Descriptive Essay About My Mother

​Parents are one of the most beautiful things that could happen to anyone. They are always there by your side no matter what; they always want the best for their children. They can be strict and protective, its because they love their kids and they don’t want them to get hurt. My parents are special to me because with all the hard time that they had to have me and my siblings in their life they still fought for us and didn’t give up, even after 17 years of trying. But for me? The greatest of all is my mom. She is the one that I look up too. She is the greatest of all. Simple, funny, strict, protective, but yet she is the best.

As an eight year old kid in the 80’s I remember watching the movie Popeye by Robin Williams. “I yam what I yam, and that’s all that I yam.” I sang this tune in my head and out loud over and over again. I even added lyrics to suit me., “I’ll be want I want to be, I am what I yam.” It may be my first attempt at being true to myself, a self-identification, a personal statement and a compass of sorts

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

As a high school math teacher, I am having rewarding experiences educating and motivating students, but it is not my true calling. I want to positively affect a wider scope of the public and do so in a way that can improve and potentially save lives. The medical field is the best option to fulfill this desire and becoming a physician's assistant has become my new passion. The aspects of the profession that most attract me are its rewarding nature and its fascinating and diverse content. Due to my experiences as an educator and professional football player, and to my intelligence and compassion, I am confident I would be an excellent physician's assistant. While shadowing a physician's assistant in an orthopedic practice, I met a patient, Diane, whose story solidified my commitment to becoming a PA. Seven months prior, Diane was on the verge of becoming a diabetic due to her obesity, but was unable to lose weight due to a poor diet and an arthritic knee that prevented her from exercising. The physician's assistant at Diane's family practice sent her to a dietician to improve her nutrition, and to an orthopedic center, where another physician's assistant gave her a series of Synvisc shots to relieve the pain in her knee. When I met Diane, she lost 42 pounds and, consequently, she would likely be approved for a knee replacement surgery that would allow her to continue her remarkable turnaround. The ability to work in diverse fields, such as a family

She didn’t have to choose me, she didn’t have to provide for me, she didn’t have to love me and she most definitely didn’t have to take me in, but she did. I’m so unbelievably proud to call my mom my hero.

For this narrative, I interviewed my mom, Amanda Lopez. At first, she seems mean. That’s very blunt but it’s true. My mom is a very guarded and self-reserved person. She does have manners and she is nice but, she won’t open up immediately to a new person. She is also very hard working and independent. She wasn’t born with these qualities, she went through a lot of different struggles, but that’s how she ended up where she is today.

It took a long time to value the exceptional influence my mother has been on my life. She is the type of person who has thoughtful discussions about the importance of building a united family. The type of mother who always has time to listen when I need to express my feelings. The type of benevolent individual who loves to help anyone who is in need. Growing up with such a strong role model, I developed many of her convictions and interests. I not only came to enjoy the enthusiasm of learning simply for the profit of knowing something new, but I also came to conceive her notion of contributing with the community in exchange for an excelling sense of life, love, and spirit.

My life seemed normal until my mother died. Before this happen, I was happy to spend time with my mother daily. Every day I went to work and came back home on my lunch break to eat lunch with my mother. I loved my mother because was my best friend. I could talk to her about anything and she would listen to me. She was a sweet and loving mother and I always enjoyed having lunch with her. My co-workers would get upset with me because I never stayed and ate lunch with them.

Peeping through the blinds, I wave goodbye to my mom in her red, Mercedes Benz, and to my dad in his white, Toyota van, watching them go opposite directions towards work. I stumble across the couch, leaving indents from my knees, and walk into the kitchen where my grandmother stands with her familiar gray mug filled with steaming coffee and two cubes of sugar. As I walk to her side at the counter, I reach into a pink, plastic fruit basket containing ripe treasures purchased from Lion’s Supermarket. Two fruits: an apple and an orange, immediately sit upon my two hands. Shoving the round red into my grandma’s eyes, I await an answer. She squints, wrinkles deepening on her forehead, as if the apple was the challenge question on a math test. “Or...ange,” she says. I shake my head, and sound out the beginning letters of the fruit I was offering, until the word, “apple,” struggles out of her mouth. We both smile at the accomplishment as she points down at the orange and correctly states its name, confident in fashion. This calls for celebratory peeled orange and sliced sweet apple. Two weeks and two fruits, teaching my Chinese grandma some English words marks the biggest accomplishment of my first grade self.

