When I was a child, my mother was my home. No matter where I am, as long as my mother is there, my young mind can be quiet. Now that I have grown up, my mother has devoted countless efforts to me, hoping that I can grow into a towering tree one day.
Once, my aunt and I went to Shahe Department Store to buy shoes. My aunt bought a pair of shoes for my cousin, and I also asked my aunt to buy me a pair. I looked at every pair of shoes carefully and didn't know which one to buy. I walked and watched. Suddenly, my eyes lit up and I took a fancy to a pair of sports shoes with a price tag of 138 yuan. When I got home, my mother saw my new shoes and asked me where I bought them. I said, "At Shahe Department Store, 138 yuan." Mother said: "children don't have to spend so much money to buy a pair of shoes, but also buy cheaper ones." In order to punish me, my mother "banned" my pocket money for one year and returned 138 from my savings to my aunt. I suddenly lost 138, and I felt very sad and a little unhappy. My mother saw this and said to me, "It's not that my mother has no money for you. This time, I just want you to know that when you grow up, you must learn to be responsible for everything you do. " This time is to teach you a lesson. "Since then, I never dare to buy anything casually.
When I was in the second grade, I once came to my mother's office and saw many classmates reading my mother's compositions. I asked, "Mom, what is this?" Mother replied, "They will take part in the composition competition on behalf of the school." I whispered, "fortunately, I am a sophomore, so I don't have to take part in any competitions." Mother listened and said loudly, "why don't you start writing tonight!" " "I was taken aback." As a second-grade pupil, I won't take part in such an advanced competition. " "Don't attend, no matter how to write a composition tonight! "I was frightened by my mother's strength. The night before the game, I said to my mother, "I still don't want to participate." "Mom said," Don't be afraid. It doesn't matter if you don't win the prize, as long as you try your best. "After listening to these words, I was convinced and finally won the Excellence Award in this year's South Leaf Cup" Father's Birthday "competition. It is this award that gives me confidence to take part in this competition. Today, my mother accompanied me here to participate in the competition again. With my mother's encouragement, I believe I can do it.
When I was a child, my mother was my home. When I grow up, my mother is my eternal spring.
Thank you, mom.
(2) I saw a teacher giving students homework on TV: I went home to wash my mother's feet. Listening to the strange task assigned by the teacher, the students looked surprised: usually my mother washes our feet. Now, we are embarrassed to wash our mother's hair. If the students know, where should we put our faces? After reading it, I was filled with emotion. Is it really "embarrassing" to wash the feet of the mother who has worked so hard to raise herself? At that moment, I had the idea of washing my mother's feet.
In the evening, my mother was puzzled to learn that I was going to wash her feet. I don't know what medicine is sold in the gourd. She reluctantly agreed after my repeated requests. I happily made a big pot of hot water and said to my mother, "Mom, let's knit a sweater later, and then talk about soaking our feet." I dragged my mother to the chair, helped her roll up her pants and take off her socks. Her legs are shaking. (Detail) "Mom, is it cold?" "Well, a little." "Just wait for the bubble." I soaked my mother's feet in water and rubbed them hard for her. Suddenly, like an electric shock, my mother pulled her feet out of the basin and splashed water on my face. (Details again) "Mom, what's wrong with you?" "Mom's feet hurt." I looked down carefully and was shocked to find that there were many chilblains on my mother's feet. "Mom, what's the matter?" Mother smiled faintly and said, "When I was a child, my mother washed your feet, and you were always dishonest. Once, my mother poured a pot of boiling water, and before it could be mixed with water, the pot was knocked over (kicked) and the boiling water burned my mother's feet. It was a cold day, and my mother was busy with work every day. She didn't take it seriously, she had chilblain, and she gets it every year ... "
The part about washing mother's feet is very detailed.
