On the way of growing up, she held my hand and wrote 1. When I was very young, my mother held my hand and taught me to walk. From then on, my mother took my hand, walked across the dirt bridge, walked across the stone road and walked through the years.
In a blink of an eye, I was 7 years old, and my mother took me by the hand and sent me to school. I remember my mother's hands were so white and soft. I feel happy when her strong hand holds my little hand. It is in this hand-in-hand that my mother injected selfless and holy maternal love into my life. So I can always find various reasons for my mother to hold my hand, even though I have learned to walk. But then something happened that made me feel guilty and didn't let my mother hold my hand again.
What a beautiful autumn day it is! When my mother dragged me across the small bridge at the head of the village, I had a whim and asked my mother to take my hand and fly forward. Who knows, just as I was intoxicated with the ecstasy of running, my mother accidentally dislocated her wrist! Looking at the painful expression of my mother when the doctor treated her, I seemed to feel that I was in pain when I was a child, and I made up my mind from then on: I will never let my mother hold my hand again!
The wheels of years flew by, and I grew up unconsciously. I really never walked hand in hand with my mother again.
Studying in a different place will occasionally remind me of my mother, my childhood, but not the years when my mother held my hand. Until one day, when I saw a young mother holding a toddler girl, my heart suddenly trembled and I had an impulse to go home and let my mother hold hands again. Finally home. My mother and I looked at each other for a long time. My mother said happily that I had grown taller, but I found my mother much older. "The debt of white-haired children is deeply branded with years." The mother takes her aging as the price of her daughter's growth! I put down my luggage, took my mother's hand and whispered, "Mom, let's go out for a walk." Mom looked a little surprised, and then happily walked out of the house with me. It is still the small bridge at the head of the village, or the mother and daughter of that year. My mother's hands are still warm and powerful that year, but they are no longer white and soft. Her hands are black and rough, with cracks in some places and thick cocoons on her palms. Holding my mother's bony hand, I feel that I am not touching her hand, but her vicissitudes of life for most of my life. That afternoon, my mother was very happy and told some trivial things about daily necessities. I also listened patiently. When I was a child, I made up my mind not to let my mother hold my hand again. Now, I want to say: "Mom, hold my daughter's hand through the wind and rain and the four seasons!" "
On the way of growing up, she held my hand and wrote 2 growing up. What a familiar word! But on the way to growth, who gave us the most? It's her, unknown her, she is the greatest person in the world, mom! When I was growing up, she held my hand.
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( 1)
Mom, what a good word! Mom, what a beautiful word! Mom is a great person, her flowing long hair and flowing long skirt, ah! How beautiful! She took my hand and walked on the road of growth. She comforted me when I was sad; She encouraged me when I failed; When I succeeded, she warned me; When I am happy, she is happy with me. ...
(2)
At that time, the grades dropped. I don't know why, I can't help crying. My mother saw it, touched my head and whispered, "Son, why are you crying?" Still crying so sad, what's the matter? "I stopped crying, looked up at my mother, snuggled up in my mother's arms and said," Mom, I'm sorry, I didn't do well in the exam and failed to live up to your expectations! " "Mom smiled:" What do I think? I did badly in the exam. Don't be discouraged. Who can guarantee that I won't fail? " In fact, every failure is a test. Behind every success, there must be failures again and again. As long as you work hard, you will succeed next time. Mom believes you, okay, stop crying and go to sleep! "After listening to my mother's words, I feel much better, and I can't help feeling glad. I have a good mother! That night, I slept soundly and had a sweet dream: I was the first in my class.
After that, I caught up. When I am in trouble, I will always remember my mother's words.
(3)
I still remember my mother once said: My happiness begins with you, and my happiness is based on your happiness, so if you are happy, I will be happy! When I think of this sentence, I will think of many charming and happy things with my mother.
My mother and I are holding hands, and they are wandering in the street together. Passers-by cast envious eyes. I am very happy, and so is my mother.
My mother and I played on the swing in the park, and other children were envious. I am very happy, and so is my mother.
My mother and I walked along the field path together, and they took out their hearts and confided in each other. I am very happy, and so is my mother.
(4)
I can never grow up without her, because she gave birth to me in the womb and let me enjoy maternal love. I will always be bathed in the warm sunshine of maternal love and thrive in the warmth of sunshine. ...
When I was growing up, she held my hand.
On the way of growing up, she held my hand and grew up. This is a long road, a journey full of love. Along the way, she held my hand. She was my mother.
