How many pounds does Dad’s love have?

It was just dawn, the little bird sang a moving song, and I was awakened by the big ensemble of pots and pans, licking the big eyes like a panda, stretching a little and slowly walking kitchen.

"Hey, hey," Dad is preparing breakfast. Hot pot, pour oil, beat eggs, in one go. Dad’s wrist twitched, and the eggs in the pot flew in the air like a yellow butterfly. "Dad is a gold medal chef! Every time I cook, it is better than my mother. I have a good mouth! Haha!" I said secretly.

"Okay, have breakfast."

Dad stood by and looked at me with a relish, and said to me, "You eat slowly, finish your homework, and then go to the book to play. I went to work at noon to come back to cook for you."

I looked at Dad with doubt. He seemed to know what I was going to ask. He said to me: "I pushed the dinner at noon and came back to accompany you at noon."

I stunned, and choked and said: "Dad," but he didn't hear.

Going home at noon, I was crazy outside for a morning, and my stomach had already been "squatting". I just sat down at the door of the house and guessed it.

I have placed my favorite scallion cake on the table, which my father did.

"Let's wait, lunch will be fine." Dad is wearing an apron, and there are dishes in the pot. "The dishes are good." Dad brought the dishes out, and it was my favorite food - Mapo tofu. Not yet moving, a burst of aroma will come. That tofu is yellow and not coke, oil is not greasy. It’s evocative to sip a bite! "Dad is so good, I know that I love to eat this." I said with a smile.

When I finished eating, my father left again.

The figure he left was distressing. He saw the wrinkles on his father's face and saw that his father's face was soaked with oily smoke and yellowed like the Mapo tofu on the table. My heart trembled.

I remembered the rainy day of the five, the teddy bear, the certificate of honor, the meaningful gifts and memories, and the father had already paid so much for me.

How many dishes did Dad fire and how much heart would he use to cook a meal?

How many pounds does Dad’s love have? Who can count it? The answer is written in the wrinkles on his face.

First day: heybaby is me