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My mother is a "village flower"
Zhang Ying is my mother's name. At this moment, she cried, which sounded very kind and touching. She was recognized as a "village flower" when she was young. Now she is old, but she is still beautiful in my heart.

The mother in my memory seems to be omnipotent-going up and down the mountain, doing rough work, soft egg ... there are always endless things to do every day. Mother handles housework in an orderly way; Although my mother is petite and thin, she is a good hand at growing crops; The second harvest of vegetables in this season is always a pleasure for her neighbors or children to taste. Mom's ability and friendliness are recognized. The neighborhood's evaluation of mother is: the handle is inside and outside, and the taste of cooking is absolutely unique. Countless mornings in my memory, the rice in the pot has been hot, the yard is clean, the silk pattern of the broom on the ground is exquisite and kind, and my mother's busy figure can always stir up dust in the narrow yard. ...

After work, what my mother said to me the most was: eat more, eat better and stay healthy. And the sweetest thing I said to my mother was: "Mom, I am fat again!" " "At this time, my mother will smile as if she had done something right, happiness will overflow her whole face, and deep wrinkles will stretch out in an instant.

Once I asked my mother coquetry, "Mom, am I beautiful?"

Mother couldn't hide her smile: "It's beautiful."

I put my arms around my mother's shoulders and leaned against her arms and said, "No wonder everyone says I look like you. Can I be beautiful? " You are a village flower and I am a second-generation flower. "

8 1 year-old mother listened happily and said assiduously, "I fast and recite Buddha on the first and fifteenth day of every month. I wish you a good meal, good health and good work ... "

I rushed to say loudly, "No wonder I can eat so much. It turned out that there were instructions from heaven. "

Mom seemed particularly satisfied, her face was full of smiles, and our mother and daughter laughed together.

After dinner, my mother began to make corn potatoes, which were planted by my mother. They were especially fresh and delicious. Every time I go back to my mother's house, I always bring a mouthful of food. My mother is always full of joy when she watches her daughter gobble up.

Zhang Ailing said: "Mothers have a common problem. As long as you say which dish is delicious, they will cook it frequently until you get bored and complain. In fact, in this life, she has been desperately giving you what you think is good, and giving it to you is overwhelming. "

One day, the sun smiled at me and took my mother's hand for a walk. It suddenly occurred to me that my mother's hands only have bones and skin. Has the vigorous and powerful hand that once supported a family's burden ever looked slim? Maybe my mother doesn't know it herself. I held my mother's hand tightly, and her mother pretended not to complain as before: "why are you holding hands?" I won't get lost in such a big street! " "

However, from the street to the alley, I just want to walk through the spring, summer, autumn and winter with my dry hands.

I spoiled my mother's suggestion and wanted to sleep with her at night. My mother is very happy. I cooked several dishes in the evening. I ate with relish and ate two bowls of rice. My mother sees it in her eyes and enjoys it in her heart.

Finally, I went to bed, and my mother let me lie inside and lie outside by myself. Is my mother still worried that I will get out of bed like I did when I was a child?

When my mother was young, she talked about many things. Although they were many things, the clouds were light and the wind was light.

After a while, even breathing sounded and my mother slept soundly. I can't sleep. My childhood memory was clearly and profoundly outlined by my mother's sweat and played back in my mind for a long time like a movie. ...

(The author is a teacher at Wen Lan Experimental School in Hangzhou, Zhejiang)

China Teachers' Daily, May 202 1, 12, 16.

Author: Qu