Everyone has hands, big strong hands, warm delicate hands, tender dexterous hands 。。。。。。 My mom's hands are slender, warm and dexterous, and I love them.
Mom is a hard-working person, but she loves her hands very much. Every night after work, she has to wash with soap and put on hand cream. As a result of mom's "careful care", mom's hands are always white, thin, let me envy.
Mom's hands are warm "strong" hands. I remember once, I was sick, can not walk, mom hard to use both hands to carry me to the hospital. On the stairs of the hospital, my mother used the force of two tigers to carry me to the doctor, I can not believe that my mother's small size, actually have so much strength. The next day, I got well, but my mom's hands could not even hold the rice bowl. I realized; it is not that my mom has strong strength, but that she loves me.
Mom's hands are dexterous hands. Mom is a person who loves beauty. There are several cross-stitch hangings in the house, all of which are embroidered by mom with one needle and one thread. Those paintings can be really beautiful! Live, dress up our home more beautiful!
Mom's hands are warm, dexterous, but also love me, spring gives joy, summer gives me cool, autumn gives me the joy of harvest, winter gives me warm. Mom, thank you for the love that these hands give me!
Mom's hands prose 2Dream.
In a foggy dream.
It was eerily quiet, terribly quiet.
I was running aimlessly, my ears filled with the gasps of my own rapid running.
The road ahead is a blur.
All the way to run, beside the emergence of a lot of people, some of them do not walk slowly;
Some are also as I am in such a hurry running;
Some simply sit on the ground resting on the ......
They see me, some of them come to pat my shoulder; some come to shake my hand. ......
Suddenly, I stopped at the fork in the intersection.
Here, there are two roads.
There are two pairs of hands, waiting:
We are waiting for you.
Me?
Yes.
They point to the road at the top left: this is the right direction.
I'm skeptical: what about the other way?
They said, "This is the way, and once you're on it, it's hard to turn back.
I asked: Why are you helping me?
No reason.
No reason. We were born to help you. To help you get on the right path.
Me? Why?
They don't answer my questions.
It's time for you to go. If you're late, you'll lose your youth.
They pushed me to the first left: go on.
I turned back stubbornly: there was a fog ahead!
The path on the right, in the mist, glows with a golden light, like the holy light of heaven.
I wanted to chase the holy light, but I was pushed to the left again.
Go on, I believe time will bring you a surprise!
I suddenly realized that the owner of those two pairs of hands had a face that I was familiar with:
Dad! Mom!
They smiled kindly at me ...... suddenly, turned into smoke and dust, all into nothingness.
They said, child, please be sure to go on.
No matter what lies ahead, please walk on.
I finally chose to give up the holy light, and stepped on the left side of the road with anxiety.
At this point, the fog lifted.
I could clearly see a magnificent palace floating in the clouds at the end of the path. There, there were angels who smiled forever.
This is the heaven of ...... stories!
And at the end of the other road was a hell encased in burning fire. There, the devil laughed ferociously.
I saw that many of those who had passed by me
but had chosen that path,
had fallen in,
and had become sacrifices to the flames of the unending fire.
There is no holy light,
it is simply the glow of evil flames burning!
Advice from my parents:
One, what you see is not what you get.
Two, go on, time will bring surprises.
Once, your hands were so smooth and tender.
Since I was born,
your old guard worked for me day and night.
Cooking for me, washing for me.
When I was little, I couldn't sleep;
you would always stroke my back with your hand.
And I, on the other hand, thought that your hand was too rough.
And you still touch, let me fall asleep quickly.
When I grew up, you worked harder and harder for me,
and your hands got rougher and rougher.
You still wanted to take care of me like a child.
I don't understand your pain,
three times and you fight.
Now, I've grown up.
But your hands are full of wrinkles,
The wrinkles that are indented;
they are the testimony of your hard work.
I now, long for you to stroke my head.
And you don't stroke it.
Is it because you are afraid that I will get tired of your rough hands?
I won't get tired of it, because I am not a child anymore.
Mom, how I wish you could still;
still stroke my head with your hand.
