My dear mother has a pair of hardworking, dexterous and loving hands. In summer, the sun bakes the dry land and frogs croak. This is the only and most monotonous cry in the field. Mother worked hard in the scorching sun, and sweat oozed from every inch of her skin and rolled down like rain beads. The clothes on her bent back were soaked with sweat, but her hands were still planing in the hot soil. The wind is rolling in with snowflakes, but I don't have to be afraid, because my dear mother has prepared winter clothes for me. Washing clothes, sewing, knitting and sewing. Whenever the first leaf falls in autumn, my mother starts to stay up late under the lamp. When I came to school the next day, my beautiful and neat clothes attracted the envious eyes of my classmates and made my heart warm. I told them that my mother knitted it for me herself, and her hands were very dexterous.
My mother has been teaching me to read and write since I went to kindergarten. Every time I encounter a difficult word, my mother always holds my hand patiently and writes over and over again. Once, I wrote a word several times and I still didn't know it. I was a little impatient and threw away my pen in a rage. Mother didn't break into a furious rage, but slowly picked up the pen on the ground and sighed, "We poor children can only rely on it to change our fate." Although I was still young at that time, I could feel my mother's heart a little.
I went to middle school and had a lot of homework. Sometimes I have to do it in the middle of the night, but my mother always accompanies me, brings me a cup of tea and cooks a bowl of supper. I told my mother many times that I didn't need it, but my mother never stopped. However, she still has a lot of farm work to do during the day, and no one knows where he got such great perseverance. Since then, the fragrant tea and hot midnight snack have always flowed in my heart like a trickle. Thousands of dark nights, my mother is sewing clothes for me; Thousands of sleepless nights, mothers are worried about the future of their children; In Qian Qian, it was a dark night, and my mother braved the snow to sell vegetables. Thousands of silent nights ... under the cover of darkness, who knows this? Because of this, the young mother's face is covered with ravines and valleys, and her hands are rough. However, these rough hands are the most beautiful in the world in my eyes and in my heart. Mom, I wanted to tell you, but I swallowed it on the tip of my tongue. Mom, I want to smile at you, but there are small tears in my eyes. Oh mom, mom by candlelight, your eyes have lost their luster. Oh, mom, mom by candlelight, there are more silver flowers on your temples ... whenever this song is played, there is always a feeling of wetness in my heart.
Mom, I really can't tell you all your affection and love, but the love that permeates my whole body and mind is like wine that has been drinking for years, and the longer it gets, the more mellow it becomes.
Mom's hand composition 800 words narrative two hours later, my mother's big hand holds my little hand, feeling so safe; When I was sick, my mother's hand gently touched my forehead, which felt so warm. However, with the passage of time, my mother's smooth hands became more and more rough, and I didn't seem to notice it.
One evening in summer, I just came back from having fun outside, and told my younger brothers and sisters vividly how I bullied my neighbor's younger brother, which made them laugh as if I had won some prize. At this time, my mother came out of the kitchen with a puzzled face, followed by questioning and reprimanding: "What is worth your excitement?" What bad things have you done? Tell the truth! "Nothing ... nothing. I stopped my excitement and answered hesitantly.
"Don't worry, what are you nervous about? Look at you like that, I know you must have caused something outside ... "Knocked, a quick knock on the door stopped my mother before she finished her class. I stood up and gasped. It turned out that the aunt next door came to see you, and she came in blue. Mother didn't know what was going on, and enthusiastically said, "Sister-in-law, come and sit down and see what seems to be wrong with you."
She said grumpily, "Ask your precious daughter how she bullied my son", and then embellished it over and over again.
As soon as I heard this, my eyes widened and I said angrily, "It was obviously your son who hit me with a brick. I am educating him. " Before I finished, I heard a bang and my face burned with pain. Before my mother taught me a lesson, I turned around and ran back to my room, closed the door and hid under the covers, crying sadly, and vaguely heard my mother apologize to her neighbors and aunts outside.
After a long time, my door was gently pushed open and my mother came in quietly. She sat by the bed and talked to me earnestly, but I still didn't reply. At this moment, I felt a pair of rough hands stroking my smooth face. Suddenly, my heart was shocked. I can't help holding my mother's rough and warm hand tightly, raising my head carefully and stroking those hands that have been eroded by years and life and are full of calluses and wrinkles. Looking at my mother's trusting and affirmative eyes, I suddenly understood what my mother wanted to say.
It was those rough and warm hands that nurtured me, educated me, gave me infinite warmth and pointed out the direction of my life.
My mother's hands are rough, but my mother's hope, care and love for me are all integrated into these hands. I like mom's hands.
