Outside the window, the cold wind is accompanied by fallen leaves; Between the windows, cold air blows in a little bit; At the window, I am putting on my own lotion to resist drying and bursting. Suddenly I saw a middle-aged woman downstairs rubbing her hands in the cold wind, which reminded me of my mother's hand.
When I was young, I always loved to hold my mother's hand. Every time I go shopping with my mother, I hold her hand tightly. Because as long as you follow your mother, you will encounter many interesting things. Every time I go shopping with my mother and see something delicious and novel, I will hold my mother's hand and ask her to buy me this and that. If my mother says no, I will hold her hand tighter, coquetry and look at her with longing and pity, but she can't do anything about me. When I was a child, every time I held my mother's hand, I always felt very safe, warm and full of happiness. As I grew up, holding my mother's hand seemed to disappear. Mother's hands are getting rougher and older. . . . . .
In the third year of grade three, my mother's hand has been by my side, accompanying me and helping me. . . . . . Every time I go home, I just need to put down my schoolbag and pick up my rice bowl to eat. Every time I take a shower, I just need to put my clothes down. Every time I finish my homework, I just need to put the draft paper or book on the table at will. Every time I wake up from sleep, I just need to throw the quilt aside at will and then throw my pajamas on the bed. Every time, i. . . . . . In this way, in the third year of junior high school, I only made moves for learning. It seems that there is no need to work hard for other things. Because everything has my mother's hand to take care of me behind my back.
Today, however, mom's hands are no longer so flexible. Because my mother's minor illnesses accumulated for many years, it triggered a major attack of my mother's physical illness. My mother's hands are always numb irregularly for some reason. Sometimes, my hands seem completely unconscious. When you work, your hands will keep shaking. Sometimes I don't even have the strength to pick up chopsticks. Every time I go home and see my mother's hand twitching, I will twitch her hand and slap her palm with difficulty until she feels it. And my heart is shaking.
Now, I stayed at school. At school, you have to queue up for meals every time you eat. You have to wash it yourself after eating. Wash your own clothes every time you take a shower. Even if the weather is cold and the water is like ice, I will wash my clothes by hand. Every time I finish my homework, I know how to clean it up by myself. Every time I wake up from sleep, I know how to fold the quilt and put away my pajamas. . . . . . I learned to do everything by myself.
However, although I have learned and done this, my mother's hands will not change back to the way they used to be. . . . . . Just like the three years I spent in junior high school, there will never be a second junior high school in my life. . . . . .
Thought of here, my eyes were red, tears rolled down my cheeks and turned into ice springs in winter, cold and clear.
My mother's hand has gone through many vicissitudes, and after years of tests, it can no longer be opened. However, it is still so warm and safe. . . . . .
Mom, in the future, let me hold your hand, let me wash your clothes, cook for you, fold the quilt for you, and do everything for me!
Composition 4: Holding Mother's Hand
My mother and I are walking in the sunset. The setting sun lengthened our shadow, and I reached out and grabbed a handful of sunshine. I saw my mother's hair boiled into white hair, and time quietly took away her elegance and prosperity, and then grafted it on me.
I don't know when the wrinkles have climbed on my forehead and when my hair has been dyed and dyed, but I still can't cover those white hairs. I don't know when I was in a trance and fell ill. I don't know when my beautiful hands became scarred. I don't know when my mother was dying. The wheel of time ran past her, but I turned a deaf ear.
Mom's hard work won't let you see/warm recipes are in her mind/shake hands with her more when you have time/hold hands and sleepwalk together.
Mother always closes the door when cooking in the kitchen. I asked why, and she said that the smell of oil fume would be very strong. But I can't help coughing.
When my mother was washing clothes on the balcony, I said I would do it. I will do it myself when you are not at home. She said I would do it at home now. I asked why, and she said the water would be very cold in winter. But I can clearly see that my mother's hands have been scraped layer by layer.
Seeing her classmates' mothers all radiant, she will envy them and hope to be as young and beautiful as a little girl. But she didn't buy those expensive cosmetics after all. Mother is a pragmatic person.
I held my mother's hand and she snuggled up to me like a child. When did her skin become so loose? Like a soft bow, it has no strength.
{Listen to your mother/don't let her get hurt/want to grow up quickly/protect her}
Mother is also a strong person.
When quarreling with her father, she will talk back angrily;
When I don't do well in the exam, she will nag me that I shouldn't do so badly in the exam in the future;
When chatting with others, she will show off what she has like all her peers.
When we quarrel with our mother, there is usually a cold war. It seems that there are only two of us in the world, and her hand is behind her back. I want to pull them up and apologize to her. After all, it's because of your own face. We are far away from each other, but the exhaled air meets and condenses into fog in the air. After all, we are still very close.
My mother and I walked hand in hand in the sunset.
My mother is an ordinary middle-aged woman, but her position in my heart is above everything else.
I love my mother. I will hold her hand forever.