To take care of me like a little child,
but that is not possible anymore.
Mom, I've grown up.
And you don't have to work for me anymore;
It's time for me to repay you with my hands.
I will serve you with my hands.
Mom, your hands are rough;
but in my eyes, they are still so smooth and tender.
Because it was your hands that
gave me everything.
Mom's hand prose 4"Think about when I was a child, often pulling my mother's hand ......" Whenever I hear Liu and just sang this song "pulling my mother's hand", I always can not help but tear up.
89-year-old mother, in the last days, has been meals do not enter, blurred consciousness.
Sitting in front of the edge of the kang, I took my mother's hand, tears dripping on her dry, rough hands.
Mother is a typical small-footed woman, gave birth to us five men, five women and ten siblings. When I was a child, what touched me the most was my mother's big, smooth hands. Every day for me to dress, the hands always intentionally slide down my body, tickle me, itchy me giggle. Countless quiet nights, under the fluorescent soybean lamp, my mother, despite the day's labor, pinched a silver needle, fingers flying up and down, but also for our siblings sewing and mending clothes. On countless summer nights, my mother pointed to the stars in the sky and asked us to recognize which one was the star of Altair and which one was the star of Vega. My mother's hands were light and soft, and she wove all kinds of braids for my sisters and brothers, and pinched wildflowers from the ground and stuck them in the braids, which made everyone's stomach hurt from laughing. This is the mother's hands, in the years when the groundnut is home, all year round, five winters and six summers, a family of old and small three meals a day, the body to wear, cover the winter cotton and summer single, laborious and hard to manage a family of days, the original days of the original light, to create a tasty flavor.
At that time, my father was working as an accountant in the production team, my brother and sister were working in the team to earn labor points, and my mother was working with my grandmother. I'm not sure if you're going to be able to get a good deal on a new product, but I'm sure you're going to be able to get a good deal on a new product, and I'm sure you're going to be able to get a good deal on a new product. Although my mother was illiterate, she was very supportive of her children's education. When I went to junior high school and high school, my mother specially instructed my elder sister, who was married to Landi, to let me go to her house for dinner and have hot soup and hot water, so that I could study at ease. When I went home on weekends, my mother would make some delicious meals for me, and when I returned to school, she would let me bring two eggs to eat on the way. I worked hard, and so on the college entrance examination pre-selection, fortunate to be pre-selected, in Zhanggezhuang five middle school review period, my mother deliberately sent third brother, walking dozens of miles, for me to send food; brother from Pingdu hemp spinning factory to see me, but also took off his shirt, let me wear on the body. Now that I think about it, that period of time, can be really happy!
The most memorable . In the winter months, the mother rolled up her sleeves, a pair of hands frozen red, the groundnut washed clean, and then poured into the pot. The three meals a day for a large family is the history of a big pot.
Every year pickles, a pickle vat, every year to pickle full. Once in the fall, the mother always have to personally handle, first of all, the bottom of the jar of pickles out, and then wash, peel the roots of the carrots poured in, pouring a layer of radish, sprinkle a layer of salt. When the fresh carrots were finished, the old pickles were finally poured on top. Looking at a big jar full of pickles, the mother was relieved, wiped the sweat beads on the forehead, said with satisfaction, and enough to eat a year!
Pickled turnip strips, but also the mother's specialty. The mother will choose a sunny day, the green carrot, peeled cherry and root system, washed, and then cut into strips, salt pickle, so that the carrot stripes soft, to be filtered out of the water, the pickled carrot stripes on a plate in the sun. The last process is to dry the radish sticks in the sun, then sprinkle them with fragrant sesame seeds pounded finely with a stone mortar, mix them well, and then put them into an altar to be eaten slowly. If you add sesame oil or chili oil and other auxiliary materials, eat in the mouth and spicy, that is more never tire of delicious.
In addition to pickled radish sticks, it is pickled sour cabbage. Sour cabbage, a kind of home cooking, and its practice is relatively simple. Blanch the cabbage in boiling water, remove the water, add salt and vinegar, and you can enjoy it. I came home from school, because I was hungry, often "carry dry food", the so-called "dry food" is nothing more than the groundnut flour cake or corn cake, in the cake above the clip a few pieces of sour cabbage, while eating, while carrying a basket, calling the small friends, to the slope to cut grass.