My mommy, one of the most important people in my life, the most selfless individual I know & probably will ever know. From the moment I was born, she was the first person I fell in love with. She is indeed gorgeous, but its her soft light brown eyes that show nothing but kindness the love you get from her make you feel warm on the coldest day. My mom always worked hard to ensure that me and my sister had the best upbringing that we could get, at times she was strict and often talked to me in a stern tone whenever me or my sister made a mistake. Of course no child likes punishment, but as I got older and looked back on it I realized that she was correcting me out of love & not to scrutinize me. Me and my sister always took pride in our mother’s appearance , I especially took pride in her eyes. I remember when she would come to my school for report card pick up , I wanted to make sure everyone knew some way some how, that this beautiful creature was my mother. I’ve seen very beautiful people throughout my lifetime, but very few, match the impeccable beauty that is my mother. The main reason I was always fond of my mother, is because of the way she used to take more than great care of us, especially when one of us were sick. She is a very knowledgeable woman who knew and made different at home remedies to care for us when we fell ill. There was never a moment when we were sick that we felt uncomfortable while we were sick in her care, even the shortest back rubs would put us

A symbol that describes everything I want, would have to be my mom, she has been there for me since day one and have never gone anywhere, she represents: strength, love, and change to become a better person. My mom is everything I want to be as a mother, wife, and just as a person in general. I was born September 23rd 1998, my mom was born January 25th 1974. I was not a planned baby but, I know I definitely blessed my parents lives by being born. I did not grow up in the “typical home”, my parents’ divorced before I two, my dad was an alcoholic and was not around much when I was little, so it was just my mom and my grandparents raising me. I did not mind them raising me of course, I also did not know any better because, that was just how I grew up. I would say though that I had a pretty great childhood, I was always a happy child, and also a pretty good one too.

My mother was a reader. Her favorite spot was in front of the fire on frigid days, settled with a soft sweater and her then-best friend. Words comforted her exceptionally greater than any sweater, and when reality failed, a book would always grow to fill the vacancy. She read to me in times like this, on the vicious and sinister nights when thunder raged in tantrum at the entirety of the world, or after I scuffed my skin on harsh sidewalks and even harsher people. Hercules and the Nutcracker and the Big Nutbrown Hare, who loved his son “right up to the moon — AND back,” all danced in my head on different nights, but were all sung in the same sweet cadence of my mother’s delicate voice. She sent me on my reluctant way when I eventually learned how to decipher the silent letters and the vowels, and I was encouraged to read on my own. My parents printed out a big chart — a calendar, I’ve since learned — and we picked books. I would see how fast I could read these books: how fast I traveled to Hogwarts, how expediently I found the buried treasure, how fast I sank the Titanic. I could do anything that I set myself out to do with a book, so I did it all. I was the resident Egyptian archeologist, the walking compilation of every horror book in the library, the archer from medieval England, and I knew I could be even more. So I read.

When I was at the age of three my mother was a very beautiful woman with the vicarious thrill of being a mother of two. My father who worked efficiently at his job of employment but yet was rarely at home to savor the joy of seeing his son’s very first steps. Living as a mother she often grew dreary of his actions; the feeling of depression and loneliness slowly crept upon her. On my fourth birthday my father of course worked once more, so my mother felt banal and brought him a piece of cake at work. As she walked through the doors she realized that another woman was perched upon my father's lap, and with this she grew furious. The red dress she wore complemented her face as it began to alter its color into a darker shade a red. The more she pondered on the thought of the hurt and pain she felt at that moment the more she realized what she needed to do not knowing that it would affect the life of her kids dramatically.

My eyes wandered around the room that my grandmother now resided in, drinking up every detail and at the same time, cautiously avoiding the bed that was in the center of the room. I couldn't bear to look at my once lively and animated grandma now laying there looking lethargic. No would even believe me if I described how my she used to look; her expressive eyes were full of knowledge and secrets that only she knew, her surprisingly thick hair that was red from the henna she puts on every other saturday, and a warm smile that made anyone feel special if it was directed at them, I want to remember her as my grandma who used make an extra cake when we baked together because she knew that I wouldn't like the one I made, not as my grandma who is on a bed that may as well be her death bed. Her loud laughter used to echo through her small and cozy house that I used to spend all my summers in. Now you'd have to listen closely to be able to hear her, her vocals not being able to produce a sound louder than a whisper.

A mother is someone who can take the place of all others but no one can take the place of her. There are many different definitions you could use to describe your mother. My mother, Pam Krull, fits every one of those. Today I decided to pick the three that I thought was most important to me. I admire and aspire to be like my mother because of how supportive, how selfless, and how loving she is.