My heart suddenly seems to have been hit by something, and my eyes are moist. I didn't catch what my mother said in the back. I didn't expect so many stories hidden in my mother's feet. I never knew. I silently held my mother's feet and rubbed them carefully. Mother's feet have a thick layer of calluses, and some places have cracked. After soaking in water, although it is not so stinging, it can still be clearly felt. I can't help feeling sour in my heart. Tears of disappointment are coming again, dripping into the basin. I blame myself for misunderstanding my mother before.
When I was a child, I was very happy. My mother and I were inseparable. I grew up healthily under the care of my mother. After school, my mother had to leave her hometown to work because of the heavy family burden. When I was a child, I was always unhappy to see my classmates sent in and out by my parents. Especially on rainy days, I am always eager to find my mother in the umbrella delivery team, but I am always disappointed every time. In my heart, I hate my mother. A sense of loss suddenly welled up in my mind, feeling that happiness is really far away from me.
Now, looking at my mother's feet, I understand everything. In this cold winter, has mother ever thought about her sore feet? All she worries about is her daughter, who is trying to knit her a sweater. And how can I feel the pain that my mother is not understood by my daughter? Unconsciously, the water was a little cold, so I quickly added some boiling water to the basin, held my mother's feet and washed them gently and carefully, in order to wash away my guilt, and the water mixed with my tears splashed in front of me.
I suddenly feel that in this quiet night, the world seems to be just me and my mother, and a long-lost love is rippling in my heart. I can't help singing a song in my heart: only mothers are good in the world, and children with mothers are like a treasure. If you throw it into her arms, you can't enjoy happiness. ...
(3) I haven't been to Baotu Spring, and I don't know how splendid the scenery of weeping willows is; I haven't climbed Qianfo Mountain, and I don't know what it's like to watch (delete) the sunrise at the top of the mountain. The scenery in my memory is always given by my mother the most.
I opened the quiet sky and used it as a canvas, depicting the scenery given by my mother in detail.
I remember when I was in the fifth grade, I was infected with "mumps" and my jaw began to swell day by day. I can feel the virus parasitic on my neck, but I don't have the strength to shout pain because my throat is badly tortured. My mother took me to the hospital for examination and bought several plasters, black and black, which cost 50 to 60 yuan. I suddenly found that the haggard mother in the market was so generous.
My mother holds my cold hand. I found my mother's hands so dry and tender that they were not as tender as before. I don't know how I felt at that time. I had an impulse to cry, maybe just to moisten my mother's hand.
I was speechless, and my mother was more worried about me. She ran around demanding many remedies. Some people said to apply the ash from the bottom of the pot to the affected area, others said to apply it with ice ... Finally, my mother chose cactus.
I only remember that my mother first pulled out the thorns on the cactus with tweezers. It may be inconvenient later. My mother pulled them out by hand more seriously than before. One, two, three ... Later, the ground beside her was like a "hill". I suddenly found that she was so careful when cooking, either adding more soy sauce or less salt. A careless, sharp yellow thorn plunged into the mother's finger, and bright red blood flowed out. The things in my heart (deleted) suddenly hurt. Maybe her atrium is connected with my heart, and the feeling of "fingers connected with my heart" is deep.
A few drops of red and green mixed together, and I quickly bandaged my mother's wound. I didn't let myself cry. Finally, when my mother painted me with cactus paste, my tears burst and my mouth was salty. My mother said to me, "Does it work? Feel more comfortable? " I don't know why I cried so hard. I repeated "It hurts!" " In fact, it is to find a suitable excuse to be moved. My mother has been comforting me, otherwise I might cry all over the mountains and lakes.
Deep in my memory, my mother squatted on the ground and pulled out cactus thorns for me, and I added the blood to the canvas. Even if it is not a place of interest or a strange mountain, the scenery my mother gave me always makes me cherish and always moves me.
At night, the stars light a lamp for me and think of the scenery my mother gave me. ...
(3) Sometimes, women can cover up their old age with cosmetics, or they can make themselves look younger with clothes, but what they can't cover up is a pair of hands, because years of hard work will always leave ruthless marks on their hands.
Pay attention to mother's hands, with rough skin, thick joints and thick fingers, and the back of the hand is soaked in water for a long time.
