Graph #13

Reaction to sample cause Essay

                I’m actually quite annoyed right now, I have a pounding headache, and I’m sweating bullets. As I read the sample essay I think, ok, paragraph one will be easy, I’m good at hooking the reader (I think). Then I read on to the second paragraph, and it makes me have to think a little harder about where I’m going to take my essay and how. Then I read three and four, and that’s where I think I developed my headache. I’m not a very good sandwich maker; I could stuff a big piece of chicken between two slices of bread and be satisfied. But now you’re asking me to make a bigger one with condiments and vegetables! Jeez Louise!  This is making me want to have a smoke! This paper is going to take me days to write.

Essay #1

My passion began at the end of a long day of school, and constantly watching the clock. The chattering, superior, judgmental, annoying  air head school girls will at last be filtered out like shrimp on a lobster boat as a huge swarm of us girls rushed into the locker room.  Anxiously eager to take those uncomfortably tight jeans off and slip into a pair of silky gym shorts. Wrestling on that sports bra and tank top after tightly putting my hair back into a messy bun. Just barely getting on the last article, the whistle blows, and it’s time for business. This is the moment where all the "annoying, air heads" lose their spotlight. We quickly scurry out onto the freshly swept gym floor and plank our butts on the shiny, waxed wooded flooring.

After some of us get our ankles tightly wrapped and taped to spare them from getting twisted before the big game, we start our sets of sit-ups, push-ups, bicycles, then leg and arm stretches. Usually that got our blood pumping and competitive vibe going because we were always competing to see who could get just one more push-up in, or one more pedal of the abdominal wrenching bicycles.

Practicing one of my jump shots or perfecting my psych out, as i hear the constant dribbling in the background and that sound of 10-15 balls all hitting the rim at the same time. It didn’t matter, i was in the zone.  I was either, zipping past my imaginary defense after a psych out and landing a completely perfect lay-up. Or making them think i was going for the lay-up and sinking a 3 pointer in their face. I was good at my game; I knew it and so didn’t everyone else. I broke records on good and bad days; girls wanted me to help them improve their game. Sometimes, the boys coach would say he wished i was on his team.

 You could sign me up for any new challenge, a new play, one on one, and endlessly sinking them foul shots. You name it; I either conquered it or worked hard until i did. One of my specialties would be waiting for the point guard to dribble down the floor and just barely passing the half court line as I charge at her anticipating her very next move yelling "Ball, ball, ball!" swatting it just as soon as the ball left her fingertips as she’s still frantically trying to find an open team mate. I get a good four leaps away and everyone knew that once I had that ball, it was going all the way to the hoop. I hear the crowd screaming, hollering and whistling as I sink it and victory is ours!  Man o man didn't I love basketball. It was on my brain while i was eating, sleeping and breathing. It was my therapy, my escape from reality, a different dimension that became clear to me, always too late, that it would soon come to an end. 

Graph 12

Graph 12

                Im having a good time, beer in hand, good tunes blasting and a little bit of a buzz on. I’m a 18 year old tan blonde, trying to look good on my first date after a bad break up. I’m dancing with a guy I had met a few weeks prior through the local convenient store I worked in. He was the boss’s son, good looking, very out spoken and seemed very trust worthy. You see, he had this friend. He was at least 7 feet tall, football player build and his skin was mid night black. He was his best friend, and yet I couldn’t understand why he kept staring at me. I brushed it off a few times, hey I was drunk. I found the bathroom down the hall of this apartment to maybe get some of the alcohol out of my system, and to touch up my makeup a bit.

                I returned to the kitchen and there was no one. I went in the living room and still, no one. Probably everyone went outside and had a smoke or something. That thought quickly left my head when I see the huge man come towards me saying “We are finally alone”. I laughed and took it as a joke. I asked where everyone was, and he proceeded to tell me that he kicked them all out. I gulped, that made my buzz vanish and my heart began racing. I asked him why he would do that and he explained to me that I was going to be his for the night and that my so called boy owes him money and this is mainly what happens. He brings him women.

