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Introduction to personal stress
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Emma’s parents were in the midst of a nasty divorce. Her father had left her mother, and her mother wasn’t taking the news well. Each morning, Emma’s alarm clock would go off at 6:30, and she would get up and get dressed, brush her teeth, and eat her breakfast without saying so much as a good morning to her mother, who typically stayed in bed with the shutters closed all day. When Emma came home from school, she knocked quietly on the door, then opened a window and sat on the bed and asked her mother how she was doing. Her mother would mumble a response, look up at Emma, and smile as she stroked her cheek. Every time Emma entered her mother’s room, it was dark and smelled stale. She wasn’t entirely sure how long her mom had cooped herself up in there; it didn’t look like she ever left the room, but sometimes Emma found empty cartons of Chinese take-out food or half-eaten pieces of fruit in the small wastebasket next to the door. …show more content…
She would stand in the harsh light of the kitchen’s fluorescent bulbs and say, to nobody in particular, “I might be down, but I can still make my own daughter dinner.” Emma heard the pronouncement each night from her bedroom, which was right off the kitchen. She didn’t understand how preparing one meal a day kept intact her mother’s sense of motherhood. When she tried to discuss it with her dad, he just told her to be patient with her mother; that she was going through something tough. “This isn’t easy for anyone,” her dad said on the other line,
In the short story, “Head Cook at Weddings and Funerals,” By Vi Plotnikoff, Marusa who is Aunt Florence’s daughter, expresses herself as an independently driven person. Marusa is not afraid to voice her opinion; Furthermore, she is a responsible young lady despite the circumstances she has to overcome to get what she wants.
In the beginning, while she is ironing, the mother of a nineteen-year-old girl reflects on her daughter’s childhood. She is caught between feeling responsible for Emily’s unhappy childhood and realizes that she was powerless in making her life better due to the lack of alternatives. As she is ironing, the mother remembers back to when her eldest daughter was an infant. She was a young, inexperienced mother who followed “like the books said” (204) and considered Emily to be “the first and only one of [her] five [children] that was beautiful at birth” (203). During the worst years of the Depression, her husband deserts the family leaving them to fend for themselves. With no money or savings available to support the two, her mother is forced to find work and Emily is handed over to a variety of temporary ...
Susie’s mother opened the door to let Molly, Susie’s babysitter, inside. Ten-month old Susie seemed happy to see Molly. Susie then observed her mother put her jacket on and Susie’s face turned from smiling to sad as she realized that her mother was going out. Molly had sat for Susie many times in the past month, and Susie had never reacted like this before. When Susie’s mother returned home, the sitter told her that Susie had cried until she knew that her mother had left and then they had a nice time playing with toys until she heard her mother’s key in the door. Then Susie began crying once again.
For years Miss Emily was rarely seen out of her house. She did not linger around town or participate in any communal activities. She was the definition of a home-body. Her father was a huge part of her life. She had never...
I felt as though I was watching a train barrelling towards me, an inevitable bullet that had come tumbling out of the opposing pitcher’s arm. But instead I stood immobilized, watching my team's only chance of winning whiz by me. Strike three. I heard my team from behind me shouting “SWING!” with my mind screaming the same. But my bat remained unmoving, the pop of the catcher's glove like the nail into the coffin that was our defeat. All I had to do to keep our hopes of winning hope alive was swing, and yet I couldn't. I stayed on the field afterwards, tossing the ball up in the air and swinging away, landing it on the thick maple barrel of the bat.
Despite her wishes to take on a bigger role around the farm, her mother is constantly reminding her that she should be helping out around the house as opposed to outside. In the narrator's eyes, work in the house was “endless, dreary and peculiarly depressing” whereas work done outside with her father was “ritualistically important”. When the narrator says “I continued to slam the doors and sit as awkwardly as possible, thinking that by such measures I kept myself free”, her rebellion towards these concepts is evident. However, with time she finds herself trying to make her bedroom fancier and becoming more concerned with her appearance. By doing so, it becomes apparent that her family’s persistent nagging is beginning to impact her and she has begun to succumb to the gender roles being forced upon
Similarly to the way people hold expectations for the daystar, or sun, to rise every day, mothers are expected to perform their duties like cleaning the house or taking care of the children. Both are taken advantage of and are not fully appreciated until they stop performing their duties. Throughout the poem, the woman’s daughter and husband are given names, “Liza” (line 12) and “Thomas” (line 17) respectively, but not her. The woman is only referred to as “she” or “her” which further highlights the lack of acknowledgement she receives. The mother is taken for granted by her family and is not regarded as important. Her efforts are ignored and she is never thanked for completing her tasks around the house because that is the role she is “supposed” to fulfill.
