From Hangzhou to Beijing, it started at 6: 03 pm and arrived at 7: 33 the next morning, which was very fast, especially for me and my mother. In fact, we haven't really talked for three or four days. The cold war has been so long that I can't see its end.
Compared with this, I can easily endure a thirteen-hour drive. The glass windows of this train are very clean. Looking out through the glass window, the platform was brightly lit.
The pillars of the platform and the people standing there are also slightly distorted by the distortion of the glass, and under the influence of the shadow of light, they flicker slightly on the flat surface of the glass window. Mom was among them, standing with strangers, pillars and street lamps, looking gloomy.
She waved to me and I waved to her. It was a strange feeling, as if we didn't know each other, and she was just dragged here to say goodbye.
Fortunately, this embarrassment didn't last long, and my mother left without waiting for the bus. She came out without a bag, which was a big mistake. She hardly knows where to put her hands.
I have been chatting with my classmates who went back to school together, because I don't know what to say to my mother or what kind of expression to make. I just laughed until my lips were on my teeth. This clumsy disguise is really difficult. I just hope the train can leave as soon as possible.
Throughout the summer vacation, it was endless heat in Hangzhou. It seems that all the friends I should know met at one time last winter vacation. I was too lazy to go out and stayed at home almost all day, so my parents naturally became the people who met me the most during the summer vacation.
At first, they were very kind to you. I haven't seen you for a semester, and all my thoughts are concentrated in the first week or two.
You don't have to do housework, you don't have to rush you to read English, and you never interfere with the completely reversed schedule. However, the next few weeks will be even more difficult.
Of course, all this happened during the winter vacation. I thought I could adapt completely and avoid quarreling with my parents skillfully.
It seems that I still overestimate myself. Small quarrels are almost constant, and my father has a good temper. After quarreling, I forget that my daughter and mother are natural enemies, and even quarreling is extremely subtle. Things that look small will have their own set of rules. Once they cross the line, the consequences will be difficult to clean up.
It seems that after waiting for a century, the biggest quarrel between my mother and me broke out on the wobbly tail during the summer vacation. Dad was on a business trip that year, which completely turned into a war between two women.
My mother began to tell me to go to bed early, and it has been 800 years since I took the postgraduate entrance examination. Because my father was not at home, there was no one to stop the fight, so we had a terrible argument that day. The composition material is "write a 600-word composition about me and my mother: my mother's porridge".
I seldom see my mother quarreling with others, and she blushes when she is angry. Mother's skin is not white, so every time she quarrels, there will be a strange gentle blush on her face, which is slightly darker than the shy color and red to the root of her neck.
In fact, as soon as I say something, I know it is too much, but quarreling is a misplaced art, and she will always yell at you when you are right; When she is right, you will scream for no reason.
Finally, we all ignored each other as a sign to stop quarreling. My mother's usual skill in quarreling is to give in symbolically before it's over. If I had admitted my mistake then, everything would have been fine.
But I chose not to respond, and the cold war came as scheduled. It is unpleasant for two people to ignore each other at home.
The simple and practical way is to cook something for mom, just make porridge. This is the whole reason why I cooked porridge the next day.
I bought carrots, eggplant, lettuce, preserved eggs and minced meat from the supermarket. After a busy afternoon, it was a pot of so-called preserved egg lean porridge. The next thing to do is to serve food, and then express your meaning and apologize.
I really thought so until dinner. Mom still didn't smile when she came back from work. She didn't say a word to me.
Mother cooked the meal and we sat down to eat together as usual. This is the first time we have had dinner together after our quarrel.
Don't give each other food, don't talk, and I even doubt that we will sit quietly until it's over. We are almost as silent as fish.
So after dinner, wash the dishes, then go to bed, then repeat today tomorrow, then I go back to Beijing, and then it's all over. I felt stupid and somehow cooked a pot of porridge. She didn't buy it at all, so she ate her meal and never looked up at me.