Red, the lines in my hand are yellow and deep, just like being carved by the sharp knife of years. I turned my head and couldn't bear to look closely.
Time flies, and my mother is over sixty. Born with a pair of skillful hands, she was sent to the countryside to start a family independently. Her father goes to the supply and marketing cooperative to earn more than 20 yuan a month. After a busy day's farm work, her mother also helped her neighbors with some needlework. When I was a child, whether it was a coat or a skirt, a sweater or cotton shoes, my mother made them skillfully. I remember that the pillowcases used at home at that time were all cut out by my mother with extra cloth heads, with small triangles and beautiful colors, which are still vivid today. From a little daughter favored by a small business owner to a qualified farmer and housewife in a small family, the mother has shouldered a burden that has never appeared in a girl's dream, not only completing the transformation from a girl to a woman, but also taking kindness, diligence and strength as her husband and propping up a bright sky for her daughter. Under this blue color, life at home is bitter, but it is also enjoyable.
After more than ten years, my mother returned to the city. During the 20-year handcrafting career, my mother cut the skin, knocked the hammer, stuck the choking glue and stepped on the sewing machine ... Every day, even on many Sundays, my mother hurried to work, taking care of her work and her family. She spent the rest of her youth in these ordinary and hard jobs. It is said that people of their time are the most stressed people in the alternation of old and new times. Go to the countryside when you are young and be laid off when you are middle-aged. Mother's work unit was merged by a company just two years before retirement, and she had to face a new job. Mom even called herself lucky, saying that some units merged as long as they didn't need equipment. In those two years, my mother brought back the job that she couldn't finish in the unit almost every day. After dinner, she quickly wrapped a thin copper wire with a lamp and counted the turns in her mouth. Recalling the situation at that time, I can't help blaming myself for not knowing how hard my mother worked. As I get older, I can't reach the quota, which has become a big stone in my mother's heart. And my spoiled daughter doesn't know how to be compassionate!
Now my mother, with gray hair, is still working hard for her family all day. After independence, I still live with my parents. I haven't washed many clothes and cooked many meals since my son was a child. I tried to cook when I saw my mother tired several times, but she always stopped me. I want to wash the dishes several times after dinner, and my mother always says I'll come. Therefore, my hands are always more moist and smooth than women of the same age. I know that this is actually my mother who has been caring for my daughter who will never grow up in her eyes with her generous palm.
My father was seriously ill last winter and lived in a hospital in Jiaxing. I go out early and come back late every day, and few people can take care of my family. My old mother showed her strong side again. My mother gets up early every morning, buys the dishes of the day, cooks some delicious and nutritious dishes for my father, then takes care of my son's breakfast, sends it to kindergarten, catches the bus to Jiaxing, and tries to get home to cook dinner for us at night. In this way, after almost two months of exhaustion, my father's condition finally improved and he began to go home to recuperate. In the past two months, my mother never wanted me to take time off to pick up my son or take care of my father. It was also in these two months that my mother's hair became more gray and her hands that had never been frostbitten became red and swollen. It was also one night last winter, when my mother was going to cook vegetable soup for my father, she cut a large piece of her left index finger with a knife and bled profusely. Looking at the white-haired mother gnashing her teeth and being stitched up by the doctor, and looking at her hands full of blood, my eyes blurred. Think of grandparents who cherish their children forever. If they were alive in heaven, how reluctant they would be to see this scene. The girl who wore a ponytail with horns in the past is now scarred by hard work!
"The tree wants to be quiet, but the wind will not stop. The son wants to raise and not stay. " This is perhaps the greatest sorrow as a child. On the other hand, my mother almost never expects anything in return from me. As long as I live well, it is her greatest comfort. In the middle of the night, when I wrote this passage with a desk lamp, my mother fell asleep next door after a hard day's work. It suddenly occurred to me that in those grateful years that are more and more memorable, what kind of connection and transition should there be between my tender hands and my mother's wrinkled hands? Gradually, my eyes became particularly moist again. ...
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