Mother's hand

In the world of the hand, there are hardworking hands, lazy hands, rich hands, and dexterous hands. However, I am writing a pair of hardworking hands. Her hand is not so big, long-term labor makes the suede climb the finger, making a light black skin on the back of the hand.

When the chicken is called three times, my mother’s hand is already working: busy doing breakfast. Near noon, her hand worked again: busy making lunch. In the afternoon, her hand started working again: busy making dinner. At night, when the moon is hanging high, my mother's hand is working again: busy washing clothes. In short, my mother's hands are always working.

Mother's hand is both a hardworking hand and a hand full of maternal love. I remember a cold winter afternoon, the weather was cold. I am doing homework, my mother is doing needlework.

Late at night, the weather became colder, my hand trembled, I dare not write, afraid of doing bad work. At this time, my mother came to me and said to me with concern: "Cold?" I gently put my hand in her hands. Suddenly, I feel very warm. With her encouragement, I finally finished my homework seriously.

I remember there was another winter morning and the weather was very cold. In order to keep out the cold, my friends and I went to the river to skate. I accidentally fell into the lime pit with my feet. I finally put my foot up, but the leather boots are stuffed with lime. "Can't wear it," I took off my boots decisively and prepared to ask my mother to wash me. Another thought: Mom will criticize me. Finally, I came up with a way to make the best of both worlds, hide the boots in the cracks, and wait for the weather to warm up a little. The next day, the weather was a little warmer, I went to wash

Leather boots. But the shadow of the leather boots in the door is not there. I almost cried in anxiously. After a while, calm down and go looking elsewhere. Just found the back door, I heard the familiar "唰, 唰, 唰" sound. Isn't this the voice of my mother's hand when she works? I walked with the sound, on the patio, I found my mother, she was washing my boots for me. Her hand was red and cracked and cracked a few seams. Although it was cold, but still a few crystal beads from my mother's cheeks, I walked over to her and took the brush of the brush boots, saying, "Mom, I am going to wash." Mom cares Said: "Vibrate, I will wash." I did not agree, but she has already taken away the boots and brushes. In the end, my mother washed it. After she had finished washing, she was wearing a leather boot. When I put on my boots again, my eyes were blurred by tears.

what! I want to praise, praise the mother's hand, but also praise you - mother.

Second grade: Phantom Blade