The fourth grade mother's handwriting (1);
Mother's hands are rough, and several obvious blue veins can be seen on the back of her hand. At first glance, you will think that this is nothing unusual, but these hands keep me warm.
There is a useless clearing in front of my house, which is overgrown with weeds and dry. Mother picked up a shovel and turned the soil up and down. In a short time, these hands turned this small piece of barren land into a vegetable field.
Usually, my mother's hands never rest, and she has been serving her family. Cabbage cooking, pulp washing, sewing, mopping the floor, cleaning the room, all the work at home is covered by it.
Mother's hands are not only diligent, but also dexterous. A piece of cloth, cut by it, becomes a fashionable skirt; A set of old clothes, pieced together, can be replaced with new clothes I like; Several balls of thread he knitted made a beautiful sweater.
One day in autumn, my mother was knitting me a sweater. As time goes by, these needles look so cheerful, and every movement is so skilled and accurate. I'm really watching. I was completely stunned.
Mom's hands are both ordinary and unusual. I like my mother's hardworking hands!
Fourth grade mother's handwriting (2);
The hand I have held is like a tree, thick and thin, big and small, and countless. However, there is a tree that grows in my heart and gives me warmth and strength. This tree is mother's hand.
My mother's hands are painkillers. Touch it lightly when you are sick, and the pain will disappear immediately. I still remember that time, I had a fever and went to the hospital for infusion. After my mother's patient persuasion, I finally reluctantly agreed. But as soon as the needle went into the meat, I cried and cried in pain. My mother touched my head with her hand and said softly, "Be brave and strong, my mother is here!" " "I feel a heat flow rushing through my body from my head. No pain! I touched my mother's hand, just like a piece of charcoal, so warm.
Mother's hand is a gentle lullaby. Whenever I can't sleep, my mother sits by the bed and touches my face with her warm hands. There was a soft rustle in my ear, as if it were a lullaby: "The stars are shining, the moon is bright, the leaves cover the window lattice, and the little baby is going to sleep, sleeping in that sweet dream." I entered a warm dream.
Mother's hand is a ray of bright sunshine. Whenever I am upset because I can't solve a problem, my mother will come over and pat me on the shoulder with a warm hand. The fog in my mind will immediately dissipate and inspiration will pop out like an elf. Once, I silently wrote an ancient poem, which was incomplete several times. I either lost three or four. I was so angry that I tore up all the papers I had written and shouted in the room. My mother, who was busy in the kitchen, heard the sound and sat me in a chair with her hands red with cold and patted me on the shoulder. My heart warmed up, my mind widened, and lines of poems poured out of my heart like waves and jumped onto the paper along the pen tip.
Mother's hand is warm spring breeze. Whenever my heart is tangled, my mother will take my little hand with her big hand and go out for a walk and talk. My mother's hands are so hot that the tangled snow in my heart melts immediately. Under the caress of the warm spring breeze, green buds grow in my heart.
Mother's hands are actually very ordinary, with slender fingers and fair skin, and there is nothing special about them. But in my heart, my mother's hands are great, her fingers are the majestic Kunlun Mountain, and her blood vessels are the surging Yangtze River. I am a young eagle, growing on this plateau, training my wings on this mountain peak, soaring on this river, breaking through the clouds and heading for a glorious distance.
Mother's hand composition grade four (3);
I have seen hands like stars in the sky. But as time goes on, the appearance of some hands is gradually forgotten by me. There is a pair that I remember vividly, and that is my mother's hand.
My mother used to have thick cocoons on her hands. That was when I was on the Shuanghe special train. My mother usually goes to work in a rubber factory. It is from 8: 00 a.m. to 1 1 in the afternoon, and after 1: 40 in the afternoon. Every day when I come home from school, my mother will cook sweet and delicious meals. When I came back for dinner, when my father was not at home, I saw my mother and I eating alone. One day, I saw my mother's index finger. These are cocoons from repairing packages, gas cylinder rings, windproof blocks and sealing rings with scissors at work. I took my mother's hand and watched it over and over again. There are thick cocoons on both sides of her thumb and other four fingers, and there is a yellow cocoon in front of her palm. Her palm has a thin red line, her fingers are even in thickness, and there are no scars. My hand and my mother's hand were rubbed back and forth a few times, and it felt itchy, just like rubbing gray cloth. It is these handbags that take care of all the housework at home.
I love my mother's hard-working hands.