As the breeze of potent smelly feet brushed my nose, I had remembered where I was. The luminous screen of my phone had absorbed me, as I was patiently waiting for my Second Mom, and her two 5 year old twins to arrive at Urban Air. Amanda became my Second Mom 4 years ago, due to her care for me just as she was my biological Mother. Finally, as what seemed to be decades, I noticed my family approaching me. Not knowing documents with vivid emergency questions had to be signed, it took another large amount of unnecessary time. We purchased the one hour tickets and received these neon green wristbands, being placed around our petite wrists. They were color coded to let the employee’s know our time is up and mandatory that we exit. Now on our way to experience the excitement, as we all headed to the cubby slots, where we were able to store our belongings. We stripping our feet to bear minimum; no socks were allowed, unless you bought their special neon ones with texture at the bottom. Getting ready to be active had me thinking about how parched and tired I would be, because I have no ounce of endurance. I looked around and immediately spied the snack station, with lustrous amounts of sweets and chips. Let’s …show more content…
I sprinted back to put the drinks in the cubby, because rule number 8 stated no items were allowed on your being. When I walked over to the playground, there was a ginormous sign stating age 9 or less allowed. Being the big 18 year old, do whatever I want adult, I decided to go in the playground maze with Aiden and Hailey. My Second Mom glazed intensely to find each one of the twins, and make sure they didn’t get lost on the second level, due to crowdedness and narrow path. After making my rounds in the maze multiple times, deciding to sit was a beneficial choice. As I sat at the tables that were provided directly in front of the maze, my Second Mom came to join
I was surprised, embarrassed and dismayed all at once. Her flight made me feel like an accomplice in tyranny. It also made it clear that I was indistinguishable from the muggers who occasionally seeped into the area from the surrounding ghetto. (Staples 240 - 241)
Wiping the sweat from my brow I called a halt to the crew. Phil and I dumped our packs and found a comfy boulder to rest on. I looked back to where the last guys were coming from back down the trail. They had stopped talking a while back and marched slowly along the dirt trail. Phil produced an energy-bar he’d saved from breakfast and began to munch on it as I drained another water bottle. After the refreshing drink I laid back against the rock and stared up at the pine trees. But a moment later, hearing grumble about sore legs, I sat up, grinning, “By the map we only have another couple hours.”
At Ten P.m on September 23, 2006, my mother Kelli Elizabeth Dicks was hit by a car on Route 146 southbound trying to cross the high speed lane. She was being picked up by a friend. Instead of taking the exit and coming to the other side of the highway, her ride suggested she run across the street. The impact of the car caused her to be thrown 87 feet away from the original impact zone and land in a grassy patch of land, her shoes stayed where she was hit. She was immediately rushed to Rhode Island Hospital where she was treated for serious injuries. When she arrived at the hospital she was rushed into the operating room for an emergency surgery. The amount of injuries she sustained were unbelievable. She broke 18 different bones, lacerated her liver and her spleen, ruptured her bladder, and she collapsed both lungs. When she went in for her emergency operation, and had her
Summer was coming to an end, the night air grew brisker and the mornings were dew covered. The sun had just started to set behind our home; my father would be home soon. I walked into the kitchen only to be greeted by my mother cooking dinner. She stood there one hand on her hip, her one leg stuck out at her side, knee slightly bent, stirring the pot holding the spoon all the way at the tip of the handle. She looked as pissed off as could be. My mother always felt she could be doing a million other things besides cooking dinner. We sat there talking until I heard a familiar soft rumble in front of our house. The rumble was accompanied by my father fidgeting at the front door. His old noisy Bronco always made his presence known. He plodded down the hallway into the kitchen to greet my mother with a peck on the cheek. After one more quick stir she plopped a hot pad on the table followed by a pan of sliced meatloaf in sauce. The smell of the meat, potatoes, and veggies filled the kitchen instantly and the family gathered around the table. The meal was a typical one in our household, my mother who had a million other things to do that day, including having her own personal time did not feel like cooking a twelve course meal. However, my father who always came home expecting steak did not see the meal as appetizing as the rest of us.
Time drugged along as the weight of a forty-pound pack full of food and water dug into to my bony shoulders. My pack seemed to be getting heaver as the day went on. My shoulders pulsed with pain from the thinly padded straps that connected to my pack. Four hours of this pain was all I could handle. I decided that this was enough I needed to stop. I shouted to Eric that I needed to take a break. He quickly turned around and said it was okay if we stopped. Because it was close to lunch everyone agreed and we all set down to eat lunch. Each one of us was caring five days worth of food for our trek. Every meal was neatly packed in a clear plastic bag and labeled for when it should be eaten. I opened up a package of peanut butter crackers from my lunch package and stared into the open field we had stopped in.