At that time, the mother, many years of green ah, young as the corn in the ground as robust. In the fall, I often followed my mother to the field to pick beans. The long vines of the beanstalks, twisting and turning, climbed all over the corn trees, and an alabaster-like beanstalk hung down. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world, and you'll be able to do it all in one place.
In winter, cabbage, radish a lot of mother to think of ways to improve the family's food, we siblings will often eat delicious big vegetable buns, looking at us devouring eat, mother comfortably smiled. At this time, my mother always sat on the sidelines and watched us eat. I just suddenly realized that the wrinkles have quietly climbed over the face of the mother.
Mother's eyes are not good, about the late seventies, had an eye surgery, the right eyeball was removed, retaining the left eye. After the operation, the eyes suddenly bright, mother did not follow the doctor's instructions to rest, still flying needle and thread, for us siblings sewing. Due to overwork, within a few years, her eyes gradually lost their sight. The mother's eyes were in a state of confusion, and she spent the rest of her life in a state of confusion.
Several of our brothers have started their own families, and our parents have lost their ability to work. The best way to express this is to bring your parents to your home and take turns raising them. But my mother thought, we are busy, parents can take care of their own care, do not give us trouble. So, the mother and the father perched on a corner, year after year, silently spent time, enjoying the children and grandchildren around the knees of the joy.
Mother's figure, finally bent into the shape of a sickle or hoe; mother's hair, into a mass of weeds. In the fall, the falling leaves fluttered, year after year, year after year, so that the mother's red face day by day to become senile. Suddenly, I feel that my mother is like a ray of warm and beautiful autumn light, illuminating my heart. Mother's strong love for children, we can no longer enjoy. Mother is dying, think of the day of the mother's great going away right in front of us, tears like spring water gushing out ......
"Pulling the mother's hand, tears flow down ......" Liu Hegang That song full of infinite deep feelings, once again echoed in the ears. Nowadays, this pair of hands of our mother can no longer work for us. This pair of hands that once went to the fields to pick wildflowers, this pair of satin-smooth hands, has been exposed veins, polished by the years into a withered twig-like appearance. Mother, can you hear your son's call? Son so many long memories still can not wake you up? When I think of this, I am like a messy arrow through the heart ......
Mom's hand prose 5When I have difficulty in learning,
There will always be a pair of hands - mother's hands.
Teach me to study and tutor me in my homework.
It made my academic performance much better again.
I went from a toddler to a teenager,
all with a pair of rough hands - mom's hands.
It took care of me all the time.
It makes me feel incredibly warm.
This is mom's hand,
This is my mom's pair of kind hands.
No matter how many storms,
Mom's hands still love me all the time!
Mom's Hands Prose 6My mom has a pair of dexterous and capable hands with a little callus on them.
Once, I came home from school on Friday, and found that there were fragrant dishes on the desktop, the room was neatly organized, and the quilt was also put neatly, so the whole house looked clean, making a person who went in there have only one word to describe it, that is - perfect, which made me think that my mother is really capable. Another time, mom was typing, and I noticed that in less than ten minutes, three pages of neatly written words appeared on the computer.
This is mom's dexterous and capable hands.
Mom's Hands Prose 7
Mom's hands,
What kind of hands are they?
Mom's hands,
are a pair of hard-working hands.
Every day when I came home from school,
I saw my mom chopping vegetables in the kitchen,
and making fragrant meals for us.
Every weekend,
mom used her hard-working hands to clean the house so that we can live comfortably.
Mom's hands,
are a pair of warm hands.
Whenever I catch a cold and have a fever,
mom covers my cold feet with her warm hands and makes me feel warm.
Whenever I forget to wear gloves in winter,
my mom wraps her big warm hands around my hands so that I don't feel cold anymore.
Mom's hands,
are a pair of hands that give me encouragement.
Whenever I don't do well in a test,
my mom puts her hand on my shoulder and says, "It's okay, just do well next time."
