Essay: Mother's Hands

When I was very young, my mother often gave me a bath, and I was always very happy, because at that time, my mother's white and smooth hands were on me. It rubs gently on the skin and is extremely comfortable. After taking a shower, I always used to hold my mother's hands and look at them. They were white, tender, and soft, like soft toffee. Since then, I have developed a fondness for my mother's hands. Every time before going to school, my mother would touch my little face with her hands and say, "You must listen carefully in class, do you understand?" I looked at her hands, made a face with a smile, and went to school. . My mother's hand became a beautiful sight in my heart, and I loved it all the time.

When I grew up, the innocent and naive little girl turned into a mature and steady me, and I no longer acted coquettishly to my mother. Although I don’t often take a close look at my mother’s hands, the beautiful memory will always remain in my heart.

On a thunderstorm night, the cold wind howled outside the window, and I was immersed in a sweet dream. Suddenly, a slight sound of footsteps woke me up, and they were getting closer and closer to me. I think it must be my mother. She often comes to help me cover myself with quilts at night. Sure enough, the quilt moved and covered my cold feet. My mother also tucked the quilt tightly on my shoulders. Suddenly, I felt extremely warm, and my heart was filled with gratitude to my mother. Ouch! Why does it hurt? One hand slid across my forehead and gently moved the hair on my eyebrows. What? Is it my mother’s hand? Isn’t my mother’s hand like this in my memory? My mind is filled with questions that make me breathless. So, I carefully opened one eye slightly, ah! The blurred hand was full of marks, black, which must have been made when cutting the red summer vine. I tried to open my eyes wider, and I saw it! I saw it! It was clearly my mother's hand. The scars on the hand were like waves in the wind, uneven, and a few fingers were like bare tree trunks, lacking vitality and gone. The softness before was, overall, no different from a withered yellow leaf. Suddenly, my nose felt sour and I felt very uncomfortable. Is this the beautiful scenery in my mind? No, no, I don’t want this. I was about to call my mother, but she left. I opened my eyes, my eyelashes wet with tears, and looked at my mother's retreating back. She was staggering and hammering her waist with both hands. At this time, I wanted to go over and give her a massage, to smooth out her uneven hands, those dull and round hands, those hands that looked like withered yellow leaves, those...

It is precisely because of these ordinary and ordinary hands that I have walked through 14 springs, summers, autumns and winters safely and comfortably, pointing out the right direction for my life, and giving me my own pursuit. Target. Thank you, mother’s hands, for the beautiful landscape in my heart.

Mom, I will definitely return your beautiful hands when I grow up!

My mother is old, just from her frosty white hair and her years-old face. The sharp knife carved out the faces of ditches, and I could tell that my mother had indeed been drained of her life by me, and she was gradually getting older.

Every morning after washing up, I go to the dining table. A hot and fragrant breakfast is already on the dining table. Day after day, year after year, more than a dozen springs, summers, autumns and winters are like this every day. In the morning of late autumn and early winter, it was still very dark. I always begged my mother many times to send me out of this dark alley in front of my house, but she still insisted that I go on my own. Just like when I was a child, I fell, and no matter how loudly I cried, she still insisted on me getting up by myself. When I got up, she would reward me with a sweet smile. As a young child, I was very satisfied at the time. But at this time, listening to the roar of the strong wind, I felt an unspeakable fear in my heart. I ran out of the small alley as hard as I could. When I turned back and smiled after finishing the race, I clearly saw a thin figure on the other side of the alley.

As I grew older, I became bolder, and I advised my mother not to give it away anymore, but she was still worried. Why! Only now do I know how to recall the feeling deep in my soul. The scene when my mother watched me go to school in the cold weather has become fixed. Like an old-fashioned camera, "Gulu" emitted a puff of white smoke and took a beautiful photo.

My mother was very hard-working. Once, I went back to my grandma’s house in the countryside with her. Unfortunately, it was raining. In order to prevent the cabbages from getting wet, the mother had to carry hundreds of cabbages just returned from the fields into the house one by one. My mother asked my grandma and I to go to bed first, but she was busy from 9 o'clock until late at night. I don't know how my grandma felt at that time. She must be very distressed.

My mother gave everything for me, but asked for nothing from me. I read Mother with full enthusiasm. Maybe I will understand it after another twenty or thirty years.

My father is a piece of classical Chinese prose

My mother is a piece of exquisite prose, elegant and touching; my father is a piece of classical Chinese prose, which is difficult to read and needs to be understood word by word and sentence by heart. Only then can we discover his beauty and his love.

Now that I am a second-year junior high school student, I need to study in the evening. Sometimes I go out to do some errands with my classmates and will be busy until almost 9 o'clock. Even so, my father still sits at the dinner table and reads the newspaper. Wait for me to come back and have dinner with him.

Sometimes I would do my homework until very late, but he insisted on reading with me late into the night. He would always tell me some beautiful stories to relax my nerves, and he would not forget to fill the glass of water for me. Full.

"Dad, you are sleepy, go to sleep first."

"No, I am reading this newspaper."

"Stop reading, go Go to sleep."

"This newspaper is quite interesting."

"What newspaper..."

For a moment, the air froze and all the scenes disappeared. I was stuck, and I was so moved that I couldn't breathe - my father was holding the newspaper and "reading" it with relish, but the car wheels on the newspaper were upside down...

As my father and I kept getting closer, I gradually understood his classical Chinese. The heart-to-heart communication made me always regard my father as my best friend. My father wanted me to ask for everything from him, and he gave it willingly.

My father talks about true love superficially, but I work hard to read the true feelings; my father's classical Chinese are difficult to read and understand, but I will continue to read it with my heart.

Poetry

To my mother

Goethe

Although I have not said hello to you for a long time,

No I am writing to you, but don’t let doubts arise in your heart

as if your son should be

My deep love for you has already left my heart

disappears. Absolutely not, just like that rock,

It has deep roots in the water for thousands of years,

It will never leave its original place, even if it is flowing water,

Sometimes wind and waves, sometimes soft waves flow over it

so that people cannot see it.

My love for you is also inseparable< /p>

In my chest, despite the long river of life,

Sometimes it is whipped by pain and rolled violently,

Sometimes it is caressed quietly by joy,

p>

It is covered and blocked, so that it cannot

show its face to the sun and cannot reflect the surroundings

The reflected sunlight is in front of your loving mother

Show you how much your son looks up to you.

Famous Quotes

1. It is at our mother's knees that we acquire our noblest, most sincere and lofty ideals, but there is rarely any money in them. ——(U.S.) Mark Twain

2. Communism is not only manifested in the fields and sweaty factories, it is also manifested in families, around the dinner table, among relatives, in on mutual relationships. ——(Former Soviet Union) Mayakovsky

3. The ugly sea monster is not as scary as the ungrateful children. ——(British) Shakespeare

4. Kindness and beating begin at home. ——Beaumont and Fletcher

5. Charity extends to close relatives, but it should not end there. ——Fuller

6. As a person, you must respect your parents, be kind to your children, be generous to your poor relatives, and be polite to everyone. ——Russell

7. For children, the value of parents’ charity is that it is more reliable and trustworthy than any other emotion. ——Russell

8. The foundation of the family is undoubtedly the special affection that parents have for their newborn girls. ——Russell

9. What is more sacred than the emotions contained in the hearts of parents? The hearts of parents are the most merciful judge, the most considerate friend, and the sun of love. Its flame shines and warms the intentions condensed deep in our hearts! ——Marx

10. A wise son makes his father happy, but a foolish son brings shame to his mother.

——Solomon