Essay About My Mother 's House

The street I live on has a lot of houses on it, and mine just happens to be one of them. Each house has its own driveway each one unique in its own way. Most of them are paved driveways, but mine happens to be made from hard pack. I can picture the driveway when it was built, still in the same place and still being made of rocks.

Despite the love and support of my family, I did succumb to making poor choices. I started hanging with the wrong group of friends, caring less about school, doing things the Lizmery now wouldn’t do. My perspective changed when I entered high school. I noticed how much of a rebel I had been with my family. I understood then, all the things that my mother had done and sacrificed to give my sister and me the world. I saw my sister earn her master's degree and buy a house. As the youngest, I had great role models in front of me. I knew that what I did in the next four years had to be drastic. I had to step outside of my comfort zone, leave the negative friends behind, and take my education

I no longer was popular or had a boyfriend. It was me against everyone else. The town people started to talk about how my mom was a crazy alcoholic who did not care for me, yet they were wrong. Yes, maybe my mom did have a drinking problem but that did not mean she did not love or care for me. Even though I was on my own throughout that my high school years, I grew as a person and became very mature for a young girl. When I came to college I did not realize how strong of a person I was. Looking back at my past does not make me wish I had it better. Instead, I look back and realize that if I wouldn’t have gone through any of that, I would not be the strong, independent, mature 19-year-old I am

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Every household has its own individual characteristics that make it functional, while portraying the family. For the private residential space, I decided to focus on my aunt’s house. The space has a slight rustic theme throughout and utilizes natural products in every room. I choose to focus on the kitchen/dining room of this home because it is the center of this household where everyone tends to congregate.

By the time, I reached adolescence my mother no longer needed my grandparents to watch us. We had relocated to a poor part of Chilliwack and had no supervision. I had started a new school, it was a lot different from the small farming school I was used to. I didn’t know a single soul. I remember on the first day of grade 9 I took shots of vodka in the morning for breakfast, because I was so worried what others would think of me, I just needed to make it through homeroom. Within the first week of school I was suspended for 3 days for getting into a fight, and was officially welcomed into the rebellious crowd. By the end of the 9th grade I was drinking every weekend and smoking pot. I started dating a boy who was 5 years older than me. He was abusive both physically and emotionally and was very controlling. At this point in my life my peers and boyfriend were major life influences. At fifteen I made the choice to leave the family home. I moved in with older people that I worked with, ended up drinking almost everyday and experimenting with other drugs. These behaviours I can try to blame on the parenting, the lack of a father figure, lack of supervision and lack of self esteem, but I chose to accept my mistakes for what they are mistakes. Looking back I wished someone would have noticed how far I was falling and catch me. A teacher to guide me ,a mother that hadn’t given up or maybe she could have enlisted some help. But I also know at this point I don’t think I would have

The fleeting changes that often accompany seasonal transition are especially exasperated in a child’s mind, most notably when the cool crisp winds of fall signal the summer’s end approaching. The lazy routine I had adopted over several months spent frolicking in the cool blue chlorine soaked waters of my family’s bungalow colony pool gave way to changes far beyond the weather and textbooks. As the surrounding foliage changed in anticipation of colder months, so did my family. My mother’s stomach grew larger as she approached the final days of her pregnancy and in the closing hours of my eight’ summer my mother gently awoke me from the uncomfortable sleep of a long car ride to inform of a wonderful surprise. No longer would we be returning

Driving to Long Prairie, on the right side of the road, up a hill with a long, paved driveway will be a house to the left. This house is two-stories with a basement. The first time I saw it, the house had a worn out, light tan vinyl siding with faded, dark red shutters from years of Minnesota weather. At the end of the driveway was a garage that resembled the houses color. To the right of the driveway was a large stone wall that was overrun with wild grape vines. In the middle of the wall was a stairway that leads to an old, rundown playhouse. Also, there was a large, gray brick shed further away. Beyond the house are the woods, littered with pine needles from the rows of trees my grandpa planted when he moved there. The whole area is surrounded by the overpowering smell of pine, and the silence the woods carries; it brings a calming, peaceful sensation to me. As the years have gone on, the house and I have aged, grown, and changed together.

