I finally squeezed into my wool pants. But I still struggled to put on my coat because it didn't suit me. This is a second-hand product handed down by my brother. I really don't understand why I always wear his ugly clothes. At least my hat and scarf are mine. They are beautiful. Finally, it was Miss Finleyson's turn to help me put on my boots. She said calmly and kindly, "After this winter, you should be able to wear your own boots. I didn't understand. It turns out that this sentence implies more hope than confidence
I handed her my boots and put out my feet. Like most children, I always want adults to do all the work. After many times of pushing and twisting, she finally put the first one on her foot, then sighed and put the second one on.
I shouted, "I'm wearing the wrong foot. With accumulated experience, she struggled to take off her boots and did this boring thing again. Then I said, "These boots are not mine, do you know? When she took off my dirty boots, she was still willing to help me and dedicate herself. They're gone. I said, "Those are my brother's boots. My mother wants me to wear it. I hate it! Somehow, the long-term accumulation of experience made her succeed in not treating me as an annoying little girl. This time, she was not so gentle, pushing and shoving, and finally the boots were on my feet. She sighed heavily and watched the struggle with me come to an end. Then she asked, "Now, where are your gloves? 」
I looked her in the eye and said, "I don't want to lose them, so I hid them in the tip of my boots." 」
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Pure manual translation, welcome to adopt ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
There is a clerical error in the original text, which is corrected as follows:
This is the first snow in winter-an exciting day for every child, but not for most teachers. So far, I am old enough to dress myself, but I need some help today. Miss Finlaison is my kindergarten teacher at Princess Elizabeth School near Hamilton, Ontario. She has experienced many first snows, but I think she may remember this one.
I try to put on my wool snowpants. But I struggled with my jacket because it didn't fit me well. This is my brother's old clothes. If I want to know why I have to wear his ugly clothes, at least my hat and scarf are mine. They are beautiful. It's finally time for Miss Finlaison to help me put on my boots. She said in a calm, motherly voice, "By the end of winter, you can all put on your boots." I didn't realize at that time that this was more a statement of hope than confidence.
I handed her my boots and put out my feet. Like most children, I want adults to do all the work. After many twists and pushes, she managed to put the first one away, then sighed and put the second one away.
I announced, "They are on the wrong foot." With the grace that only experience can bring, she struggled to take off her boots and went through the boring task of putting them back on. Then I said, "These are not my boots, you know." When she took off those nasty boots on my feet, she still tried to look helpful and interested. Once they leave. I said, "These are my brother's boots. My mother lets me wear them, and I hate them! " Somehow, after years of practice, she managed to act as if I was not an annoying little girl. She pushed and shoved, not so gentle this time, and the boots returned to the correct position on my feet. Seeing that her struggle with me was over, she was greatly relieved and asked, "Now, where are your gloves?"
I looked her in the eye and said. "I didn't want to lose them, so I put them in the toe of my boots."