For the first time, I realized that the dining table at home was so long and ridiculous. My mother and I sat at both ends of it, like dolphin eyes, and no one could see anyone. Mom got up and went to the kitchen to serve rice, and I suddenly remembered the pot of porridge.
Don't let her know that there is still that pot of things, otherwise she will understand that it is evidence of apology and will be complacent, but in fact, I was not in the mood at all. "What's in the casserole? What are you going to do with it? " Mother's tone is very hard, and it also contains a sense of superiority that I can't stand-she knows everything.
"Nothing, I'll eat the rest at noon." I still keep my mouth shut, but obviously, the last sentence is that there is no silver here.
My mother poked her head out of the kitchen with a bowl, looked at me and said, "It needs to be warmed up." Then I turned around, and then I couldn't see her. The kitchen door blocked my view. I only heard the sound of turning on the gas. Once or twice, the gas stove didn't light for a long time.
"I don't need you, I'll do it." I almost jumped up, feeling that my mother was demonstrating to me, as if I couldn't live without her.
I jumped up and rushed into the kitchen. It's really aggressive. Maybe my mother heard it and was about to come out with a bowl. We just ran into each other One of us must come out and the other must go in.
The bowl in mother's hand is crooked, and it is about to fall to the ground. I was busy getting out of the way, and my mother was busy blocking it with her other hand. The bowl didn't fall, soft rice.
2. Mother loves me to make porridge and write a composition for me. Only mothers are good in the world, and children with mothers are like babies. This sentence is really good.
Mom is really meticulous to me, but she can save herself.
I remember when I was a child, I was sickly and ran to the hospital once every three days, so, mom
Mom ran home from the hospital, as busy as a bee.
Once, I was hospitalized with a cold and my mother was discharged. Looking at the mother's distant figure.
Shadow, my tears can't help flowing out. I know mom will be busy for half a day when she comes back.
I feel very sorry.
At noon, my mother came to the hospital to deliver my meal. Open the lid, there is a faint fragrance.
The smell came straight at me, and a closer look turned out to be a steaming bowl of lean porridge. famous book
Unable to resist its temptation, I quickly picked up the bowl and ate it. Eating and laughing.
Say to your mother, "Mom, don't you like cooking porridge?" Today is too much trouble.
Why do you remember? "Said don't forget to mother blinked. Mom, close the lid.
He said, "You are often ill, and I don't know what to cook for you. I thought and thought.
You'd better eat something light when you have a cold, so you made this porridge. "After hearing what my mother said.
Words, happy and sad in my heart, staring straight at my mother in a daze.
Mother packed her things and went to the bed and sat down. She smiled and said, pointing to my forehead
"Why bother?" He asked. Don't eat in a hurry, wait until the porridge is cold. "I just slowly.
Come to your senses and eat quickly.
Since then, my mother seems to have fallen in love with cooking porridge and often sees her hiding in the kitchen alone.
Cooking porridge, porridge is like facial makeup in Beijing opera, and it is changing every day. What lean porridge?
Tremella porridge, lotus seed porridge, mushroom porridge ...
Not to mention, since I have these porridge, I seem to go to the hospital less and less.
One day, I came home from school, entered the house and smelled the fragrance again. I quickly put down my schoolbag and walked to the kitchen.
Run to the room. As soon as I entered the kitchen door, I saw my mother coming towards the door with a bowl of porridge. See me, mom.
Mom said happily, "Come back and try the walnut porridge I just cooked." Talk and chat.
Send the bowl to me. I took the bowl from my mother and sat down. My mother also sat down to watch.
Look at me.
Holding a steaming bowl, suddenly a question came to my mind and I asked my mother.
Mom: "Mom, since when do you like cooking porridge?" Mother touched it with her hand.
My hair hanging from my forehead smiled and said, "You used to be in poor health and often fell ill.
I don't know how to help you. An old Chinese doctor suggested that I cook more porridge for you.