Whenever I achieved her results,
mom then firm up her thumbs and said, "You're great, keep up the good work."
Mom's hands, a pair of hard-working, warm, give me encouragement hands. This hands inside the hidden give me countless love. In my eyes, it will always be the most beautiful hands in the world.
Mom's hand prose 8In the summer night, my mother's hand gave me a gentle reminder; in countless late nights, my mother's hand gave me confidence and strength; in the early morning, my mother's hand gave me a loving breakfast. Open the valve of memory, mom's hand pulls my feelings.
It was a summer night, the frogs in the pond called tirelessly, the cool wind on my cheeks, I was writing homework. Suddenly, a pair of warm hands patted my shoulder, I was shocked, busy looking back, only to see my mom smiling and looking at me, gently said, "three one, how to forget again?" At once, a warm current flowed in my heart, I immediately corrected my writing posture, and returned my mom a smile. Mom's hand to give me a gentle reminder, I will always remember in my heart, it, pull my feelings.
In countless winter nights, soughing cold winds bring the bone-chilling cold, even the home can not let people feel the warmth, but a large number of assignments do not allow me to enter the nest early, countless boredom buried in my heart. But at this time, mom is always making coursework, her hands, flying in the keyboard, seems to hide the endless power. But when I finished a few homework assignments and went to touch her hands, I realized that they were cold. Whenever I touch my mom's hands on the keyboard, I immediately forget all my boredom and my whole body is filled with strength. Mom's hands, pulling my feelings.
Early in the morning, the first ray of sunshine has not yet shone into my room, a fragrance came to my nose, I followed the aroma to go, it turned out to be my mom is preparing for my breakfast. Mom first divided the pizza into six equal parts, take one to my small plate, and pour the hot milk just warmed into the cup, in an instant, the corner of my eyes rose up a flower of tears, mom's hands are sweet. Mom's hands for me to do the love of breakfast, pulling my feelings.
Mom's hand to me, maybe a few dates in the hand, maybe a word of advice before going on the road, maybe a word of care full of love, mother's love is this, simple but great. These, like a star in the sky, pulling my feelings.
Mom's hand, like a landscape in the memory, sometimes I am touched, the implementation of my thoughts.
Mom's hand prose 9
Mom is 76 years old this year, since three years ago suffered a cerebral infarction, hearing is greatly affected, and its conversation needs to raise the volume.
So, as long as I accompanied my mom out on the street, I always naturally pulled my mom's hand tightly, and kept reminding her to slow down and slow down again. This time, my mom would always say: "Alas, people are old and useless, when you were young, I always pulled your hand on the street, afraid of losing, but now I let you pull me." Listening to the words of some of the mom lost, I comforted her and said: "People are like machines, long time parts will be aging failure, old age, sickness and death is the law of nature, who can not escape, you do not have to think, live well is happiness." Although the words said, but looked at the mother's increasingly stooped body, stroking the mother's skin and bones of the joints of the stiff hand, the heart is very sour.
In my memory, my mom's hands were once white and soft.
Mom's hands when she was young, ten fingers slender, once held a pen, once embroidered flowers, but also has woven a number of daughter dream. However, since we siblings four were born one after another, mom every day in the daytime water, chopping wood, scrubbing, cooking, cutting grass, feeding pigs, planting labor, night spinning and weaving, sewing clothes and shoes ...... mom's ten fingers by the river of years sharpened to the exposure of sinews, dark and rough, lost the light, the soft hands have become like the withered twigs. More seriously, every winter, mom's hands are always covered with wounds, that is the field work by the cold wind cut, is down to the river laundry by the cold river water frost cracks, is every night in the dim oil lamp under the soles of the shoes by the cotton strangulation of ...... Even so, mom's hands have never rested, she is in her right hand at the mouth of the tiger with the rags of a wrapped, and continue to Under the dim oil lamp, the sound of mom's shoe-knitting was our lullaby, accompanying us to sleep night after night. However, we never knew when mom went to bed, we only remembered that when we woke up the next day, mom's hands were busy again.
