In daily study, work and life, everyone is familiar with composition. Composition is a narrative method to express a theme through words. How to write a good composition? The following is the excellent composition of my mother's hand, which is for reference only. Let's have a look. Mother's Hands Excellent Composition 1

Those are a pair of rough hands. Ruthless years have branded a deep past on those hands, and a thin cocoon has grown on their bellies. This is mother's hand. I was stunned. The odds and ends in my life are infinitely magnified at this moment ... < P > In winter, the wind is cold. I look clumsy wrapped in four clothes. But I can't resist my active nature. I am alive and kicking all day, and the clean clothes I just put on are dirty in a few days. My mother loves cleanliness and doesn't like my dirty clothes. She often teaches me this lesson, but I always go in one ear and out the other, and never listen to it. Some particularly dirty clothes are always processed by hand before being put into the washing machine. In winter, clothes are soaked in freezing water. Mother crouched aside, slightly hunched, hanging her clothes. The water was taken away from the bucket by the mother's hand, and then passed through the gap between the hands. The foam accumulated in the water a little, and when the old foam broke, new foam floated. The cold mother of the water doesn't seem to notice. She still lingers on the stains on her clothes, but she doesn't pay attention to her hands at all. She has been brushed with cold water and has become vicissitudes. My hands were stiff with cold, and my fingers turned red ...

After washing clothes, my mother turned to prepare lunch. "ah!" There was an exclamation from the kitchen. "What's the matter?" I was shocked. "Nothing!" Mother said, careless I didn't notice anything wrong. "Have a meal!" My mother shouted loudly. At this moment, I found out that my mother's exclamation just now turned out to be hurt! Mother has a long cut in her hand. At this time, regardless of anything, I quickly brought a cotton swab to wipe the wound. But at this moment, I was shocked. Mother's teeth are biting her mouth and trying not to make a sound; Eyes keep closing, opening, closing and opening. I know that my mother is fighting back the pain and tears brought by alcohol. Seeing my mother like this, I relaxed my movements. It's another wound. "I thought to myself: when I was a child, the delicate hands that dried my tears disappeared and were replaced by cold, rough hands covered with calluses." Thinking that my eyes are covered by something, I can't see clearly. Suddenly, I feel something dripping on my face. It's my tears. My mother noticed my abnormality and quickly wiped away my tears with her hands. My hands were so cold and rough, but I felt that my hands were so gentle and delicate, just like those that gently wiped away my tears when I was crying as a child, so beautiful and gentle.

Mother's hands are warm, beautiful, gentle and rough. With those hard hands, my mother took on the triviality of starting a family and supported "half the country". Mother's hand excellent composition 2

Mother's hand is sweet rain and dew, nourishing my dry heart; My mother's hand is a ladder, which helps me climb the peak of my life; My mother's hand is like a ruler, reminding me to keep going.

My mother's hands are warm. I remember when I was six years old, I once had a fever. My mother was anxious like an ant on hot bricks. My mother gently picked me up with her hands. How can her tender hands stand such a heavy weight? Sure enough, just getting on the taxi, I could feel my mother's hands shaking badly and my feet swollen accidentally.

I was in the hospital, and my mother leaned against me all night and couldn't sleep. I really felt sorry for her, so I couldn't help but take my mother's warm hand and feel very safe. A few days later, I was discharged from the hospital, but my mother's feet were swollen like bread. The doctor suggested that my mother take a film. My mother just took some plaster and limped out of the hospital. The scene made me unforgettable. I couldn't help crying and my heart was full of emotion.

The mother's hands are strict, and the child's growth is indispensable for the parents to beat and scold. I remember once, I made an appointment with my classmates to go out to play, so I scribbled my homework, and finally forgot to check it and hurried out to play. When I came back, I only heard the sound of "tearing" and "tearing". When I walked in, it turned out that my mother had torn off my homework one by one. I was angry and blamed myself, crying and finishing my homework.

My mother came over and stroked my head with her hand and gently said to me, "Baby, mom shouldn't tear up your homework. Don't cry. Be careful next time!" After that, my mother kissed my forehead and smiled. I smiled, too, because I knew my mother was very strict with me, and this time I was wrong. I sent my neat homework to the teacher and fell asleep sweetly.

My mother's hands are hard-working. I remember that it was the weekend, and I think my mother can finally have a rest. But my mother got up early, started to make breakfast, clean up the house, went to wash clothes in the morning, went to the market to buy food, and began to prepare lunch when I got home. My mother used her hard-working hands to make delicious food. My mother's hand is like a machine, and it keeps busy. I feel bad for her.

with the passage of time, my mother's hands are no longer as smooth and white as before, but they once held me and cared for me with full tenderness. My mother's hands shed their original beauty for me, but added maternal beauty and maternal greatness. Mom, I love you so much! Mother's Hand Excellent Composition 3

My mother's hand is not beautiful and uncomfortable to touch, but it is the warmest hand in my memory.

before I went to middle school, my mother always washed my hair. It's really a pleasure to relive my mother's feeling of stroking my hair gently.

One winter, after supper, my mother began to wash my hair. She filled a large basin of water, put her hand into it to test the water temperature, and said, "Just right." I bent down, my mother gently wet my hair with water, squeezed some shampoo in my hand and rubbed it on my head a few times, saying that it would not make me feel cold.

She rubbed it carefully, for fear of hurting me. It was very gentle, like a spring breeze blowing through my hair, gentle, soft and warm. When my mother's hand accidentally touches my forehead and ears, I can clearly feel that the calluses on my mother's hands are getting harder and harder, and even make me a little uncomfortable.

As long as I can remember, whenever I intentionally or unintentionally expressed my mother's rough hands, I always heard my father say, "Your mother's hands were beautiful!" But I am puzzled, why I never remember my mother having beautiful hands.

Mother seems to be a little tired and her waist is a little sore. She has to bend down from time to time and adjust her posture, but her hands are still gentle. Mother stopped rubbing, soaked her hands in clear water, and washed away the foam on her hands. Inadvertently, I saw that deep black scar again ...

I remember my birthday one year, and my busy mother specially made me a bowl of longevity noodles. I ate delicious noodles made by my mother, but she accidentally poured boiling water on her hand ... She still has a deep black scar on her hand.

Mother carefully washed away the foam on my head, from the root of my neck to my forehead, from my left ear to my right ear. Then my mother wiped her hands that were not so moist but still warm, wiped my hair with a towel, and then took out a hair dryer to dry it for me.

She holds a hair dryer in her left hand and caresses my hair with her right hand, blowing it from the root to the tip of my hair. Every movement is so gentle and skillful. The hair dryer warmed my neck and ears to the depths of my heart. While my mother was tying my hair, I handed the headband to her hand and said, "Mom, your hands are really beautiful." My mother scraped the tip of my nose lightly and smiled, "Little girl, make me happy!" "

with the warmth of maternal love, I grew up slowly, and I no longer need my mother's help to wash my hair. However, my mother always has things to do, and there are more and more calluses on her hands, and that deep black scar has never faded. Although my mother's hand is no longer as white as before, it has become the warmest and most beautiful hand in my memory. I said to my mother from the bottom of my heart, "Mom, my daughter will also wash your hair in the future ..."