @ABC]

Actress, singer and businesswoman Selena Gomez and record producer Benny Blanco are married, according to a post Gomez shared on Instagram. https://t.co/n4UElaqBB9

[Puppies & Positivity @Puppieslover]

This happy birthday on the dog bus will make you smile

Credit: ruffandpuffyyc

[Uncouth Rat @solodeauxleaux]

Getting a blank copy and having to label this on a test…the ol days

[The Figen @TheFigen_]

A paralyzed dog…and an owner who taught him to walk again with unconditional love.

He deserves heaven!

[Wolf of X @WolfofX]

A moment of kindness that becomes the best part of someone's day

[Buitengebieden @buitengebieden]

When your special needs dog struggles to make friends, and a little dog comes over to invite her to play.. 🥺

[Nostalgia @NostalgiaFolder]

when Subway looked like this