                Thoughts race through my head, oh my god he is going to rape me and then kill me. I thought about my kids and desperately wanted to cry. As I’m thinking all of this, I hear yelling on the street out front. My boss’s 3 daughters are taking a baseball bat to my car and a jack knife to my two front tires! Come to find out, the jerk that traded me in like i was a payment due, was also yelling at me. Calling out horrible names, and then taking a swing at my car. I was yelling back, I didn’t know what the heck was going on, I was so confused. I couldn’t go down there or I was sure to get pounded by the 3 infuriated drunk sisters. But as I weighed my options I was thinking, well I’d rather get my butt kicked by them then get raped by a huge black man. So I went for the door, unfortunately he was much quicker than I was. He grabbed me, pulled me back and pushed me onto the couch.

                The women in the downstairs apartment must have called the cops because suddenly I hear sirens, thank god, I’m saved. The big huge man couldn’t believe it, ran into his room, and none the less what do you think he came back out with. If you were thinking a gun then you’re absolutely right. He assured me that I was to shut up and lie down on the couch and not say a word or he was going to blow my brains out. He stripped down into his boxers and tucked the little black gun in the elastic of his boxers behind him. What do I do now? Nothing, I did nothing. That stupid cop didn’t even come in, said there was a complaint of loud noise, believed that jerk in a snap of a finger that it wasn’t his unit.  Then he left. He waited until he pulled away and shuffled through his jeans pockets, pulled out some pills and chased it down with hard liquor. Here I am, thinking of ways that I could escape and came up with the plan of just go with it. He came and sat down beside me and i pretended that everything was fine and that he was so brave for protecting me from those girls and so on. He fell for it. I poured him some drinks and pretended I was drinking along with him. Whatever he had taken for pills helped make the process of him passing out go a little faster, because his eyes were rolling into the back of his head. I assured him I would be right back and that I was just going to the bathroom real quick. I skipped past the bathroom and headed out to the balcony and climbed down that rickety latter as fast as I possibly could, ran through the bushes scrapping just about every part of my body but I didn’t feel it. I had my keys ready, jumped in and took off in that car faster than I had ever done before. I was breathing fast, my heart was racing, and my whole body was shaking. As soon as I knew I was far enough away, I started to hysterically scream and cry and thank god for my life. That was my hell, my life almost ended there, and I will never forget what happened in that place.

Graph 11

Graph 11

                I had just barely finished high school, taking extra classes to graduate a year early, and I find out I’m pregnant with my first baby girl. Her father decided to take off and join the military and I was left to fend my own. I stayed with my mother some and when I had enough of her nagging I dreadfully stayed with my father and his girlfriend that was just a tad older than i. When I had enough of her immaturity I hopped from grandparents, to aunts houses and even stayed with friends.

                My daughter was born and I finally said ok, that’s enough we need our own place. So we borrowed some money here and there and used all we had and found the first apartment that was available. We split the rent with a cousin, worked full time jobs and sent Natalie off to daycare. This place was nothing to brag about, you had to fight for a parking spot, and while carrying a carseat, a baby and a handful of groceries up the first set of stairs on the outside of the building in the middle of winter so the steps were always a little slick. Then you would reach the inside set of stairs that you had to pretty much climb like a latter and half your foot barely fit on them. It was always a pain in the butt getting into and out of that apartment. The kitchen was big enough for a small sink, a small stove and a refrigerator. All of the walls were slanted because it was pretty much the attic. If I lived there for much longer I’m sure I would have become hump backed and it sucked taking a shower because you had to stay hunched over in order to fit in the darn thing. Then on top of that there was never any heat or hot water. It was just awful!

                We finally moved, it didn’t get much better but at least I only had to walk 5 steps and I was into the trailer. We split the rent again with another couple we had gone to high school with. I had my second child, a boy, and became a stay at home mom because he was very ill. I was taken for granite most of the time and was probably thought of as the only house cleaner. Our friends that lived with us were pigs, I always cleaned up after everyone and I had enough of my living room being turned into an arcade. They played halo nonstop and he didn’t even work so he literally sat on the couch all day every day and stuffed his smelly socks in the couch cushions!! So that was the end of that one, I broke my lease and I was out of there.

