My hand flies to my heart, the other to Matthew’s hand. I startle awake from an endless nightmare. Luckily, I haven’t awakened my sleeping husband, who I must say sleeps like a rock. I stretch out and sit up, the covers pooling around my waist. The moonlight continues to shine into our room from the balcony. I give Matthew a quick kiss on his hand and slowly crawl out of bed into the depths of our house.
I wander the empty hallways of this home Matthew and I have built. Pictures line the wall from our wedding, to the birth of our three wonderful children, Braden, Katarina and Adam. I couldn’t imagine any better life. As my hand skims the wall, my feet sink into the plush purple carpet that lines the hall. I touch the cold metal of my first son’s door knob and hesitantly open the door. Braden is twelve-years-old, and as athletic as his father. The first thing he learned to say was “Dada” and knew how to skate before he could walk. Hockey must be in his genes – he’s the captain of his Pee Wee B hockey team. He has a great future set in front of him.
I tip-toe over to his queen size bed covered with blue sheets. Braden takes after his father in looks as well. His eyes are the rich color of the sky and grass combined; his hair a dark chestnut brown; a smile that is so perfect, he didn’t need braces. As I stroke his hair and pull the covers up, I remember the first time I dropped him off at school and I imagine how he’ll deal with going to a new school next year since its seventh grade. I turn off the music he plays every night to help him fall asleep, and exit his room as quiet as I entered.
The Term Paper on Fallen Angel Brad Lucifer Michael
Chapter 1 The echoed screams of those who have been banished progress through the many corridors. Every one of them strikes fear into the minds of whoever listens. This is the place of fear, the worst punishment there is. Fear, the one thing that nobody wants, but there isnt one person who does not have a fear. Whatever this fear may be, it is multiplied one hundred fold and met every minute when ...
Katarina is only a year younger than her brother. She’s only eleven and is as independent as a teenager. She’s sprawled out on her queen size bed covered with bright colors that swirl around. I watch her breathing, a slow rhythm of ease as she dreams ever so peacefully. She takes after me, which I’m thankful for. Her eyes are a rich green, her hair a bright blonde, but Kat was born with teeth like her great-grandmother. She’s almost to the ripe age to get braces. I hope she won’t get teased when she gets them; it’s a grave fear of mine. Kat is always striving to be her unique self, and doesn’t exactly care what others think of her. Her fearlessness is something most other girls her age crave for.
She’s a bookworm, just like her mother as well. Matthew and I brought her skating multiple times, but she didn’t really get the same sensation her momma felt as a figure skater. Instead, she’s a dancer – hip-hop and ballet – and she’s extremely gifted. Where she received her gracefulness on feet is something I question myself with everyday. She’s my angel, her father’s little girl, and her brothers’ best friend. I glance over to her window which is right above her bed. The moonlight casts a light upon her drooling face and I manage to hold back a giggle. I wonder how many hearts Kat will break when she enters the scary and dreaded place of high school.
My littlest boy, Adam, sleeps the farthest away from his parents. He has the intelligence of Einstein and is constantly questioning everything. He isn’t big into the high-contact sport as his older brother, but is enjoying music quite much as well as tennis. Adam is eight, and loves his guitar. He plucks the strings night and day. His looks are that of mine and Matthew’s. As he sleeps, he snores a bit and fidgets, but the stuffed tiger his grandmother gave him is tucked safely away in his arms.
Right now, Adam wants to be a rock star. I only hope he achieves the dream he decides on. His clothes are scatter around his floor and being as restless as I am, I can’t help but not pick them up. CD’s of oldies line shelf after shelf. I watch him move and he silently calls out for “Grandma.” Grandma Fern passed away few months ago and little Adam was her absolute favorite. When Adam found out about her death, he was devastated. He took up a vow of silence and wouldn’t come out of his room. Finally, Matthew and I were able to soothe him out to talk to us. He’s been back to his talkative self ever since. I close the door and hear the “click” of the door.
The Essay on F Scott Fitzgerald Writing Age Love
F. Scott Fitzgerald Francis Scott Fitzgerald's life is an example of both sides of the American Dream, the joys of young love, wealth and success, and the tragedies associated with success and failure. Named for another famous American, a distant cousin who authored the Star Spangled Banner, Fitzgerald was born in St. Paul Minnesota on September 24, 1896. The son of a wicker furniture salesman ( ...
I wander back up to my room, and dance to the balcony. I flop into the overstuffed red love seat Matthew and I placed outside. In the distance, I can see a glimmer of the soft lake that is only minutes away from my home. I cross my legs and sigh to myself.
“Well hello there. Didn’t you ever learn to close the door?” a deep, rough voice says. I quickly whip my head around to see the man I call my husband. “Oh, dear I’m so sorry! I was caught up in how beautiful the night sky looked. I didn’t even think about the door.” I say hastily. “Well, I’m glad you forgot. You can’t keep this to yourself, you know.” Matthew says as he joins me. I’ve known him since I was a junior in high school and I’ve been infatuated with him ever since. His face is turned toward the night sky, and I can’t help but wonder how this fascinating creature is with me. Matthew has been playing hockey ever since the age of five, and has a knack at it. He played for the Fighting Sioux in college, and was moved up to the professional league when the Washington Capitals signed him to their roster. He was ecstatic about the offer. My children and I can’t go and stay with him in Washington State, but we go to every game we can. He’s my children’s hero, and my own to love.
I place a single hand on his cheek, an act I’ve always done towards him. “It’s almost morning wife. What are you going to make for breakfast?” he teasingly asks me. He knows whatever I cook, he has to help with. “Well, I was thinking some bacon, maybe an omelet. Unless you prefer something more five star.” I instantly challenge him. He picks me up and throws me over his shoulder as if I was as light as a feather. He lays me on the bed and suddenly we are in a game of chasing each other around the bedroom. He never ceases to amaze me. Of course, Matthew lets me win and we stroll downstairs to the kitchen, starting up the coffee, and planning out what to feed our children.
The Term Paper on Child Labor: A Perspective
... Nabarkov (1955) ——————————————– [ 2 ]. Interview of Matthew Crabtree, Source: Sadler Committee reports, Year: 1832 [ 3 ]. Child Labour Guide: One world [ 4 ]. Sexual ... fire that badly burnt childhood of a staggering number of children. Child prostitution wasn’t new either, as exhibited by the pedophilic ...