Body. I, standing in front of the pot, put my concern for you into the pot like a dish and cook it slowly.
Ah, I hope you will get better soon. I didn't expect it to work really well. "Listen, mom.
Shit, I can't help crying. ...
My mother raised me so big, and I must use my actions to keep my mother alive.
On a good day, you don't have to work so hard.
3. The feeling after reading "My Mom's Porridge" is still the feeling after reading this article. The story "My Mom's Porridge" is written with maternal love as the main theme.
The story is about "I" coming home from vacation because I had an argument with my mother about something. Later, "I" felt that I shouldn't do this, so I decided to make a preserved egg lean porridge for my mother.
At dinner in the evening, because "I" didn't bring the hot rice, it seems that all the rice that didn't pour was burnt. At this time, my mother blocked her way and all the rice fell into her arms.
I was deeply moved by this and made up with my mother. I think it is because every mother loves her children that maternal love is great.
Although mothers sometimes don't express their love for their children, some small things in life can also show sincere maternal love. For example, the last time I was sick, my mother would take me to the hospital, wash clothes, cook and go to work. It's really hard.
Sometimes, as children, we should learn to be considerate of our mothers.
4. How do you feel after reading My Mom's Porridge or this one?
This story is written on the theme of maternal love.
The story is about "I" coming home from vacation because I had an argument with my mother about something. Later, "I" felt that I shouldn't do this, so I decided to make a preserved egg lean porridge for my mother. At dinner in the evening, because "I" didn't bring the hot rice, it seems that all the rice that didn't pour was burnt. At this time, my mother blocked her way and all the rice fell into her arms. I was deeply moved by this and made up with my mother.
I think it is because every mother loves her children that maternal love is great. Although mothers sometimes don't express their love for their children, some small things in life can also show sincere maternal love.
For example, the last time I was sick, my mother would take me to the hospital, wash clothes, cook and go to work. It's really hard. Sometimes, as children, we should learn to be considerate of our mothers.
5. "Motherly love is like porridge" imitates the composition. Maternal love is like porridge.
There is a mother who chats with her son every day. She told him some stories about his childhood: swimming naked in the river and being stabbed by shrimp, running barefoot to the tree to eat mulberries and being bitten by caterpillars. He forgot too many things. She always remembers troubles, such as a few treasures.
She always spends a large part of her time cooking porridge for him every day. Choose the longest and largest rice grains, which are full, crystal clear and slightly turquoise, and carefully selected one by one. If a careful finger occasionally dips into two grains of rice, she will put them back in the rice pile and pick them up again. She washed the rice pure and clean, then put it in a brown crock, poured in the precipitated spring water and cooked it slowly with firewood. Don't push too hard, or the porridge will be heated unevenly. She waits on anger meekly and delicately, just like a quiet and refined Jiangnan woman. It usually takes more than two hours to cook a can of porridge. She carefully poured the porridge into a flowered porcelain bowl, shaking her head and blowing into the porridge until she had difficulty breathing and the porridge was cold. She smiled and fed her son with a spoon, but his eyes closed and he turned her down coldly. Instead of being angry, she smiled as before.
Continue to pick rice the next day, blow it cool, and accept the rejection. Day after day. Her fingers have become rough and dull, her shaking head is covered with white hair, and her strength is not as good as before. Often when the porridge is half cold, it is out of breath, so you need to use a cattail fan to cool the second half. But her son turned her down coldly. She kept smiling and never shed a tear.
This confrontation between enthusiasm and indifference lasted for 8 years and 73 days. In the eighth year and 48 days, she was telling her son the story of his childhood. His son suddenly opened his eyes and said vaguely, "Mom, I want to drink porridge." She burst into tears-that was the first thing the doctor said after he announced his brain death. The doctor said that in his case, there is only one chance in 100,000.
My son ate porridge cooked by his mother that day. In fact, porridge is not as delicious as she described, slightly burnt and salty tears. It can be seen how restless mother is.
