Life in grade three is very boring. My mother told me to "listen to things outside the window and concentrate on reading sage books". At the same time, she took a series of measures: the cartoons I "accompanied" for many years disappeared overnight; The walkman has also been imprisoned. I dare to be angry about it.
On this day, my mother worked overtime, and I sat at my desk alone, stunned: Why not give my mother a surprise? Today is her birthday.
So I rummaged around for recipes and now I'm learning to sell them now. I've never cooked before, so I'm going to show my talents today.
"Crash" and "Dong" ... The kitchen was transformed into a symphony hall by me. Oil, salt, sauce and vinegar make me in a hurry. I destroyed 5 or 6 eggs on a scrambled egg; I accidentally cut my hand peeling lettuce, so I just sucked my fingers and went on working.
After about two hours, a "delicious" meal is ready. Fortunately, with the guidance of recipes, lettuce fried meat will not be too mushy, and scrambled eggs will not be too salty. The smell of rice made me very satisfied with the result of the first cooking.
"Click", the door opened, and my mother looked at the food in the living room and then at me. I understood. She didn't have the smile I expected, but it turned sunny to cloudy: "You, you are in the third grade, do you still have time to do this?" Do you want to be a nanny when you grow up? The mid-term exam is coming soon, and you are careless to do these useless things. Is there this in the senior high school entrance examination? As I listened, tears welled up in my eyes, and I refuted my mother for the first time: "I have finished my homework." "What? You'll be fine after you finish your homework? You ... "I cried before my mother finished." Today is your birthday! " "Children fuck this luxury? Hurry up and learn! "
I couldn't bear it any longer, and the tears of injustice welled up in my eyes again. I opened the door and ran out, letting the tears wash away again and again. Why can't mom understand me? What did I do wrong? I don't want to struggle in the ocean of problems. This kind of maternal love can only drown me in it. Grade three students are not wooden heads, they also have their own blue sky, but why should even this small place be covered by invisible hands? I don't understand. All I know is that I have been wronged. ...
It's still raining, and my hair and clothes are soaked and flow to my cheeks. Can't tell whether it is rain or tears, bitter and bitter.