The big yellow round sun blazed in the clear blue sky with not a cloud in sight. A steady constant stream of cars begins to enter through the small rusty gates, filling up the parking lot like a cup filling up with water along with the numerous big yellow school busses. Anxious, nervous, and excited runners were filing off the buses and wandering off to find their teammates and tents. The fans also come slowly trickling in like bees attracted to a honeycomb. A concession stand, smelling of buttery popcorn, stood off to the side bustling with life as a little green eyed, ginger colored hair girl in her mother’s arms could be seen begging pleadingly for a big bright red lollipop. The med tent mostly empty with the exception of a few runners who
That day, the camera caught the tiny smile only a big sister could have as she holds one of the best birthday presents ever. I don't take up even half of a blue hospital chair as I cradle Katie in my arms. She is wrapped all in white, like the little angel that every baby is. My white, hooded sweatshirt has faint patches of sky blue, and just a tiny crimson triangle of a T-shirt peeks out from behind the zipper. Looking closer, a third person can be seen: my mother's wrist-banded hand holds Katie's head up. My tiny arms weren't quite strong enough for that task.
Holding onto my black duffel bag, I made my way away from the crowd of people waiting to claim their baggage. It was extra busy as people traveled from all parts of the world to vacation in Vegas for Spring Break, myself included. I hobbled over to my mother who was sitting in a quiet, empty row of seats in-between two baggage claim areas. My duffel bag slipped off of my left shoulder, hitting the seat with a soft thud. It was time. Time to finally restore my eyesight. I had been wearing my old glasses with a weak prescription and had my hair in braided pigtails for the duration of the flight from Chicago to Las Vegas. Those four hours on the plane were rough on me. It was necessary to refresh myself. With the intent to put my contacts on, I left my mother checking her e-mails on her phone while I walked to my right towards the women’s restroom. I had spotted it on my way to the baggage claim.
His oversized pockets were stretched, filled to the brim with delectable candies, the crunchiest chips, and anything else you could ever imagine. If only he hadn’t snuck food in, it would’ve saved him some major embarrassment. Is risking the rules worth having a few munchies during a move? This is a controversial topic for movie goers everywhere. People shouldn’t be allowed the right to snack, not only is it a more troubling than beneficial, it’s also a movie theaters main profit.
Who is the first person that readily comes to mind when people are asked who they love the most? For a lot of people the answer to that question would be their mom. Those individuals would not dream of what it would be like to go without their mothers, however not everyone is blessed with knowing their mom. For some people such as myself the concept of having and loving a mom was so abstract that I never had any hope of having one. Nevertheless, unbeknownst to me, that would all change about a year and three months ago. The following is why I believe in Mom.
I lost my mother at a young age, when I was 10--old enough to have memories to remember her and miss her, but too young to have a clear idea of who she was. Her absence completely disrupted our family. Waking up and having breakfast made, clothes ironed and washed, and all of the little things that we took for granted were gone in an instant. But this isn 't the story of how I lost my mother or about how I was devastated by her death. My mother’s death was the reason why I became exposed to the business world, and this story is really about how I came to share my father’s love and passion for business.
My heart was pounding as I boarded my flight leaving the Bangkok International Airport. A flight attendant in a grey dress with a red bow draped over her shoulder announced; “Welcome aboard flight AA350 to the United States.” My journey began that day.
It seemed like a normal day when I entered Mrs. A’s AP Language and Composition class, but little did I know that she was going to assign a very important project that was going to take forever. I took my seat and wrote down what was on the board. Then I sat patiently and waited for Mrs. A to come explain what we were doing today. When the tardy bell rang, Mrs. A glided into the room and gave us all a stack of papers. She then proceeded to discuss our upcoming assignment, a memoir. As she explained the very important assignment, I wondered whom I would write about. No one really came to mind to write about and I thought for sure I would never be able to get this thing done on time. I finally decided that I would write in on my mother, Kari Jenson. I knew I would probably put the project off until the very end and do it the weekend before even though it would get on my mom’s nerves. Putting work off was just how I did everything, it worked for me. When I arrived home from school that day, I told mom about the project. I told her I would most likely write it about her and she was overjoyed.
Ever wonder what your life would be like if you lost one of your parents? Growing up with a single mother losing my mom was always my biggest fear. Although growing up without a father figure in my life was challenging, overall it made me a stronger, more independent woman.
“Flight 208 to Los Angeles is now boarding. Section N you may now take your seats”. You looked down at your carry-on bag to make sure you have everything packed up, even though you took nothing out, and headed toward the flight attendant and handed her your ticket. As your walking through the tunnel, the sound of the planes jets put just enough pressure on your body, causing your pulse to increase. “Why are you nervous, you been on planes before”, you ask yourself. You shake your head and start to inhale and before you could finish getting your lungs to the maximum capacity they could hold, a man wearing a white shirt twice his size and jeans that also seemed