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Mother's gift

   I grew up in a small town where the elementary school was a ten minute walk from home. It was also an era that had just passed, when children could go home for lunch, and there were mothers waiting at home long ago. This is undoubtedly a luxury for children today, but I didn't take it seriously at the time, thinking that being a mother is all about making sandwiches, reading finger prints, and checking homework. It never occurred to me that my mother, a very professional and intelligent woman, had a job before I was born and could go back to my career later. But when I was in elementary school, she accompanies me to lunch almost every day and spends every moment together. All I can remember is that when the bell rang at noon, I ran to my house desperately. When I got home, my mother always stood on the steps and looked at me with a smile. That look clearly means that I am everything in her heart.

  Now, every time there is a sound, like the scream of my mother turning on the teapot, the rumbling of the washing machine in the basement, or the tinkling of the license plate on my neck as my puppy jumps down the steps and shakes his head at me Memories of the past.

  The same thing happened when I was in third grade, and it's still fresh in my memory today. At the time I was chosen to play the role of a princess in a little play at school. For weeks at a time, my mother worked hard to memorize my lines with me. However, no matter how memorized it was at home, as soon as I got on stage, I would forget all the words. Finally, the teacher called me aside, she said that she had written the lines for the narration in the play, and asked me to replace it as the narrator. The teacher's words were kind, but it still stung my heart. I was heartbroken when I thought that the princess role I played was replaced by another girl.

  When I got home for lunch that day, I didn't tell my mother about it, but my mother still noticed that I was uneasy, so she didn't mention the matter of practicing my lines, but offered to take me for a walk in the yard. It was a lovely spring day, the roses on the trellis were green, the dandelions under the elms grew taller than the grass, and the clumps of yellow flowers seemed to be a painter's touch of gold to the beauty of nature. My mother came to a cluster of flowers, bent down casually, pulled out a dandelion bush with all her might, and said, "I can see that all the weeds have been uprooted, and in the future only roses will grow in our garden." "But I like dandelions." I objected, "As flowers are beautiful, so are dandelions." At this time, my mother looked at me seriously. "Oh, don't you mean that every flower has its delights?" she asked thoughtfully. I nodded, and felt very happy that I was able to convince my mother. "But it's the same with people," my mother continued. "Not everyone can be a princess, but it's not ashamed if you can't be a princess." My mother guessed what was on my mind, and I calmed down. I cried and told her what had happened, and she listened with a serene smile. After listening, she said, "You'll make a great narrator." She mentioned how much I usually like to read stories to her, and added, "In every way, the narrator and the princess are equally important. role.” Over the next few weeks, with constant encouragement from my mother, I gradually became proud of my role as the narrator. Lunch was once again our time to read our lines together and talk about what I should wear when I got to the stage.

  On the night of the show, I was still nervous backstage. Just a few minutes before the performance, the teacher walked towards me and handed me a dandelion: "Your mother asked me to give this to you." But as soon as I saw it, I knew that my mother was outside, and naturally I remembered the words I said during lunch with my mother, and my heart was filled with confidence. After the show, I took home the dandelion that I had stuffed into my costume apron during the show. Mother took it, flattened it with two tissues, and put it in a dictionary. Laughing at the thought that maybe only the two of us would treasure such an inconspicuous wildflower.

  I often think back to those lunchtimes with my mother, the days in the warm sunshine, and the little episodes of my childhood. It taught me that the taste of life is to spend it with the people we love, inadvertently sharing bits and pieces of joy that we never anticipated. While eating my mother's peanut butter sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies, I learned that love is in the depths of the little things.

  A few months ago, my mother came to see me. I took time off to have lunch with my mother. The restaurant at noon was bustling, and businessmen were busy making deals while staring at their watches. My retired mother and I were sitting in the middle of the group. From the expression on my mother's face, I could see that she genuinely likes this rhythm of life. So I asked, "Mom, you must have been tired of staying at home when I was a kid?" "Annoying? Housework was annoying, but you never bothered me." If the truth is true, she asked again: "Looking at children is naturally not as exciting as work." "Work is exciting," she said with a smile, "I have a job, which I am glad. But work is like an open balloon, you have to keep inflating it to make it inflate. A child is a seed, you water it, take care of it, and it will bloom beautifully on its own.”

  At this moment, I stared at my mother, and my childhood memories of me and my mother sitting at the dinner table came to my mind. Today, the yellowed dandelion, on two crumpled paper towels, is still tucked away in my old dictionary at home.


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