The story doesn't end here. Three months later, when her son was completely able to take care of himself, the mother gave up and left. When she left, she held her son's hand and smiled calmly. My son found his mother's medical record when he was cleaning up his relics. In fact, more than seven years ago, after my son fell asleep for a year, unfortunately, he came to this family again-his mother was diagnosed with advanced liver cancer.
What belief can support a woman with advanced liver cancer to fight the disease for seven years? The doctor said it was a miracle. My son knows that it is a poor and noble, ordinary and great mother who creates miracles!
6. How to write my growth story in my mother's love porridge composition, just like the stars in the sky, I can't count them in my mind.
In the continuous growth, I began to become mature and began to care about things around me, which may be the change of growth! However, for growth, it is not only the growth of height and age, but also to understand a lot of truth and sum up life experience. Although I have forgotten a lot, one thing impressed me deeply.
Dad wasn't at home that day. I was watching TV with relish when my stomach growled. I thought, why doesn't mom get up and cook? Look, mom is still in bed! Mom's face is as red as the red Fuji apple I ate. I lie prone on my mother: "Mom, what's wrong with you?" Mother said weakly, "I'm sick. Please help yourself to some bread. "
I thought again: I eat bread, mother E5a48de588b6616964757a68696416f313337613230. What does mother eat? I decided to cook a bowl of porridge for my mother. I came to the kitchen with confidence. I first asked for some rice in the water and washed it. "Hey, why is there less and less rice?" I said to myself, I finally washed the rice.
Then I put the rice in the pot, and my mother asked me to put more water. After the fire, I watched TV. After a while, I only heard a sound of "poof-",so I hurried over to "Ah! The porridge is saved. "
I quickly turned off the fire, brought the rice out, put it in front of my mother and said, "Mom, eat quickly!" " "This is, my mother touched my head and said, my daughter has grown up!" "I saw how delicious my mother ate, so I took a bite. "What? It's not delicious at all. The rice grain is so hard. " I asked my mother, "Mom, it tastes so bad, can I still eat it?" Mom said, "This is the love you gave me!" " " .
7. In the world of hands, there are industrious hands, lazy hands, rich hands and dexterous hands. However, I wrote about my mother's hardworking hands. Her hands are not that big. Long-term labor has made the cocoon skin climb on her fingers, and a layer of light black skin has grown on the back of her hand.
When the cock crows three times, mother's hands have already started to work: busy making breakfast. Near noon, her hands began to work again: busy cooking lunch. In the afternoon, her hands began to work again: busy cooking dinner. At night, when the moon is high, my mother's hands are working again: busy washing clothes. In short, my mother's hands have been working.
Mother's hands are hardworking and full of maternal love. I remember a cold winter afternoon. I am doing my homework and my mother is doing needlework.
It was late at night, and the weather became colder. My hands are shaking, I dare not write, for fear that I can't do my homework well. At this time, my mother came up to me and said with concern, "Is it cold?" I gently clamped my hand in hers. Suddenly, I felt extremely warm. With her encouragement, I finally finished my homework seriously.
I remember another morning in the middle of winter, and it was very cold. In order to keep out the cold, my friends and I went skating by the river. I accidentally fell into the lime pit. I tried to lift my feet, but my boots were stuffed with lime. "I can't wear it." I resolutely took off my boots and prepared to let my mother wash them for me. Another thought: My mother will criticize me. Finally, I came up with a way to kill two birds with one stone. I hid my boots under the door until it was warm. The weather was a little warmer the next day, so I went to wash it.
Leather boots. But there are no traces of boots under the door. I was so anxious that I almost cried. After a while, I calmed down and went to look elsewhere. Hardly had I found the back door when I heard the familiar sound of "swish, swish, swish". Isn't that the sound of mom's hands working? I followed the sound. In the yard, I found my mother who was washing my boots. Her hand was red with cold and cracked several times. Although it was very cold, there were still a few glittering and translucent beads of sweat slipping from my mother's cheek. I walked up to her, grabbed the brush for brushing my boots and said, "Mom, I'll wash it." Mother said with concern, "Zhen Zhen, I'll wash it." I never promised, but she has taken her boots and brushes. Finally, mother washed it. After washing, she carefully dried her boots. Tears blurred my eyes when I put them back on.