                After living in three more crap holes we had enough. Especially the last one, living in a one bedroom apartment, that’s right, one bedroom, with two kids and a third on the way! We got good jobs after desperately searching for months and got as far away from that town as we could. We found a house, yes an actual house, with three bedrooms and really nice neighbors. I had my third baby and things started to get bad with the landlords. They wanted to jack up the price because I had another baby, then they wanted to kick us out because they wanted to move back in, ugh it was just an ongoing battle with them and they were very rude.

                We applied for first time home buyers loan and got approved!  It really isn’t that simple either we waited quite sometime after applying to at least 4 other company’s first. Our realtor showed quite a few places, but in our price range from $150,000-$170,000, what did we expect a mansion! Just when all hope was lost and thinking we were going to have to live in a hotel because the landlords were kicking us out we find the most perfect house on the market. The people who had owned it bought it through Repo and selling it for $180,000, and making some pretty good money on it. We have our own private drive and very far away from the road. I don’t ever worry about my kids being near the road when they play outside. We have no neighbors, 6 wooded acres, a brand spanking new 15,000 dollar 2 car garage with electric door openers and a wood stove! Following the brick pathway from the garage goes all the way up to our 28 by 60 square foot double wide with a nice front deck, a huge burgundy star above the front 3 windows, and a burgundy door that opens up into the most beautiful home. Hardwood floors everywhere, a stone fireplace, a huge office/toy room, 3 bedrooms, 2 baths a brand new deck on the back of the house that overlooks our wonderful back yard. My master bedroom has a master bathroom connected to it with a “his and hers” sink and a Jacuzzi tub with jets! My whole family loves it here. It’s absolutely everything we had ever wished for. The path was a struggle, but it just makes it even sweeter knowing where we had been and that we finally did it.

isearch worksheet

What do you want to write about? Re-decorating

What do you want to find out about your topic?

*The cheapest place to get supplies

*Look through different magazines for some ideas

What are your questions about the topic?

1. What color paint do i want?

2. How much paint do i need?

3. What type of flooring will i put in, what color and how much do i need

How does it connect to your life?

My daughter is going to be turning 7 years old and she shares a room with her 4 year old brother. I would really like to put her in my 1 year old sons room and put him in with his brother. Her birthday is soon and i want this to be her big surprise!

Give three reasons you like the topic

1. It’s fun, i love painting and decorating

2. It’s a surprise for my daughter, she’s going to be so excited to be able to have her friends over and hang out in her room so her brothers don’t interrupt their tea.

3. Plus it’s an improvement to the house, i like my new house to look good and show off the cool things i have done.

Give three ways your life might change if you answer your questions

1. Definitely, no more fighting with the kids about whose room is whose

2. I wouldn't have to worry about waking my son up every time i get her up for school and maybe i could get some extra shut eye after she gets on the bus.

3. The night time routine would be so much better because her brother is constantly crawling into bed with her and waking her, she doesn't get much sleep with that going on, so she will be well rested with her own room and not so cranky in the morning!

Graph 10

                Don’t you wish that just once somebody could do their job right? When you go into work and everything is in the right place, rooms are clean and hope to god that all of the residents have gotten the adequate care that they deserve? And that maybe just once the ones that suck at their job get reamed out by the supervisor!?

                Well I do! All of the above, every time I go into work. There’s this same person that I get report from every shift I work. The same lazy, overweight, smells like a big armpit, man that supposedly takes care of my sweet, sweet little old people who I dearly care about and he can’t even take a shower and put deodorant on himself for gosh sakes. Well I’d had enough when I found my little “grandmother” lying in bed with her pajamas still on (the ones I had put on her the night before) and soaking wet. I marched down there to where he was gabbing about himself to this person who probably for one doesn’t even understand what the heck he is talking about, but that’s just what he does best, talk, talk, talk. That explains why his work never gets done! I took him to the side and I said “Look, there is no gosh darn reason in this world as to why grammy is still in her pajama’s at 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and further more she’s soaking wet along with all of the other residents I just checked!” He explains “well she said she didn’t want to get up and she refused my care” (f.y.i. she doesn’t talk and doesn’t refuse anyone’s care) I said “You have two choices here, either you go down there and you get her cleaned up and dressed and also go and get all of the dishes, trash and linen out of the rooms, OR you don’t and I go get the supervisor and most indefinitely get your ass fired”.