I can distinctly recall spending many early mornings with my mother as a very young child. Endlessly engraved in my memory is aroma of coffee and sprinting down the stairs to my basement to collect my mothers’ uniform from the dryer. And then with a kiss laid upon my forehead, she would drop my siblings and I off at my grandparents’ home to begin her ten, sometimes twelve hour shifts as an ultrasound technologist. Then just as I can vividly recount my mother’s morning routine, I still can picture the evenings I spent with my mother to the same caliber. Simply put, my mother is a wonderful cook. And thus, each evening she would prepare a different meal. And while the meals always varied, her superior cooking skills never faltered. Despite her hectic work schedule, never once did I witness my mother skip cooking dinner for myself, my four elder brothers, or my father.
She begins to feel this insecurity whenever she looks upon her children. “They look at her coldly, as if they were finding fault with her.” This “fault”, in the mother’s mind, is her inability to maintain a lifestyle typical of a woman of her upbringing and position. To counteract this she begins to, as mentioned earlier, appear in public to be “such a good mother,” a superior mother compared to all other mothers. She also feels as if she must maintain the lifestyle fitting of her, misconceived, social position which, in Lawrence’s words, “they had to keep up (100).” The mother keeps a “pleasant house” with servants, and feels as if they are superior to everyone in neighborhood in which they live. All of this promotes within the mother the feeling of being part of the social elite, despite the fact she is unable to afford the cost of living in which she is
I was in a stage of shock. I really thought she was going to blame me for taking the cookies. “I was hungry and I didn’t think I could wait for dinner to be done cooking. I took the cookies without asking. I’m sorry momma.” Samantha’s story sounded so fake but, I went alone with it. “It’s okay sweetheart. Next time just let me know and we can fix the problem. You did break the rules and I want you take out the trash tonight and tomorrow.” Mom commanded. Wait, is that all she has to do? I yelled in an angry voice.
Let’s flash back in time to before our college days. Back to then we had lunch trays filled with rubbery chicken nuggets, stale pizza, and bags of chocolate milk. A backpack stacked with Lisa Frank note books, flexi rulers, and color changing pencils. The times where we thought we wouldn’t make it out alive, but we did. Through all the trials and tribulations school helped build who I am today and shaped my future. From basic functions all the way to life-long lessons that helped shape my character.
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.
In “Everyday Use,” Mama never went to school beyond second grade but still she taught her values to her daughters the better that she could. One of the daughter’s name is Maggie and the other one is Dee. Since they were little Mama always thought that Maggie hated Dee. Mama raised enough money to send Dee to school in Augusta. Mama always tried to keep family together, Mama fantasizes about reunion scenes on television programs in which a successful daughter embraces the parents who have made her success possible. When Dee arrived from her annual visit, Mama tried to keeping Maggie from going back to the house running, Dee took pictures with her camera before hugging mom. At first Mama disapproved of the man that was coming with Dee and equally
I left the bag opened for Emma and stood next to her on my tiptoes, even though it only gave me a few inches in height, I reached for the cupboard above the bowl of fruit and on the lowest shelf to grab a couple of the cups that were meant for us. Easy access. Plastic. Only ever filled with water, milk, or the occasional orange juice. Only left the kitchen to go to the dining room. Setting them both down on the round kitchen table, I sullenly pranced from one corner of the kitchen to the opposite, from the food cupboard to the magnet-and-drawing-covered fridge. Opening the doors dramatically, I reached for the milk with both hands and turned around quickly to set it on the other side of the table. As I shut the doors, I looked to Emma to see if she would
The day was Thursday, November, Twenty Second and it was Thanksgiving. This was the day where my cousins from Iowa to Florida all came to my house for the grandest meal of the year. My house isn’t that grand, but rather cozy. The first thing someone notices when they walk in is(be verb) the kitchen floor. It is(be verb) a light gray tile with a white granite island. The lightAfter that is the stove top which is (be verb)plated with silver lining and is(be verb) a gas and electric combo. Cooking relieved my mother’s stress. My mother has(be verb) a passion for baking, so she installed a six rack oven underneath the stove top. After stepping through the kitchen you enter the dining room. It has yellow painted walls and has a twenty foot table with fourteen chairs on each side and two at the top. During Thanksgiving the most common sound is the constant screaming in Chinese. My mother would argue with her sister about how each of them is cooking the chicken incorrectly and how they are each using the wrong spices and herbs. Last year the burnt turkey didn't taste good because my mother seasoned it with lemon juice.