Ah! I want to praise, praise mother's hand, but also praise you-mother.
8. A bowl of porridge composition about maternal love is too long and looks like an endless painting. There are many touching pictures in this painting, and every time I think of it, there will always be a lot of warmth in my heart. In my memory, there is a bowl of warm porridge, which contains glutinous rice, red dates, lilies, yams and my mother's sweet love.
My stomach was not very good when I was a child. The doctor says it's best to drink some porridge every day to nourish the stomach. So, my mother has another job every day-cooking porridge for me.
But at that time, I arrived at school too early, and I always went to school before the porridge was cold, so I never got porridge a few days ago. I am always reluctant to part with the steaming porridge, and there is nothing I can do. Until a few days later, I sat at the table after washing, and my porridge was neither too hot nor too cold, just enough to drink. Every morning, a bowl of warm and sticky porridge makes my stomach really get better.
But gradually, I have some doubts in my heart: even if my mother gets up at five o'clock every morning to cook porridge for me, porridge is slow to cool. I go to school at six, which takes me an hour. How can it cool so quickly?
It was not until the early morning that I got up early by accident that I understood the truth. It was still dark that day, because I ate less the night before, and I was hungry early. I want to go to the kitchen to find something to eat. A scene that touched my composition caught my attention:
It is still dark. In the dim light of the kitchen, my mother stirred the cooked porridge with a spoon, then ordered a basin of cold water, took a small spoon, then filled a bowl of porridge, put her hands on the edge of the bowl, stirred it with a small spoon and blew air with her mouth. When the porridge was getting cold, my mother carefully took it out and dried the periphery of the bowl with a dry towel. ...
Looking at the scene in front of me, watching my mother's focused manner and movements, and then looking at my mother's gray sideburns, I remembered that every morning when I was still asleep, my mother was waiting for a bowl of porridge to slowly change from hot to warm. My nose is sour and tears are rolling in my eyes. I can't bear it any longer. Tears fell like broken beads and wet my clothes. Afraid that my mother would find out, I walked away quietly.
After dinner, my mother put porridge in front of me. Today's porridge is a little salty. I don't know if my mother put too much salt or my tears flowed into the bowl.
Later, my stomach miraculously recovered. I know I am grateful for the bowl of porridge every morning, and I want to thank the mother love hidden in the porridge.
Some people say, "Time will forget everything." But the bowl of porridge that has just been heated will always have the fragrance of maternal love in my memory.
9. Love composition mixed with rice porridge Whenever I turn on the light, I hold a bowl of delicious rice porridge in my hand. Through my body, it warms my tired heart for one day and warms the whole winter ... My father and I have a bad stomach, and it hurts when it hurts. For this reason, my mother cooked porridge for us every morning and evening for seven years, from 8 years old to 15 years old. My mother's hard work paid off. My father and I are raised well by my mother now, which makes me understand a lot. Many ... whenever I drag my tired body home, there is always porridge on the table. My mother makes porridge very well, such as red bean porridge. Red beans are always full, but they will never rot. Jiangmi is also cooked like transparent crystal. Putting rock sugar is a good thing in the world. I'm afraid the luxurious Empress Dowager Cixi has never tasted it, because it was cooked by her mother with love, which was mixed with a mother's love for her daughter. It is enough to get this porridge and love in life! When I pick up the bowl and swallow it, I can't write one hundred and twenty thousand with a pen, but I always feel warm when I eat it.
After a tiring day, I suddenly feel relieved, relaxed and comforted. In short, the feeling of love is always so magical that you can't express it. This is how my mother put all her love for her daughter into it, and greeted me with porridge when she came back from school every day. The unique method and porridge have a unique meaning, which makes me feel unique.