In this way, my mother's hard-working hands lifted the burden of the family's life, pulling us four siblings up, and her delicate hands dried out into elm branches, her hands were weak, and her fingers couldn't stretch straight, and she often couldn't even twist the locks on the doors.
Walking on the street at work, from time to time to see the old man lost the missing notice, I always inexplicably nervous heartache, afraid of one day mom will also suddenly lost!
When I was young, I held on to my mom's hand for fear that I would lose it and not be able to find my way home; now that I'm nearly 100 years old, I still have to hold on to my mom's hand for fear that she would lose it and not be able to find my way back to my own heart. Mom is at home, I can hold on to my mom's hand, is the greatest happiness ah!
mom's hand prose 10Suddenly, very think of my mother, want her nagging, want her smile; want her hard cultivation of that small yard, this earth April day is not already planted a lot of seeds of life? The west side of the vacant lot will still plant a lot of tomatoes this year? Have the dazzling, bright red flowers of the crocuses opened up? Is the old apricot tree in the corner already covered with white blossoms? And has the flower cat, which always paces lazily, given birth to many cute kittens?
I don't know if my mind is a little old, or I'm not as happy as I used to be, but a lot of times I always like to miss that piece of land, and the loved ones on that piece of land as well as those thick stories. That small mound in front of the door appeared countless times in my words, memories, because my mother had countless times stood there, over and over again, watching our distant back disappeared in the line of sight, and then dragged a long sigh and attachment helplessly turn around.
Every time I returned home, I urged my daughter to call her "grandma" as soon as I entered the door, and my eyes were searching for my mother's silhouette. Oh, it turns out that the home, because there is a mother will feel so warm, because there is a mother, will hold the heart of a thousand miles away from the traveler, because there is a mother, the mountains of the tea is also so sweet and incomparable.
Mother is an idle person. Every spring, the land thawed, the father began to work on the ground when the work, the mother will also be busy to renovate her little piece of the yard, she hated to plant every part of the yard full. Inch by inch, the soil was loosened in her hands, sprinkled with seeds, and then smoothed out, perhaps with a sense of accomplishment? At that time, the mother is always smiling, she stood up and looked at the results of those she stood for a long time like a thought, she is also imagining those seeds to take root, germinate, and then spit out the fragrance of the scene, right?
Mother loved to raise flowers, the house of pots of flowers although not what expensive flowers, but also bloomed in colorful, enough to let the mother love. And those large and small flowers in the yard, but also the mother to see other people's yards to open a good look with others to ask for some flower seeds, come back, she is the meal also do not care to go to eat, the first to take out those loosening the soil planting tools, joyfully planted, and I tend to act as a watering person, at that time, I saw my mother is really very happy, and even like a child.
Spring in the north, spring cold, often some flowers just spit out buds will be mercilessly frozen to death, so the mother will be careful for them to support a layer of plastic film, which is a warm tent for them to set up a warm and ambiguous, and so the weather slightly ambiguous will be poked through a few holes so that they can breathe. The most ridiculous thing is that the mother actually do those things while chattering: "flowers ah, I give you a quilt, you will not be cold, you can live it, I worked hard and others to get you back, you can not let me down." And every time I heard her like that I would laugh at her, "Mom, you can actually talk to flowers now? What a cow!" Mother didn't say anything, just laughed.
Mother's favorite saying is "don't coax anyone, you coax the ground, the ground also coaxed you", so, even if it is with the father and the ground work, the mother is also so serious and meticulous, afraid of the ground more than one grass. Years of summer, the hot sun people are almost baked out of oil, and the mother is back and forth between the ridge, a hoe a hoe down, behind is a row of windy crop seedlings, looking at them, as if to feel is a kind of unparalleled joy, is to thank the mother, right? It is the mother to help them remove that impurity in life, to make them grow more vigorously, but also to make their lives become more beautiful and pure.