I remember one winter, it was raining heavily, and the cold wind blew to my mother and I who were coming home in the heavy rain. My mother trudged on a motorcycle, and I sat in the back with cold teeth. At this time, my mother got off the bus and said to me kindly, "Alin, be patient, it's almost home." After that, my mother took off her gloves and put them on me. Suddenly, I felt a warm current flowing all over my body, and I no longer felt cold. Unconsciously, my eyes were blurred by tears, which poured out like broken beads. Mom, your hand was cracked a few days ago, and there were many small cuts on your hand, although you told me with a smile that it didn't matter and it didn't hurt. But I know how to stop your hand from hurting. It's just that you don't want me to worry, for fear of affecting my study. At home, my mother rubbed her hands hard. I looked down at my mother's black and blue hands with cold. I threw myself into my mother's arms and cried. My mother touched me with almost frozen hands and said, "Don't cry, son, be strong." You should study hard and don't live up to your mother's hope! "
I don't know how many times I woke up from my sleep and saw my mother's hand sewing clothes for me under the lamp; I don't know how many times, my mother put her hand over me; I don't know how many times, I recovered under the careful care of my mother's hands; I don't know how many times, with the help of my mother's hands, I overcame all kinds of difficulties ... I love my mother's warm and powerful hands.
Although my mother's hands are so rough, my mother's hope, care and love for me are all integrated into these hands. I like mom's hands.
I remember one winter, it was raining heavily, and the cold wind blew to my mother and I who were coming home in the heavy rain. My mother trudged on a motorcycle, and I sat in the back with cold teeth. At this time, my mother got off the bus and said to me kindly, "Alin, be patient, it's almost home." After that, my mother took off her gloves and put them on me. Suddenly, I felt a warm current flowing all over my body, and I no longer felt cold. Unconsciously, my eyes were blurred by tears, which poured out like broken beads. Mom, your hand was cracked a few days ago, and there were many small cuts on your hand, although you told me with a smile that it didn't matter and it didn't hurt. But I know how to stop your hand from hurting. It's just that you don't want me to worry, for fear of affecting my study. At home, my mother rubbed her hands hard. I looked down at my mother's black and blue hands with cold. I threw myself into my mother's arms and cried. My mother touched me with almost frozen hands and said, "Don't cry, son, be strong." You should study hard and don't live up to your mother's hope! "
I don't know how many times I woke up from my sleep and saw my mother's hand sewing clothes for me under the lamp; I don't know how many times, my mother put her hand over me; I don't know how many times, I recovered under the careful care of my mother's hands; I don't know how many times, with the help of my mother's hands, I overcame all kinds of difficulties ... I love my mother's warm and powerful hands.
The 800-word narrative of mother's handwriting has a pair of common hands, even a little inconspicuous. But in my eyes, it is a pair of warm and wise hands. This is my mother's hand. Although it is not very special, it helps me to take every step of my life.
Just moved, there is an extra road in front of the door. Although the school is not far away, my mother is always worried because I am too young. So every day after school, my mother will pick me up and see me off. When I was in front of the road, my mother took my hand and signaled me to stop first. When the green light was on, my mother pulled me across the road carefully. Although it was a green light, there were still many turning vehicles speeding past us on both sides of the road. My mother took my hand and paused from time to time to signal me to stop for a while until the traffic on the right side decreased a little. He gently squeezed my hand from time to time and motioned me to go. It was in this process of stopping and walking that I easily crossed the road. In the warm hands of my mother, I walked on the way to school again and again.
One day, I forgot to bring my pencil case. I suddenly felt very nervous when I faced this busy road alone. Without the order and calmness my mother brought me, I still have a lingering fear of that rampage.
On the road of life, I often face the road, and when I hesitate on the roadside, whenever I am frustrated, whenever I am confused, my mother's hand seems to appear again, taking me across the road in an orderly way and encouraging me to move on. My mother's hand, like a ray of sunshine, always cares for me, and sometimes it is like a road sign, teaching me to walk the road of life calmly. My mother has smart hands. It not only taught me to advance on the road of life, but also answered one doubt after another when I faced difficulties in my study.
In the third grade of primary school, there was always some knowledge that I couldn't understand. When writing, I always read sentence by sentence. There are neither fluent sentences nor complete structures. I got more and more headaches about writing, and then I told my mother about my confusion. My mother didn't say anything. She took a pen and wrote the title of my composition. Then she drew a tree with branches and leaves on it. Then my mother told me: "Writing an article is like a tree, the theme is its root, and what you want to write is like its branches." It must be based on roots, just like branches grow on trees, and the narrative should closely focus on the center. "Hearing this, I was suddenly enlightened. I saw my mother holding a pen and correcting my composition. I was suddenly enlightened. Since then, I haven't had so much trouble writing articles.
Maybe one day, my tender hands will grow up, as warm and powerful as my mother's hands. By that time, my mother may be gray-haired and faltering. Those hands may be wrinkled from a lifetime of hard work. On that day, I will use my hands to care and warm my mother and others as my mother cares about me.