                Let’s just say he went through his rooms again and he didn’t get fired, but now every time I go into work he knows I’m coming and everything is much better. Things are picked up and it looks like he actually has done something. The one thing that hasn’t changed is his B.O. is disgustingly worse, but the whole point was that the residents, that I am half the time responsible for get the proper care they deserve. Check and mate!   

Background

Background

                So this is where it all starts. Why I am fixed on re-decorating a bed room for my daughter. Why I want her to be able to have her own comfortable space to have as her own, to do her own thing. Well first of all, when I was a little girl I never really had my own room. My room consisted of a mattress thrown on the floor and grandma flower wall paper on the walls and a blanket tacked on the window for a curtain. My mom always wanted to redo my room for me but we just never had the money. Don’t get me wrong I still had friends over to stay the night, well, believe it or not my room was actually a lot nicer than my friend’s rooms and they actually liked my room.

                Throughout the years after me graduating, I bounced from apartment to apartment trying to find my place in the world and I’m telling you they weren’t great, they weren’t even good actually. Small, on the very top floor, slanted ceilings, crappy everything. Because they were never anything I could call mine, I was never allowed to paint or rip rugs up or tare walls down. But now that I own my home on my nice chunk of land, I can do whatever I want to. So there are a few different reasons as to why I so desperately want to do this room. I want my children to have more than what I had when I was little. Not necessarily materialistic things, but a home that they can feel comfortable in for the rest of time, no matter how old they are they can still come home, somewhere they can have their own space/quiet time away from siblings. Now that I have my own room that I have designed to satisfy my wants and needs of a room that I have always wanted, I love being in my room, it’s beautiful and I sleep very well at night, this is what I want my daughter to feel like when she walks into her room too.

A Place I Use To Call Home-Graph 9

                I don’t know why I do it every time I go to my hometown because it brings tears to my eyes. I say to myself before turning onto that road, why am I doing this I already know I’m going to be disgusted. But for some reason it brings back those good ol childhood memories of when my family was still together, and the 1^st time for my, well, everything.

                I drive slowly down the old road going by all of my old neighbors houses and 2 of my best friend’s house that I’m actually still friends with to this day. She’s so lucky, reliving all of her memories with her soon to be new baby in her own house she grew up in. As I drive by I remember, swinging on the tire swing in the front yard, shooting hoops in that same exact basketball net, and getting our butts kicked for stealing smokes and clam baking the teeny tiny ice shake out back that all four of us could barely fit in. Just thinking about it now makes me laugh. As their house goes out of site in the rear view, I start getting butterflies in my stomach. Then, I see Buds house. Everybody knows bud, he’s the nicest old man, give the shirt off his back, always chatting with everyone down to the post office. It was always an excuse to go over and see Bud because he always gave me and my sister candy. Then I would hear my mother yelling, “Girls, you get back over here right now!----sorry Bud!” and he’d always say “Oh their fine” and then chuckle.

                As that little memory fades out of my mind, I put my blinker on and pull over to the right resting my tire on part of Shirley’s drive way, hard to believe she’s gone. I close my eyes and see her round beautiful face with her curly white hair and thick glasses, we would go over there just to say hi most of the time and she would always come out and put her two hands on each side of our faces and give us a big kiss on the forehead leaving a bright red lipstick mark and then say your mother must be worried and always, always, always say make sure your look both ways and hold hands before crossing the road! As I see the two little girls holding hands, skipping, with their ringlet hair bobbing in the air, crossing the road into the yard, I blast back into the present, me sitting there parked across the road looking at it now. The, what use to be perfect little black mail box that my father made darn shore that there were no scuffs on and the numbers were perfect. It sits there cocked off sideways, the black paint all scuffed and you could barely read the white numbers and the red flag is no longer present. The big huge tree sat in our front yard by the mail box that shaded the entire street and half of house. It looked hunched, droopy and depressed. The yard, now let me tell you, this yard was always spotless, my sister and I knew that we were to pick our toys up before daddy got home or else. My father never let anybody else mow his lawn because he liked it perfect; the lines in the grass had to be just right. Now, there are no lines, the grass needs badly to be mowed, and it looks like somebody parked on the yard and got stuck and rutted it all up. There’s another spot where those disrespectful, lazy, dirty people put their pool, right in the front yard, no sand nothing, just plopped it right there, so now there’s a big rotted spot that’s made all the grass go brown.

