theonewhosawitall
roachpatrol:

mishmonkey:

notanearlyadopter:

marilynhanson:

this means so much to me. so much

Okay but like actually this is the most thoughtful gift IN THE WHOLE WORLD.
It might seem to make more sense to give Ron the precious family heirloom (remember that Molly’s brother Fabian died in the First Wizarding War; Molly has held onto his watch out of sentimentality since then). But Ron is the sixth son in his (canonically financially-struggling) family. He’s been forced into hand-me-downs his whole life. If he’d gotten the watch with a dent in the back, he wouldn’t have appreciated it; he’d only have seen the flaw. And if his mum bought Harry a new watch instead of getting Ron one, Ron would have resented that. A new watch was a worthwhile expense to get Ron a rare taste of the luxury and individual attention he has always craved.
Harry, though. Harry has money; Harry has new things. What Harry does not have is family. Harry is an orphan. Other than one photo album and the invisibility cloak, he doesn’t have anything that came with family history attached. What Molly does here is give him that; she makes him part of the family, symbolically, by giving him an emotionally significant if physically imperfect item. She gives him love in a tangible form.

This makes me CRY

Even more sad: Molly didn’t just have one brother. She had two, Gideon and Fabian, and they were twins. They both died in the first war and Fred and George’s names are a deliberate remembrance of them. Molly is overbearing in protecting her sons and keeping them close, but losing her family isn’t an abstract threat to her. It’s something that’s already happened once. And she gives Fabian’s watch to Harry because he’s her kid too. He belongs in her family, and she’ll worry for him too, and fight for him, and afskfhgl I have so many herofeels for Molly Weasely the Supermum.  

roachpatrol:

mishmonkey:

notanearlyadopter:

marilynhanson:

this means so much to me. so much

Okay but like actually this is the most thoughtful gift IN THE WHOLE WORLD.

It might seem to make more sense to give Ron the precious family heirloom (remember that Molly’s brother Fabian died in the First Wizarding War; Molly has held onto his watch out of sentimentality since then). But Ron is the sixth son in his (canonically financially-struggling) family. He’s been forced into hand-me-downs his whole life. If he’d gotten the watch with a dent in the back, he wouldn’t have appreciated it; he’d only have seen the flaw. And if his mum bought Harry a new watch instead of getting Ron one, Ron would have resented that. A new watch was a worthwhile expense to get Ron a rare taste of the luxury and individual attention he has always craved.

Harry, though. Harry has money; Harry has new things. What Harry does not have is family. Harry is an orphan. Other than one photo album and the invisibility cloak, he doesn’t have anything that came with family history attached. What Molly does here is give him that; she makes him part of the family, symbolically, by giving him an emotionally significant if physically imperfect item. She gives him love in a tangible form.

This makes me CRY

Even more sad: Molly didn’t just have one brother. She had two, Gideon and Fabian, and they were twins. They both died in the first war and Fred and George’s names are a deliberate remembrance of them. Molly is overbearing in protecting her sons and keeping them close, but losing her family isn’t an abstract threat to her. It’s something that’s already happened once. And she gives Fabian’s watch to Harry because he’s her kid too. He belongs in her family, and she’ll worry for him too, and fight for him, and afskfhgl I have so many herofeels for Molly Weasely the Supermum.  

theonewhosawitall

wheresagnes:

aztec-princesss:

gohomeluhan:

As I’m walking through Target with my little sister, the kid somehow manages to convince me to take a trip down the doll aisle. I know the type - brands that preach diversity through displays of nine different variations of white and maybe a black girl if you’re lucky enough. What I instead found as soon as I turned into the aisle were these two boxes.

The girl on the left is Shola, an Afghani girl from Kabul with war-torn eyes. Her biography on the inside flap tells us that “her country has been at war since before she was born”, and all she has left of her family is her older sister. They’re part of a circus, the one source of light in their lives, and they read the Qur’an. She wears a hijab.

The girl on the right is Nahji, a ten-year-old Indian girl from Assam, where “young girls are forced to work and get married at a very early age”. Nahji is smart, admirable, extremely studious. She teaches her fellow girls to believe in themselves. In the left side of her nose, as tradition mandates, she has a piercing. On her right hand is a henna tattoo.

As a Pakistani girl growing up in post-9/11 America, this is so important to me. The closest thing we had to these back in my day were “customizable” American Girl dolls, who were very strictly white or black. My eyes are green, my hair was black, and my skin is brown, and I couldn’t find my reflection in any of those girls. Yet I settled, just like I settled for the terrorist jokes boys would throw at me, like I settled for the butchered pronunciations of names of mine and my friends’ countries. I settled for a white doll, who at least had my eyes if nothing else, and I named her Rabeea and loved her. But I still couldn’t completely connect to her.

My little sister, who had been the one to push me down the aisle in the first place, stopped to stare with me at the girls. And then the words, “Maybe they can be my American Girls,” slipped out of her mouth. This young girl, barely represented in today’s society, finally found a doll that looks like her, that wears the weird headscarf that her grandma does and still manages to look beautiful.

I turned the dolls’ boxes around and snapped a picture of the back of Nahji’s. There are more that I didn’t see in the store; a Belarusian, an Ethiopian, a Brazilian, a Laotian, a Native American, a Mexican. And more.

These are Hearts 4 Hearts dolls, and while they haven’t yet reached all parts of the world (I think they have yet to come out with an East Asian girl), they need all the support they can get so we can have a beautiful doll for every beautiful young girl, so we can give them what our generation never had.

Please don’t let this die. If you know a young girl, get her one. I know I’m buying Shola and Nahji for my little sister’s next birthday, because she needs a doll with beautiful brown skin like hers, a doll who wears a hijab like our older sister, a doll who wears real henna, not the blue shit white girls get at the beach.

The Hearts 4 Hearts girls are so important. Don’t overlook them. Don’t underestimate them. These can be the future if we let them.

You can read more about the dolls here: http://www.playmatestoys.com/brands/hearts-for-hearts-girls

*runs to target- i need to get my babydoll one for her 1st bday

ohmygosh and the one from Ethiopia has natural hair which you can’t get from the American Girl “just like you” dolls!