I opened the window, and the soft wind blew at me. I looked up at the sky and white clouds, as if every cloud recorded my childhood ... When I was a child, my mother helped me clean up every morning and sent me to kindergarten. People are coming and going on the road, cars are flowing, and traffic lights are jumping. Mother took my hand and walked forward. I like my mother holding my hand, because it makes me feel safe and feel my mother's love. At that time, I was curious about traffic lights, so every time I met a traffic light, my mother would always say, "Stop at the red light and go at the green light." Sometimes, I will follow. My mother often takes me to the park to play. Every time I enter the park, I will go straight to the "Children's Paradise" junior high school to play "merry-go-round" and "small train" ... Here we go. I grabbed the reins of the horse in one hand and sat on the merry-go-round. I'm so happy! Because the other hand has been holding mom's warm hand.
How time flies! Suddenly, I went to primary school. My mother sends me to school early every day. Whenever school is over, my mother is already waiting at the school gate. I ran straight to my mother like a cheerful little rabbit, put my little hand in her big hand and walked home happily.
When I do my homework, my mother helps me beside me and reviews the text with me ... Sometimes, when I am tired, my mother will touch my forehead with her soft hand.
At night, my mother often comes to my bedside and always covers me with her warm hands, lest I catch cold.
I remember when I was in the second grade, I always had a stomachache. My mother took me to the hospital, but it didn't get better after taking the medicine. My mother can't take care of herself at work, so she took me to Shanghai Ruijin Hospital for treatment. The doctor said to have a gastroscope. My mother took my hand when I entered the gastroscope room. Although my mother is outside, I know my mother must be worried now. Although it only takes 10 minutes to do gastroscopy, I know my mother will feel like 10 hour. ...
Now I am in the sixth grade, and I am a middle school student. I can't let my mother worry about me anymore, I can't always let my mother hold my hand, and I can't always rely on my mother.
Along the way, my mother accompanied me through 13 spring, summer, autumn and winter. Every year, every month, every day, every hour and even every second, my mother cares about me, loves me and makes me warm and happy.
Mom, you have always loved me.
Mom, thank you for holding my hand all the way and giving me confidence and courage.
On the way of growing up, she held my hand. When I was very young, my mother held my hand and taught me to walk. From then on, my mother took my hand, walked across the dirt bridge, walked across the stone road and walked through the years.
In a blink of an eye, I was six years old again. My mother took me by the hand and sent me to the school gate. Remember how white my mother's hands are; So soft, when her strong hand holds my little hand, the feeling of happiness arises spontaneously. It is in this hand that my mother injected her selfless and holy maternal love into my life. So I can always find various reasons for my mother to hold my hand, even though I have learned to walk. But then something happened, which made me feel guilty all the time and didn't let my mother hold my hand again.
What kind of autumn day was it? When my mother dragged me across the bridge, I had a whim and asked my mother to take my hand and fly forward. Who knows, just as I was intoxicated with the ecstasy of running, my mother accidentally fell and dislocated her wrist! Looking at her painful expression when the doctor treated her mother, I seemed to feel that I was in pain when I was a child, and I made up my mind from then on: I will never let my mother hold my hand again!
The wheels of years flew by, and I grew up unconsciously. I really never walked hand in hand with my mother again.
In the school days, I will occasionally think of my mother, I will think of the little things when I was a child, but I will not think of those years when I held hands with my mother. Until one day, when I saw a young mother holding a toddler girl, my heart suddenly trembled and I had an impulse to go home and let my mother hold hands again. Finally home, my mother and I looked at each other for a long time. My mother said happily that I had grown taller, but I found that my mother was much older. "White-haired children are heavily in debt and deeply tattooed with the traces of the years." Mom takes her aging as the price of her daughter's growth! I put down my schoolbag, took my mother's hand and said softly, "Mom, let's go out for a walk." Mom looked a little surprised, and then happily walked out of the house with me. It's still the small bridge, or the mother and daughter of that year. My mother's hands are as warm and powerful as that year, but they are no longer white and soft. Her hands have rough skin, cracks in some places, and thick cocoons on her palms. Holding my mother's bony hand, I feel that I am not touching her hand, but her vicissitudes of life for most of my life.
That afternoon, my mother looked very happy and told some trivial things about daily necessities. I also listened patiently. When I was a child, I made up my mind not to let my mother hold my hand again. Now, I want to say: "Mom, hold my hand through the wind and rain and the four seasons!" " "