Jenny Emmers
As teenagers, we live in a world different from our mothers, a world where mothers are on the edge. Of course, almost everyone has one; They are inevitable troubles.
Today, when I was near that edge, I looked at my mother with different eyes because I had a teenage daughter. Sometimes I wish I could stop the years and stop her from getting old and repeating herself.
As children, we live in a different world from our mother, and we live in a world monitored by our mother. Of course, almost everyone has such a world, which is an inevitable worry.
Now, when I am also in the guardianship position, when I also become a girl's mother, I begin to look at my mother from another angle. Sometimes, I wish I could stop time and stop my mother from getting old and nagging over and over again.
We sat at my dining table, and the sun designed a mosaic of light on the tile floor. My daughter Anna is sitting next to my mother.
"When will Rick come here?" My mother asked, referring to my husband.
"I don't know, Mom," I answered patiently. "He will come here for dinner."
We sat at the dining table, and the sun shone on the floor, forming a mosaic-like spot. My daughter Anna is sitting next to my mother.
"When will Rick come?" Mom asked. Rick is my husband.
"I don't know, Mom," I answered patiently. "He will come here for dinner."
I sighed and stood up from the table. This is at least the tenth time she has asked this question in a few minutes.
When my mother and daughter were playing monopoly, I was busy making salad.
"No onions," said Mom. "You know how much Dad hates onions."
I sighed and stood up. In a short time, she has asked more than ten times.
Mother and daughter are playing chess, while I am busy making salad.
"No onions," said Mom. "You know how much your father hates onions."
"Yes, Mom," I replied, shoving the onion back into the refrigerator.
I peeled off a carrot and cut it into bite-sized pieces. I used unnecessary force to stab the knife into the carrot. A piece fell on the floor.
"ok, mom." I replied, stuffing onions into the refrigerator again.
I washed a carrot and cut it into small pieces. I tried my best to stab the knife into the carrot. A piece of rob fell to the ground.
"Don't put onions in the salad," she reminded me. "You know how much Dad hates onions."
I can't answer this time.
I just keep cutting. Cut vegetables. Tear. If only I could cut off the years. Tear up the years on my mother's face and hands.
"Don't put onions in the salad," she reminded me. "You know how much your father hates onions."
I didn't answer this time.
I just kept cutting, chopping and crying. If only I could sweep away the time that has passed over the years. Smooth the vicissitudes of mother's face and hands.
My mother is very beautiful. She still is. In fact, my mother is still the same as before, only a little forgetful. I tried to convince myself that this was all. If she really concentrated, she wouldn't repeat herself so much. There's nothing wrong with her.
Mom has always been beautiful. I still do. Actually, my mother hasn't changed much, just a little forgetful. I tried to convince myself that this was the problem. If she could really concentrate, she wouldn't be so nagging. There's nothing wrong with her.
I cut off the end of the cucumber and rubbed it against the cucumber stem to remove the bitterness. White juice oozes from both sides. Wouldn't it be great if all unpleasant situations could be remedied so easily? Cutting and rubbing. This is a trick I learned from my mother, and there are countless other things: cooking, sewing, dating, laughing and thinking. I learned how to grow. I learned the art of sorting out my emotions.
I cut off one end of the cucumber and rubbed it on it to eliminate the bitterness. White juice oozes from the side. Wouldn't it be great if all unhappiness could be solved so easily? Cut it off and rub it. This is a trick I learned from my mother. Besides, there are countless things: cooking, sewing, dating, laughing and thinking. I learned how to grow up and the art of dealing with feelings.
I've learned that I never need to be afraid when my mother is around.
So why am I afraid now?
And I know that as long as my mother is around, nothing can scare me.
So why am I scared now?
I study my mother's hands. Her nails are no longer bright red, but painted pale pink, with almost no color. When I stared at them, I realized that I no longer looked at those hands, but felt that they shaped my youth. These hands packed a thousand lunches and wiped a million cups of tea off my cheeks. Every day of my life, those confident hands.
I studied my mother's hand carefully. Her nails are no longer bright red, but painted pale pink, almost pale. When I look at these hands, I find that I am no longer looking at them, but feeling these hands that shape my youth. This is a pair of hands that have packed thousands of lunches for me and wiped tears from my cheeks countless times. It is a pair of hands that give me confidence every day of my life.
I turned around and threw the cucumber into the bowl. Then it suddenly occurred to me. My hand has grown into my mother's hand.
These hands cooked uneaten meals, held my daughter's frightened fingers on her first day of school and dried the tears on her face.
I turned around and threw the cucumber into the bowl. Then my heart suddenly moved. My hand has grown to my mother's hand.
These hands have cooked many meals without food, and held her frightened fingers to dry the tears on her face on the first day of school.
I became carefree. I can feel my mother kissing me good night, checking whether the window is locked, and then blowing me another kiss at the door. Then I was my mother and gave Anna the same kiss with the same palm.
Everything outside is still. The shadow fell among the trees, shaped like a jigsaw puzzle.
I feel much better. I could feel my mother kissing me, saying good night to me, checking whether the window was closed, and then blowing me another kiss at the door. Then, I became my mother and blew Anna a kiss with the same palm.
Everything is the same outside the house. The shadows of the trees are hazy, like a mystery.
One day, my daughter will stand in my position and I will rest where my mother is sitting now.
Will I remember the feeling of being both a mother and a daughter at that time? Will I ask the same question too many times?
One day my daughter will stand here and I will rest where my mother sits.
Will I still remember what it was like to be a mother and a woman? Will I ask the same question countless times?
I walked over and sat between my mother and her granddaughter.
"Where is Rick?" My mother asked, putting her hand on the table next to me. The distance between us is smaller than when I was a teenager, and I can hardly see it.
I walked over and sat between my mother and her granddaughter.
"Where is Rick?" Mother asked, putting her hand on the table next to me. The distance between us is much smaller than when we were children, and we can hardly see it.
At that moment, I knew she remembered. She may have repeated too much. But she remembers.
"He will come," I replied with a smile.
At that moment, I knew she remembered. She may have nagged several times in a short time, but she remembers.
"He will come here." I answered with a smile.
My mother smiled, too. It was a smile, and the dimples on her face occupied her face, much like my daughter.
Mother smiled at me, and the smile rippled on her face, much like my daughter.
Then she relaxed her shoulders and picked up the dice.
Then her shoulders relaxed and she picked up the dice.