When I came into this world, the person who greeted me was my mother, who held me in her slender hands and smiled at me, which I knew was an expression of joy.
When I was wobbling and learning to walk, she held me with her slender hands and taught me to walk. When I fell, she picked me up again with those sensitive hands. I know that it was she who made me take my first step in life. When I could talk and walk, she sent me to kindergarten. Every day when I came home, she would make my favorite meals with her deft hands, and sometimes she would feed me with her deft hands. She would even be my home teacher. She used her big hand to hold my little hand to write and draw ......
When everything is revived, she will use her warm hand to hold my little hand to go outside to play. I think that my mom's hand is as gentle as the spring breeze.
When the sun is hot, she will take me swimming with her rough hands. When sleeping, she would fan me with those cool hands and gently pat me to sleep. I feel that my mom's hands are as soft and cool as fanning.
When the autumn leaves are flying, she will use the pair of dexterous hands for me to weave sweaters, that one piece of sweater than the purchased is still beautiful and warm. I feel that my mom's hand is as warm as a sweater.
When the cold wind blew, she would use her strong hands to block the wind and snow for me. When she was sick, she would take me to the hospital with those warm hands. I think, mom's hand is warmer than the fire of the stove.
Season after season, year after year, mom's hands are full of calluses, no longer delicate and delicate. Looking at the photos of my mom's teenage years, I have an indescribable taste ......