>:3 @moraguma - Tumblr Blog

flikkerij

i will do ANYTHING but work on my essay apparently

semutamusic

boybeetles

Sie transvestigaten meinen ikea hotdog…

outtox1cated

New favorite genre of posts

noelements-setempty

If proof by induction has one fan, that fan is me.

If proof by induction has n fans and I am one of them, then I would also be one of the fans if proof by induction had n+1 fans.

Therefore if proof by induction has infinite fans, then one of those fans is me.

vee-dmsr

hardwrench

The Poisoned Ant = tavern for villains and rogues

Poisoned Ant = 90s rock band

Poisoned the Ant = 2010s rock band that sucks

Ant, Poisoned = dark and contemplative novel that just came out

ANTPOISONED = steam game

tysobro

Possum springs

#nitw

ismenes

When my son was about to turn two, strangers would offer condolences. There’s a collective cultural dread of toddlers, who get described more like animals than people. Kids in their "terrible twos," I was warned, are illogical, unregulated, and feral. "Good luck," people would say. "He'll grow out of it."

I'm lucky: My son is a very easygoing kid. But I remember the first tantrum he threw for me. He was standing by our front door and asked to go outside. So I opened the door and grabbed his shoes. But as soon as he stepped onto the porch, he pointed back into the house.

"Inside," he said.

"Okay," I said. I picked him up and brought him inside.

But as soon as I shut the front door, he pointed outside.

"Outside!" he said.

You know where this is going. We went back and forth, inside and outside, again and again. He got more frustrated. And I got more frustrated. Eventually he wound up straddling the threshold of our house, sobbing. When I tried to comfort him, he screamed at me. "You go wherever you want!" I said. He just got madder. I felt trapped, convinced he’d concocted the whole episode as a pretext to unleash his rage at me. It was ridiculous. I consoled myself with the thought that he was just being a toddler.

But later I kept thinking about him wailing at our front door, one foot inside, one foot outside. His misery wasn't unreasonable, or trivial, or silly. My son was experiencing the agony of wanting two things that were impossible to have at the same time. What a fundamentally human sorrow! My son wasn't being a toddler; he was being a person. Adults may not walk around howling, but that same pain rages within us. In that moment, as a father, I was powerless to solve my son's problem. I told him he could go wherever he wanted, but of course I was wrong. To be where he wanted was impossible.

Make Believe: On Telling Stories to Children by Mac Barnett

yandere-angela

since latin america is both larger and more populous than anglo america, what if we just started referring to it as just "america", and specify "anglo america" when talking about the usa and canada

ufoinvader

chiropteracupola

It's Another Beautiful Day of Not Being On Mount Everest. just how Every day of my life will be Another Beautiful Day of Not Being On Mount Everest, on account of how I am Never Ever Going There.