I do something for my mother

The most beautiful time in the sky is when there is no blemish in it. So, in our empty heart, what kind of warm hands are washing our hearts? Oh, that’s maternal love!
Mother’s love for us is unconditional, that warm motherly love can melt ice and snow, can break a day! However, when we were young, we do not know how to let mothers bear the cold spring rain like blue bells, looking at us through a tear.
Ten years of setbacks, ten years of bitterness, in the euphemism between vanishing clouds.
Now, I understand, understand the great maternal love, understand the importance of learning. But the memory of the gentle mother has changed from a young woman, blinking into a nearly forty-year-old person.
Every time I came home from school at noon, I would quietly close the door and tiptoe on the semi-new and old pole, looking curiously at my mother through the folded porcelains door.
Smoke choking, a picture touched my pupil in a series of small holes, also shocked my heart. The hunched mother rubbed her blistered hand against the oil in the corners of her eyes, coughing and coughing. I haven’t looked at it any more, because my face is already in tears, every time.
Perhaps for a long time, I seem to have germinated an idea of cooking a meal for my mother at the moment when my mother’s picture is fixed.
Before my mother left work, I shrank to promote the kitchen. But when I turned on the gas stove, I hesitated and hesitated. The kitchen window blew in a gust of wind. In the wind, the leaves of sycamore seeds and the smell of the earth roll up, bringing mother’s wet towel covered with oil and dust.
I buried my head in silence and meditation. At this time, there was a mother’s appeal from the children’s hospital: Doctor! Please save him! I would like to pour out my property! I was suddenly awakened by something, and my mother appeared in my mind. I summoned up courage, turned on the gas, poured the oil down, cut the tomatoes a few times, and then fell. I began to cut tomatoes again, carelessly with a sharp blade, and the bright red blood flowed out. Unfortunately, the oil just opened at this time, and I choked cold enough. At this time, my mind emerged when my mother cooked dishes – stooping, hunched back, then the mother is so uncomfortable? I can not help but cry and sigh.
The door creaked open and Mother dragged herself up the sofa with difficulty. After a while, my mother looked over and did not speak. I brought up the dish of my own fried eggs on a white metal plate. “Daughter, what’s this?” Mother muttered to me in a whisper as she fell asleep. Looking at my mother, I was worried and ashamed. This is an egg for my mother, “I managed to squeeze a few words out of my mouth. Mother laughed and wrinkled with laughter. But she said to me seriously, don’t use these precious time to do things for her, she will handle her own affairs well. I was disappointed, but at eight o’clock in the evening, my mother took the plate of eggs out of the refrigerator with a smile and ate it with green chopsticks in her mouth. I peeped through the crack of the door and laughed happily. Laugh at mother’s loveliness, laugh at mother’s greatness. Friends, do one thing for mother, one thing for her great love!