Sheril Thompson
563 posts
🚨BREAKING: Sen. Kennedy’s bill just moved forward, and it hits Congress where it hurts: NO paycheck for senators during a shutdown.
If they can’t keep the government open, why should taxpayers keep paying them?
Do you firmly support this?
A. Huge Yes
B. No
IF Yes, Give me a THUMBS-UP👍!!
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I'm fifty-three years old with veiny hands and knuckles that crack when it rains, and I'm wearing an 11-carat ring that could probably be seen from space. And I don't care what anyone thinks about it.
My husband gave me the center stone twelve years ago after my hysterectomy, when I spent three months convinced I was disappearing into irrelevance. No more babies, no more "potential," just a middle-aged woman with surgical scars and night sweats. I wore that stone on a chain for years because it felt too ostentatious for my finger, too much attention for someone who'd spent her whole life making herself smaller.
Last month he surprised me with this setting, added two side stones for our daughters without telling me. Twenty-eight and thirty years old now, both of them living their own lives, both of them so far beyond needing me the way they used to. He said he wanted me to see them every time I looked down, wanted me to remember I built something that outlasts my fertility and my smooth skin and whatever else I'm mourning these days.
I posted it in a jewelry appreciation group on Tedooo app where I sell my vintage finds, and the comments ranged from supportive to vicious. "Too flashy for someone her age." "Those hands have seen better days." "Why would anyone need something that big?" One woman actually suggested I should be "more age-appropriate" in my choices, like hitting fifty means I'm supposed to disappear into beige cardigans and self-effacement.
Here's what I wanted to say to her but didn't: I've spent decades shrinking myself to fit other people's comfort levels. Making myself quieter, smaller, less demanding of space or attention. And I'm done. This ring is enormous and unapologetic, exactly like I'm trying to be in this second half of my life. My daughters see it and smile because they know what it represents - not wealth or status, but their dad telling me I'm allowed to be seen. That I'm worth being seen.
So yeah, it's big. It catches on everything. It's probably "too much" for a woman with hands like mine. And I've never loved anything more.
By Jessica Donovan
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@angelsfly_143 I watched and loved it! I’m a minority and stand with minorities!
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I’ll tell you “What’s Happening”! One of my five granddaughters just gave birth to a seven pound healthy fifth great granddaughter for the old Coach on Super Bowl Sunday! @OU_Football
@dallascowboys
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Sheril Thompson retweetledi
If the Seahawks win the Super Bowl i will giveaway $5,000 to 10 people who like this tweet.
Must be following to win!
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@CrazyVibes_1 I have one almost identical to yours. I left my and just lemon oil it!
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My husband brought me this cabinet — someone was going to throw it away.
I’m thinking about painting it red, but he says it won’t look good 😅
He thinks I should leave it the way it is, and I think a little color would give it new life.
We’re both curious to hear what others think.
Should I paint it red or keep it as is?
Thanks so much for your opinions 😁
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I'm sitting in my bedroom staring at my grandmother's 1950s wedding dress, and I honestly don't know what to do anymore.
Found it in her attic last month - sixty-four dollars was all she paid for it back then. The moment I saw all that delicate lace and the full skirt, my heart just melted. It felt like finding buried treasure.
But apparently I'm the only one who thinks so.
My sister took one look and said, "You're not seriously considering wearing that old thing, are you?" My best friend was even worse - "Nobody wears sleeves like that anymore, and that neckline is way too conservative. You'll look like you're playing dress-up."
Their words keep echoing in my head, making me second-guess everything. But when I put this dress on, I feel connected to something bigger than trends and Pinterest boards. I feel like I'm honoring the woman who raised me, who taught me that real beauty doesn't need to scream for attention.
I already found this incredible seamstress who specializes in vintage alterations. She was so sweet when I explained the story, and she's going to take in the waist and adjust the hem while keeping every bit of the original character intact. I've already paid her deposit, and honestly, even if I hadn't, I don't want to change a single thing.
Posted about it in a DIY group yesterday hoping for encouragement, and while people offered suggestions for "modernizing" it, I realized something important. This dress doesn't need to be fixed or updated or made trendy. It's perfect exactly as it is.
I'm done asking for permission to love what I love. If walking down the aisle in my grandmother's dress makes me happy, then that's exactly what I'm going to do. Sometimes the most beautiful choice is the one that feels right in your heart, even when everyone else thinks you're crazy.
Credit - Erica Maddox
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@CrazyVibes_1 It does not she’s jealous she couldn’t do it! TOTAL HAG!
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My mother-in-law said my quilt looks like a thrift store threw up on my bed, and I’ve never been more proud of anything in my life.
It took me two years to make this. Every single square is a different fabric, most of them from clothes my kids outgrew, old curtains, or tablecloths I found at estate sales. That orange floral print in the corner was my daughter’s first Easter dress. The dark blue paisley came from my husband’s shirt from our first date—the one with the torn pocket he refused to throw away until I finally cut it up for this.
My mother-in-law came over last week, took one look at my bedroom, and said, “It’s very busy, isn’t it?” in that tone she uses when she really means this is hideous and you have terrible taste. She said her quilts are all coordinated, matching fabrics, professional-looking. Said mine looks chaotic.
She’s right. It is chaotic.
It’s every phase of my life stitched together—squares that don’t match, colors that clash on purpose, patterns that argue with each other. I learned to quilt from YouTube videos at midnight after everyone went to sleep, pricking my fingers until they bled because I couldn’t figure out how to use a thimble properly.
I bought most of the backing fabric from someone’s destash sale online—eight yards of the perfect dark floral for twenty dollars. I found binding supplies online too, from a woman who quit quilting after her divorce and just wanted it all gone. We ended up messaging about our projects, and she showed me how to do proper mitered corners and sent me links to other quilters online who sell vintage fabric scraps.
My mother-in-law’s coordinated quilts sit in her linen closet, wrapped in plastic. Mine is on my bed every single night, covered in dog hair and coffee stains and the weight of every memory I sewed into it.
Cheesy or not, it’s the most honest thing I’ve ever made.
Credit - Elisa Rogers
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Be honest!
Have you ever had an actual $2 bill before?
Yes or No
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Great time tonight hanging out with family and friends!
What do we think of Peter’s hat? 😂 #peter
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When you’re gone recruiting and dad is in charge… this is what you wear to your school concert 😳🤦♀️ Really?!
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