I see the garage, just about ready to collapse because the people never kept up with it and just stacked garbage beyond garbage in it and actually left the door open to the public, with all of it torn up by animals. Its hard to visualize my dad laying on the floor changing the oil in his nice big red GMC pickup, tinkering around in his well-organized man cave, and he had it all rigged up so that when you walk in through his little homemade door with a bungee cord on it, you hit the lights that was connected to the power strip, and the radio would turn on. That’s just how he was, always worked in there with the radio blasting. Sometimes, well pretty much most of the time, he would be in there even with no vehicle to work on, my sister and I always wondered what that smoke and smell was, it wasn’t cigarette smoke, we knew that smell. But now it’s just the smell of nasty garbage and the roof caving in with rain pattering on it all.

From there was the barn with a big tree in front that always shaded it and the homemade swing that was on the branch. It’s where dad stored all of our bikes, sleds, toys, etc., etc. And above was a loft that you could only get into by the boards nailed to the outside of it, resembling a ladder my dad rigged. Up there was our “tree house”, we were too scared to ever sleep in there, we tried it once but my sister cried and that gave me and excuse to go back inside too. But we certainly did a lot of baby doll playing in there; it was where we played a lot of mommy and daddy with our best friends from down the street.

The Big white house with the black trim, the windows always so clear, the roof well maintained, and in the winter time there was always smoke rolling out of that red brick chimney. Inside the door, oh the smell, I’m home, the wood stove is piping. Our table, where we had all of our dinners as a family, every single night. My sister and I eating together, but nothing that my father wouldn’t eat. Pea’s, yuck! (Thanks dad). I remember laying on the floor in the living room with my feet up on the tall black Sony speakers, my head phones on, connected to the nice radio/5 disc cd changer/tape player, singing out loud to Whitney Huston, trying to memorize the words to Michael Jackson and admiring Mariah Cary’s beautiful voice wishing I could sing like that someday. The living room, with the fluffy brown rug, the huge spruce tree in the corner with all of our little projects that we had made at school for mom and dad. On your way upstairs, with a creek in every step, was the 3 bedrooms. Where my sister would always come into my room so quietly because she was always scared, and want to sleep with me, but do not let dad hear us whispering, we know what that stomping down the hall way always meant, uh-oh to loud, still awake, its slap on the butt time. We whispered and giggled even quieter after that.

                I flash back, into the spot on the side of the road, smiling at what use to be my home as it suddenly transforms back into the horrible creature it became. As the tears run down my face, I put my vehicle in reverse, turn around, take one more look, sigh a big sigh and drive away. If my parents would have just worked it out, it would still be that same wonderful memory I have of it. I can’t change the fact that it’s all just a memory, but I can give my children the chance to have some of those great moments forever. 

Reaction to isearch Graph #8

Reaction to isearch Graph 8

                I think that my isearch topic on re-decorating is great. It’s something I love doing, it’s about me doing it, and researching how to do it myself. It’s also a learning experience for me because I’ve never actually done a whole room by myself. Just by doing all new paint, the trim, ripping up the rug and putting hardwood flooring in and possibly a ceiling fan takes a lot of research and critical thinking. Plus keeping all of this a secret until it’s finished, working my late night job, three kids, kids school activities, and taking classes myself, ah yes, it’s going to be a big job. I would definitely say no I do not know all of the answers to my questions, nor do I have the supplies and I’m on a very tight budget for this project. I would like to try and do this under $500, it all depends on how much I make at my yard sale next weekend. I think it’s going to be a challenge, it will be fun to watch it all come together and the ending reward is really in everyone’s favor but mostly to see the look on my daughters face, priceless.

Graph 6

Unique

            Other than the facts that I look, walk, and have the same sense of humor as my father, I am still unique. I love my father, oh, do I ever so love that man. It’s more of a, I watch out for him kind of relationship. With all of the controlling girlfriends, calls at midnight because of that flat tire and a little too much to drink, and the recent diagnosis of lymph cancer that was discovered while he was in the hospital after his heart attack. He needs someone to watch over him and that is what I am here for, until the end.