For the crops, the fall can be said to be the most overjoyed season, and the mother is an acute, so she always rushed the father hate all the crops all at once back. Looking at the yellow and orange corn, heavy ears of grain, and large and round watermelon, mother's face has been unable to hide those smiles. Sickle in her hands fluttering happily, sweat drop by drop trickled down, and the mother did not stop at all the meaning of her one vigorously cut forward to go; and then look at the corn field, the mother has long been far more than us, look at that big and plump corn cobs were the mother screwed one by one and threw it on the ground, like a small mountain of gold; there are also those soybeans, mung beans, the mother of one hand holding up the bag, one hand numbly in the seedling The mother is not harvesting the crops, her hands are clearly harvesting a full of hope.
Mother was afraid of wasting a little bit of food, every time she saw us spilled in the ground, she would bend down to pick up one by one, "planting a little bit of food is not easy ah, how can you be so wasteful? This one grain may be how much effort, sprinkled with how much sweat in exchange for," mother said while picking up, until picking up the clean.
When all the crops are all harvested home, the weather is also gradually becoming cold, but also the day of the crops to enjoy the blessing. After half a year of hard work, it is also time to rest, everyone or three to five groups to play cards, or each other door to chat, the day is also nourishing. However, the mother always have a pair of hands, a pair of idle hands, a winter, she will be rummaging through the closet to find some old clothes, and then cut the pair into a pattern, or made into a curtain or made into a cushion distributed to us.
I remember when we were small, my mother always made us some shoes or mended some clothes, because in those years there was not much money to buy expensive clothes, the sewing machine that accompanied the dowry witnessed all the hard work of my mother in those years. Until many years later, we became a family, mother began to make cotton coats and pants for her grandchildren, everyone always said, "Now that the days are better, do not bother to do, people buy the clothes can be comfortable, and convenient," but my mother always stubbornly said: "to buy is not spend money? Besides, I can still do it with these hands now, and I can do it myself."
The mother worked hard all her life, laboring all her life, that pair of hands full of calluses have how heavy the vicissitudes of ah! A layer is not a story? A layer is not a bitter history? In the four seasons of life, the mother with her ordinary hands continue to create life, perfect life, those calluses, those are years of labor has been twisted fingers, is the years left to the mother, but what about us?
Ten months of pregnancy and childbirth. It is the mother with that incomparable pain to bring us to the world, when we open the eyes of ignorance, feel is the mother's soft hand gently caress. Crying, she will hold us in her arms, sick, she day and night watch. I remember a lot, my mother said with a smile: "When you are small, I have not slept on a dry mattress, every night you urinate, I will give you dry, I sleep on top of the wet."
Other people's children can wear beautiful and fashionable clothes, however, in their own even if it is patched rags, but also washed by the mother clean, smelling gusts of soap fragrance, as if it will also feel the bitter, but also is not bitter, the mother's hand can be so magical.
Fell down, is the mother gently help up, and then grabbed our little hand slowly forward. Yes, the mother's hand so so strong, has been holding us in the road of life walking, walking, holding the mother's hand is actually not afraid. Sad, sad, mother gently into the arms, tell us the storms of life do not be afraid, then feel that a piece of bright in the heart slowly rise.
Naughty, mother's anger a slap followed, we were so blame the mother's severity, but after years will realize that the weight of the slap, the mother's hatred of steel, and the slap after the heartache.
Yes, the mother looks forward to us every day to grow up quickly, but we grew up, but the mother is old, when the white tender hand do not know when to become rough and dry, touching my face I said just to me to relieve the itch, the mother smiled and did not say anything, but I was inexplicably tugging at the heart.
Every time I return home, my mother is always busy doing this and that, we said we do not need to do some cooking, simple, but she is always the stubborn mother. She is itching to get all the good food in the house. A small get-together, a hasty goodbye, the mother waved her hands, and the eyes of the lost, I do not know her gently waved her hands between the can be waved off that long miss? And a lifetime of long attachments?
Perhaps, we are also in the hands of the mother of those crops in general, right? In different seasons to enjoy the mother's different care, in the hands of the mother from spring to autumn, from childhood to adulthood, all the way, are carrying the mother's love, the mother's love a little bit of sprinkle, but in the hands of the hand, but by a road of trials and tribulations carved into the shape of the vicissitudes of the ......