Personal Narrative Essay: A Typical Sunday Day At My House

A different perspective Waking up Saturday morning, thinking to myself: today is the day, my uncle finally gets married. I have so many things to do, and I’m not even the bride. The wedding starts at three in the afternoon sharp and I have to shower, get my hair done, get dressed and eat a healthy breakfast. I can only imagine how much stress is upon on her. Getting up from my cozy bed, freezing and having to take a cold shower was the worst part of the day.

I turned on the sink, filling my hands up with water and splashing the cold refreshing water in my face. I stared in the mirror repeating to my self “ Calm down Henry calm down.” After I calmed down I dried my brown hair, turned off the lights and began my slow decent down the stairs to breakfast. I lazily got to the table and slumped down in my chair, remembering that it is my least favorite time of the year. It is the dreaded 30 days of night this is why I hate living in Alaska. “Good morning Henry” my mom said as she entered the kitchen.

Nothing to do but lounge around and be pampered. I wish we could trade places, that would be the life!” “Mom will know how to fix this,” I thought. I ran to the kitchen as fast as I could. I was running so fast that when my feet hit the kitchen floor, I slid and ran right into her. She was downstairs making breakfast and not happy about the interruption.

She quickly stripped out of her pyjamas and didn’t even wait for the water to completely warm up before jumping under the spray, squealing when the cold water hit her warm skin. While shampooing her hair, she did mental calculations: ten minutes to shower, five to get dressed, forty minutes for one load of laundry to finish. Renee would be home at eleven, there had to be four loads of laundry from the guests and two from the three of them. Damn, she was not gonna make it. A knock on the door had Bella yelping in fright.

I hopped into the shower and stepped under the warm water, closing my eyes and the stream trickled across my face. A light knocking on the door followed by the worried voice of Alicia caused me to hurry through the shower. “Hurry up, we have no food.” Alicia whined as I dressed myself in my comfy shopping clothes. I brushed my teeth and washed my face. After, I tended to... ... middle of paper ... ...ed over it.

I come home with bruises all over my body. When I get home, I take a nippy ice bath, hoping I will not be so sore. I fill the bath tub with freezing water first, then I get in. I make my mom pour the ice into the water after that, so that I might be used to the coldness. It instantly gives me goosebumps.

I peek over my pillow and see 7.07 AM. I can hear my Dad entering the shower, two minutes and I must rise. I have used my snooze button lifeline, living on borrowed time since seven. "This is John Foster and here are the Ma…" I switch off my alarm and lie for a second. I shower after my Dad, then move into the bathroom and take the electric toothbrush head from its small dish.

And so was she. Always holding it together, after fevers, deaths, sad little failures, she was left standing in a toilet that she supposed would be up to her to flush. She was waiting for something to make this different. Fear was cold around her wrists. Little cracks were running, shooting out from under her feet if she stood in one place too long.

I put on a plastic cap over my head and stuck my head under cold water to relieve the burning sensation. After waiting ten minutes I decided to wash my hair with neutralizing shampoo. My hair started coming out in patches all in the sink I started screaming at the top on my lungs and my mother and Deatrice ran in the house and came up stairs to see what was wrong. When my mother seen majority of my hair in the sink and that it was honey blonde she started yelling at me. While my mother was yelling Deatrice called the ambulance and told them that I have had a bad chemical reaction to my head.

A list of chores is pinned to the refrigerator to complete before my mother gets home from work. So far, I have vacuumed the carpet, cleaned my room, and swept the floor, but the most excruciating chore remains: washing the dishes. Washing the dishes would be quick and easy if I could stick the filthy dishes in the dishwasher; however, the dishwasher is broken. Instead, the mountain of food-covered dishes will have to be scrubbed clean by hand. I will have to prepare the supplies, scrape off the remaining food, rinse and dry the dishes, and put them back in the cupboards and drawers.