My mother, on the other hand, has a chronic hypochondriac disorder. She cannot take care of herself let alone anybody else. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t love my sister and I or we don’t love her but she can be quite the handful sometimes. My sister is 22 years old and has three young children. I look out for her and her children when they decide to be boneheads and let stupid people watch their kids. Even when I’m tired, and taking care of my own three children I take hers because I don’t want them under the care of idiots and end up getting hurt.

When I am not taking care of children, I am at work taking care of elderly people. I guess I would consider myself a person that likes to take care of people! I like my life, house and mind being organized, maybe a little bit too much most of the time, but I like it and it keeps me sane. Because I am so busy taking care of everybody, the mountains of laundry, endless dishes and toys, toys everywhere, I tend to not get enough sleep, which results in way too many cups of coffee, multiple cans of mountain dew and a few 5 hour energy’s to top it off.

That’s what I am now, and I’m proud of it. I worked very hard to get where I am today and I have a very supportive husband who I couldn’t do with out and my three beautiful children that keep me going every day. I absolutely love my family and I would do ANYTHING for all of them, because that’s just who I am.

Graph 5 - Brain Storming

Graph 5 – Brainstorming isearch

-Cleaning

-Organizing

-Re-organizing/Decorating

-Fun activities with my kids

-Reading to my kids

-Fixing stuff

-Four-wheeling

-Plowing

-snow sledding

-Skiing

-Snow tubing

-Helping people

-Certified Nurses Assistant

-Administering Medication (CRMA)

-Registered Nurse

-Brainstorming ideas for a invention

-Need more money

-Being a house owner

-Painting

-Driving to my home town to visit my family

*TOPIC*

-Re-organizing/Decorating!

-closets/dressers, and finishing them with a coat of stain

-Kitchen (paper/paint)

-Floors (linoleum/hardwood)

-designated bins for toys to ensure easy/fast clean up

-Pictures on a wall (collages/paint one/take a new one)

-Furniture (more or less?, refabricate them?)

-Bedrooms (The whole darn thing!)

1) How am I going to do this room differently today?

2) Should I get different color paint for the walls?

3) Should I take the rug up and put hardwood flooring in?

4) How should I re-due the trim on that door and closets?

5) Do I need a different closet door?

6) Do I need one at all?

7) Should the window sills be a different color?

8) What kind of shading would do well with this room?

9) What color curtains should I get?

10) Should there be a different source of light?

11) Would a nice fluffy throw rug look good here?

12) Where will the bed go?

13) Should I corner the TV?

14) Definitely no doorknobs that lock

Description in the third person

Description in the third person

            By reading the first few things on the list, I can already tell that she has very good ideas, likes a good deal at a yard sale, and a do it yourself kind of gal. Her in-laws must like her if they bought her a new computer; it’s always a plus to be on their good side. Her desk sounds cluttered but slightly organized with some random items thrown on there, hence the socks and sippy cup- but, she must be on the go all the time with three children and a full calendar. If her desk is in the toy room then she has to be one heck of a multi-tasker and able to drown out sound like a glass door. She likes her space to smell good with candles, so even if it isn't clean at least it will smell good! The broken door knob tells me that she had to get someone out of a locked room in a hurry because all of the tools and butter knife is thrown on her desk. Plus who doesn't try the butter knife trick, but then fails and unscrews it all instead, and then busts it! Oh well as long as nobody was hurt. With it being so busy and hectic, and three kids running around she still manages to pay her bills on time (the somewhat organized mom’s slot for the “paid bills” section is empty). Huh, well, they must have a good budget. Scrap booking must be one of her hobbies, with all of her kids pictures scattered everywhere. You can tell she is a very proud mother and wife, her kids and her husband sound like award winning trophy’s,  to remind her of all of their life achievements and special moments captured in a picture. 

