双色球开奖号码 www.nsjl.net 描写妈妈的英语作文怎么写？妈妈的英语作文就在下面，欢迎大家阅读！
I love my mother very much.
Like many other Chinese women, my mother is diligent.
She works in a primary school.
In order to teach well, she prepares her lectures very carefully and often works so late at night.
My mother is very kind and sincere.
She gets along with her neighbors and colleagues.
When they have difficulties, she is always ready to lend them a helpful hand.
Therefore she is loved and respected in our neighborhood.
From Joozone.com.Mother often tells me to be honest and upright.
She expects me to be useful to the people in the future.
Up to now, I still remember her saying: Do as much as you can and you will succeed.
Night after night, she came to tuck me in, even long after my childhood years.
Following her longstanding custom, she'd lean down and push my long hair out of the way, then kiss my forehead.
I don't remember when it first started annoying me — her hands pushing my hair that way.
But it did annoy me, for they felt work-worn and rough against my young skin.
Finally, one night, I shouted out at her, Don't do that anymore —your hands are too rough! She didn't say anything in reply.
But never again did my mother close out my day with that familiar expression of her love.
Time after time, with the passing years, my thoughts returned to that night.
By then I missed my mother's hands, missed her goodnight kiss on my forehead.
Sometimes the incident seemed very close, sometimes far away.
But always it lurked, in the back of my mind.
Well, the years have passed, and I'm not a little girl anymore.
Mom is in her mid-seventies, and those hands I once thought to be so rough are still doing things for me and my family.
She's been our doctor, reaching into a medicine cabinet for the remedy to calm a young girl's stomach or soothe the boy's scraped knee.
She cooks the best fried chicken in the world.
gets stains out of blue jeans like I never could.
Now, my own children are grown and gone.
Mom no longer has Dad, and on special occasions, I find myself drawn next door to spend the night with her.
So it was late on Thanksgiving Eve, as I slept in the bedroom of my youth, a familiar hand hesitantly run across my face to brush the hair from my forehead.
Then a kiss, ever so gently, touched my brow.
In my memory, for the thousandth time, I recalled the night my young voice complained, Don't do that anymore — your hands are too rough! Catching Mom's hand in hand, I blurted out how sorry I was for that night.
I thought she'd remember, as I did.
But Mom didn't know what I was talking about.
She had forgotten — and forgiven — long ago.
That night, I fell asleep with a new appreciation for my gentle mother and her caring hands.
And the guilt that I had carried around for so long was nowhere to be found.
1、I have bought food that I hope will please my mother, and that will be easy for her to eat: orzo salad with little pieces of crayfish cut into it, potato salad, small chunks of marinated tomatoes.
2、l have brought her a bouquet of crimson, yellow, and salmon-pink snapdragons.
She likes the flowers very much.
3、 As I wipe my mother's face, I see that her skin is still beautiful I hold her chin in my hand and kiss her forehead.
My mother has no idea that her ninetieth birthday is coming up.
She has no notion of the time of day, the day of the week.
the season of the year, the year of the century.
No notion of the approaching millennium.
And no idea any longer, who I am.
Her forgetting of me happened just a few months ago, after I had been traveling for more than a month and hadn't been to see her.
When I came back, she asked me if I were her niece, l said no, I was her daughter.
"Does that mean I had you?" she asked.
1 said yes.
"Where was I when l had you?" she asked me.
I told her she was in a hospital in Far Rockaway.
"So much has happened to me in my life.
" she said "You can't expect me to remember everything.
My mother was once a beautiful woman, but all her teeth are gone now.
No woman can be considered beautiful.
Whenever I visit her in the nursing home, she is sitting at the table in the common dining room, her head in her hands, rocking.
Medication has eased her anxiety, but nothing moves her from her stupor except occasional moments of fear, too deep for medication.
This is a room that has no windows, that lets in no light, in which an overlarge TV is constantly blaring, sending images that no one looks at where the floors are beige tiles, the walls cream colored at the bottom, papered halfway up with a pattern of nearly invisible grayish leaves.
Many of the residents sit staring, slack-jawed, open mouthed.
I find it impossible to imagine what they might be looking at.
When I walk into the dining room on the day of my mother's birthday, I see that she has already been served lunch.
The staff has forgotten to hold it back.
Though I told them a week ago that I would be providing lunch.
She hasn’t touched anything on her tray except a piece of carrot cake, which she holds in her hands.
The icing is smeared on her hands and face.
I don't want my friends to see her smeared with icing, so I wet a paper towel and wipe her.
This fills me with a terrible tenderness, recalling, as it does.
a gesture I have performed for my children.
As I wipe my mother's face, I see that her skin is still beautiful I hold her chin in my hand and kiss her forehead.
I tell her it's her birthday, that she's ninety years old.
"How did that happen?" she asks.
"I can't understand how that could happen."
l have brought her a bouquet of crimson, yellow, and salmon-pink snapdragons.
She likes the flowers very much.
She likes the name.
It seems like an animal that's going to bite inc.
But it's not an animal, it's a plant.
That's a funny thing,"
I have bought food that I hope will please my mother, and that will be easy for her to eat: orzo salad with little pieces of crayfish cut into it, potato salad, small chunks of marinated tomatoes.
I have bought paper plates with a rust-colored background, upon which are painted yellow and gold flowers and blue leaves.
My friends Nola and Gary come for my mother's birthday.
When we are about to leave, I tell my mother that I'm going on vacation, mat I won't see her for three weeks, that 1 am going to the sea.
"How will I stand that, how will I stand that's she says, but I know that a minute after I’m gone she'll forget I was there.