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I close the car door and step onto the snow covered pavement. The dogs bark inside of my aunt’s house, and my family and I walk in. I am greeted by my aunts, uncles, and grandma on my dad’s side. My cousins, who are much older than me, sit in the living room enjoying the store bought peanuts, popcorn, and trail mix. I make my way past the crowded kitchen and settle on the stained couch. “Yeti”, the classic Christmas SYFY movie, plays on the TV. Unique ornaments cover the Christmas tree, while the dim Christmas lights reveal the dust that lingers on the worn out wooden floor. Before I know it, Lena and Hanse, my aunt’s two boxers, jump on my lap. They lick, drool, and nibble on me with excitement. I pet the dogs, but gently push them onto my sister. Brianne rolls her eyes, and nudges the dogs onto the floor. My grandma rests on the old rocking chair, laughing at the chaos. My aunt Bev sits on the couch beside my grandma. Both are dressed in Christmas sweaters, and have freshly permed hair. It is hard to keep a conversation with them because they both struggle with hearing. Trying to pay attention to the predictable show, my stomach growls; however, the smells that drift into the living room from the kitchen are not appetizing. Therefore, I take a small bowl of popcorn and trail mix.

In life everyone has their own dreams, whether it be about cars, houses, or their career. Most people I know dream to have the biggest and luxurious houses but I was always satisfied with mine. My house is not a tiny apartment nor a huge mansion but a two story, plain brown brick cozy house with white painted doors. The front yard is decorated with beautiful flowers; roses, lilies, violets, dahlias, daisies and much more, my mother usually plant them. She says, "Flowers are a pleasure and perfection of nature, and they give many things to people, and it does not matter if you are rich or poor, they give you a wonderful world which makes you feel happy". It definitely makes her and our neighbors happy. She shares the seeds of her flowers with the neighbors since they love and always

Beep beep beep. My eyes fluttered open as I reached to turn off my alarm. The clock read 5:30 AM. Slowly I made my way to the bathroom to get ready. The floor felt cold under my feet as I tried to miss the certain spots I knew would wake up the household. As I stood in front of the mirror, my eyes still crusted with sleep, I told myself to be strong. Cold water dripped down my neck and shirt as I massaged the lather into my skin. I noticed the droplets that had formed at the ends of my eyelashes, trying with all their might to hold onto the slick strands. Waltzing to my closet I tried to push aside my swaying thoughts. I slid on my favorite skirt and twirled in front of the mirror. I loved how it flew, the way it moved up and down like a carousel ride. I admired the fabric with its tangle of flowers interweaving through the vines. The flowers seemed a little droopy today. I brushed my hair until it was as soft as a kitten’s coat. I began to apply my makeup, with more effort than usual. The soft brushes tickled my cheeks as they concealed my imperfections. The droplets on my eyelashes had vanished and I coated the strands in thick layers of my best mascara. I wanted to look perfect.

My Grandmother’s house will always have a special place in my heart. I love it so much because it’s her only house in Florida. She was raised up in the Cayman Islands, where she spent most of her life until she moved down to Florida. When she came to move in, I was about 10 and was overly excited to help her move in. Driving into the neighborhood, the first thing I noticed was that all the houses looked very similar, a dark brown roof with white walls and some stairs leading to the front door, which always seemed to creep me out. When I got to my Grandmother’s house, it was in the corner of a cul de sac. In the middle of the cul de sac, was a very large oak tree surrounded by dark green bushes with different colored plants and surrounding it was a cement curb. The tree stood about 50 feet tall and the bushes were bright green with red leaves on them and changed colors during the fall. In front of the house to the left was a patch of grass for a garden and to the right was a sidewalk that would lead to the backyard. When I walked in, the first thing to grab my eye was this giant mirror she had in the living room. It’s one of the biggest mirrors i’ve seen. It stood maybe about 50 feet tall and covers the whole back wall of her living room. Upstairs, she has two guest bedrooms along with her own master bedroom. Downstairs was the kitchen and dining room and in the kitchen she had an enclosed patio as well as one next to the living room. Both patios lead to the backyard where

My grandmother’s house has a very special place in my heart. As the family has gotten older and we have all had our own children we do not visit as we should. I visited with my grandmother many times when I was little. Her house always seemed to have something about it that set it apart from all the rest. As you walk into the back door of her house you would notice a long, narrow kitchen that led into the main living and dining room of her house. The smell of food home cooked food was quite evident. Grandmother cooked every day and always cooked big meals on holidays for the family.

In a small town called Whigham located in the southwest part of Georgia is a home numbered 201 in the middle of Harrell Avenue Northwest. The home is shaded by a mighty oak tree, its exterior is white in color with a forest green metal door and window trim painted forest green to match the door. On the outside this house is full of plant life, two domestic dogs that guard the home from morning to night, and wild animals living off the provisions of the land. The inside of the house is full of geckos, family, and love. This is the house I was raised in since my mother and father brought me home from Grady General Hospital in January 1991. This home will forever be my safety and my coziness.