Graph #3-Inventory

Graph #3 - Inventory: My Desk

*(New) Approximately 10 ft. Desk/Marble Counter Top, found at a yard sale for $20 bucks

*New Toshiba Lap Top (Wedding gift from the in laws)

*An Epson Stylus Printer

*Speakers for the computer

*A Desk light
*A calender with an appointment,event, or reminder marked on every square

*A folder with letters and other forms from EMCC

*A mini black berry candle

*A bottle of lotion

*A Big bottle of lotion

*Spill proof Sippy cup

*A pair of pink socks

*Both sides of a door knob(broken)

*Butter knife, Multi-tool with pliers, screw driver and knife

*Desk organizer with a spot for bills “none” a spot for paid bills “none”, 3 slots for writing utensils with all my daughters’ colorful pencils in them, about 20.

*Beside that, there’s a little white plastic basket with a stapler, 4 glue sticks, 6 cd’s of kids pictures, a cloth to clean the cd’s, a loan payment booklet and a check book.

*Then, there’s a PS2 beside that hooked to the TV beside the desk for the kids. Did I mention that it’s an office/toy room

*A lot of different pics and collages of pictures of all 3 of the kids

*A picture of Mt. Katahdin, then a pic of my husband and his brother climbing it.

*Another picture of my husband and his sister after a very exhausting run of a 10k.

Graph #2

I will never forget sitting there at my desk in the back row watching Mrs. Farrer, (my third grade teacher), write the entire classes test grades up on the board. I wasn’t very popular, nobody really talked to me much. It’s not that I was dirty or ugly, I didn’t pay attention much and got bad grades but I just didn’t fit in with the other third grade girls who liked to make fun of the dirty, ugly girls. But, this put the icing on the cake. After the teacher was done putting our grades on the board she would make us come up and circle the one that was ours. Of course, mine was the 50. Then she would say, well if you did better on your tests you wouldn’t be so embarrassed. Then I would do the walk of shame all the way to the back of the class room with all of the popular girls staring at me then whispering to each other. So after all was said and done, the “not so smart” kids had to go in the other room and do homework while all of the other kids got to watch a movie! I hate that teacher 1 million times, she was heartless, she looked like a man and her breath stunk horrendously! Once my mother found out what was going on though, she marched down to the school and gave her and the principal her two cents. I stood outside the classroom with the biggest smile on my face, so to say, I never went to that school again! And, to fast forward a little bit many years down the road. I became more and more popular, played varsity everything. Then one day, we kicked my old schools asses at basketball tourneys my senior year! So a big HA! In your faces you spoiled little brats! Then I lived happily ever after, but I still consider Mrs. Farrer as the worst teacher EVER!

Graph #1

            As I am writing this paper I think to myself, how in the world do I start this. I can’t tell you about any marks, cuts or burns on my hands because I don’t have any so instead I will tell you what I do with them.

            My hands are mostly wide open with my children piled on my lap snuggling them and kissing their foreheads. I love combing my fingers through my one year olds toe head of hair as he walks by me with that cute little smile on his face.

When it’s time for haircuts I get out the Cookies and lollypops hoping they will sit still long enough for me to trim their blonde bowl cut hair and maybe get fewer cuts on my knuckles. My daughter, six years old going on sixteen paints my fingernails and toenails just like if I were at the salon. Usually after her bath while her hair is still wet I like to do french braids. She doesn’t like it so much, the process usually consists of her saying “Owe!”, “Are you done yet!” and me saying “Cut it out!”, “I’m almost done!”.

 Yes, I have a white line around my left ring finger when I move my rings slightly forward. I admire them often, and think of my loving husband. Yesterday, I took my little puppy outside after several attempts of that cheap imitation flea crap you get at Wal-Mart, not working and tried picking as many of those damn disgusting, fast moving creatures off of her myself. So now I have little tiny nibbles from her.  She was probably thinking, just let me hell go ill just deal with it!

 Most days, if it’s ok outside, I’m usually hauling on the pull cord of the two fore wheelers for some cheap entertainment. Around and around the house we go, staling quite a few times, and repeatedly yanking on the darn pull cords for one more round.  Ive never had long fingernails, I chew them sometimes until they bleed, and especially this summer specifically because of the ongoing battle of quitting smoking. I don’t care what day, week, month I hit I still want one!

 Now I would keep going on and on and describe to you many, many, things that I do with these hands but I don’t think you want to hear what I do with them especially at work because I am a C.N.A, and we all know what they do for a living! Sad to say, after writing this short paper and a lack of time spent with Microsoft Word, these hands are getting cramped. The end!