Love mixed with rice porridge is my mother's concern for me, which makes my world no longer cloudy; The love mixed with rice porridge makes my mother look forward to my return and makes her world full of expectations; Love mixed in rice porridge is my mother's love for me, which makes my world full of love forever! A bowl of rice porridge, full of affection, full of love, warm and refreshing. Let my world no longer have a cold winter.
10. In the latest encyclopedia of classified composition for primary school students, my mother cooked porridge for me. My mother doesn't have big eyes. On the contrary, her eyes are small. If she smiles, she will narrow into a crack. My mother doesn't have "curved eyebrows" either, because she is old. She is over 70 years old this year and has almost no eyebrows.
At this point, some students began to laugh. I didn't stop talking about my mother.
My mother's mouth is not small. On the contrary, it is very big, even bigger than Sebrina's big mouth. Because she is also very old, she has lost a lot of teeth, her facial muscles are flabby and her mouth often cracks, so she actually looks bigger.
More students laughed. I paused for a moment, and when they laughed, I said slowly, "But she's still my mother.
She loves me very much. She often cooks porridge for me, and I love her very much. "At this time, the classroom suddenly quieted down.
I know that something slipped into the child's heart lake like water. I said that the composition is actually a bowl of porridge cooked by my mother.
I am a child who grew up in the countryside. When I was ten years older than you, my mother would cook for me after school every day. When I was a child, I used a stove burning wheat straw to cook at home. My mother always puts the wheat straw into the stove by hand, then puts her hands on the apron and rubs it back and forth, while picking up the noodles and pulling them into the pot.
Because the grass ash on your hands is often not cleaned, it is inevitable that some patches will be stained with black when eating, which looks very unclean. Every time I eat "black noodles", I always remind my mother to wash her hands before pulling. My mother is always embarrassed to say yes while eating.
But next time, you can still eat "black noodles". So many times, I don't like my mother's cooking.
Later, I left my hometown to go to school in other places and began to work. More than 20 years have passed, and I am almost forty years old, and my mother is over seventy years old. Every time I go back to my hometown these years, my mother still insists on cooking for me. The difference is that the stove burning wheat straw has long been replaced by the stove burning coal.
Seeing my mother cooking, she seems to have forgotten the tongs for holding coal. She still picked up the coal and put it in the stove, then put her hands on the apron and rubbed it back and forth, while picking up the noodles and pulling them into the pot. I ate my mother's "black noodles" again, and I didn't even feel dirty at all. I swallowed several bowls at a time. I think the rice cooked by my mother is the best in the world. My mother's love is that a bowl of rice fills my stomach.
The classroom was very quiet and the children listened carefully. I said that the composition is actually a bowl of porridge cooked by my mother.
Today, each of us will start to cook our own porridge. Although it may not be delicious, it may be mixed with some "black noodles", but because we didn't buy it from a restaurant or take it from someone else's house, we made it ourselves because of love, and each has its own taste, which is great. After more than ten years of education, I feel like cooking porridge.
At first, I squatted by the side of the road alone, and occasionally pedestrians passed by and stopped to ask me what I was doing. I said I wanted to cook a bowl of porridge, and he said you had nothing. I said yes, but I really want to cook a bowl of porridge.
He said, let me give you a pot. After a while, another pedestrian passed by and stopped to ask me what I was doing. I said I wanted to cook a bowl of porridge, and he said you only had one pot.
I said yes, but I really want to cook a bowl of porridge. He said, let me send you some rice.
Pedestrians kept passing by, some hurried by, and some stopped to help me. Someone brought me water, someone helped me make a fire, and a bowl of porridge was cooked like this.
Thanks to my parents, but also to more kind people who love me and care about my growth like my parents, and accompany me to cook porridge all the way. I also hope that more good people will cook this bowl of educational porridge together.