Mother's embroidery prose

Mother's needlework prose 1 Some people forget it after a long time. Just like the thread in my mother's hand, the longer I pull it, the less beautiful my clothes will be.

There is such a story that has always moved me. My father went out for my tuition and my brother's. A few days after my father left, my mother took out my father's favorite coat and washed it! At night, I sit by the bed and sew by candlelight. I looked up and saw my mother sewing clothes. I didn't go in and looked at my mother quietly at the door, because I was afraid that if I pushed the door, I would disturb my mother so as not to stab her with the sores that had just covered her hands.

I saw my mother looking at my father's jacket over and over again. The jacket was full of patches. My mother is looking for torn clothes. After a while, my mother smiled with a smug smile, as if she had achieved great success! It turned out that mom found a place on the dress that needed mending. Mom pulled a long line and sewed it carefully, but I saw it was badly sewn outside the door, obviously leaving a big gap, but I was very happy to see my mother! Every now and then, I bring something in my eyes and look out the window. After sewing, mother folded the clothes and put them in the closet. Turn around and sit on the bed. I slipped back to sleep.

Time flies. I remember it was the Spring Festival. My father called and said that he would be back in two days. I am very happy! And mom's mouth is nagging-what are you doing back? Is the son's tuition enough? Do you still have this home What are you doing back ... but I can see that my mother is happy! It's just that my mother suppressed her yearning and her hope, and how can our children not understand how precious that waiting is!

The next day, the son was surprised to see his mother take out his father's jacket to dry. In the evening, my mother took out her needle and thread and sat on the bed alone. She slowly took apart the place where dad sewed clothes when he left, and then brought a short thread, because the place where the clothes were torn was very small. It took my mother a long time to sew that place up, and the thread was just used up. To my surprise, I can't see the broken place at all! Mother nagged again, as if to say, "I want to come back, didn't I tell you so?" So many clothes haven't been washed and hung for you. I thought you were going to spend the New Year outside. " My son is very sad. I don't know if I should tell my mother. or ...

Until today, my son didn't understand that there is a person, and the longer we get along, the more we miss him. Just like the thread in my mother's hand, the longer I stretch it, the more I understand that waiting is more precious, richer and happier!

Mother's needlework prose 2 Mother likes needlework. She is 80 years old. Whenever she goes to live in any Children's Home, she will take a needle and thread basket with her. In the past two years, her eyesight has declined. Every time she does needlework, she always asks us to sew a long thread or more stitches for her just in case. In order to let her put down her work, we hid her sewing basket.

The other day, I went to see my mother, and she was sitting there. I asked her what happened, and she gave me a back like a child. I turned to her and found her eyes full of tears. I asked her carefully what happened. "I can't play mahjong or read a book. What do you want me to do? " She said angrily, "Your father brought me that sewing basket when he went to Shanghai ..." My mother, who seldom lost her temper, almost shouted these words.

My mother's words crossed my heart like a sword, which made me feel cruel.

My parents have loved each other all their lives. Father knows that mother can't live without needlework, and always brings her a needlework basket when she comes back from a business trip. There are a lot of needle and thread baskets, but they are all kinds: oval baskets woven with purple-brown rattan, round baskets woven with green wicker ... each one is a mother's treasure. First, she makes shoes for our six sisters, and then she makes shoes for her grandchildren. Later, no one liked to wear shoes made by her mother, so she made them for her father alone.

It was their happiest time. When my father retired, the two ended the days of gathering less and leaving more. We are all married, so they don't have to work too hard for their children. Father always puts mother's needle and thread, thimble, awl, scissors, cloth, etc. Put them in the squares in the sewing basket in turn, so that mother can see what she is using at a glance. The impatient mother messed up the things in the sewing basket, and my father helped her tidy it up again.

The most incredible thing is that my father was tired of reading newspapers and magazines, but he learned to sew with his mother. His clumsiness often made his mother laugh, and her mother said that his crooked needle was "Earthworms looking for their mother". Their love runs through their mother's needle and thread.

But such happy days are always so short. When my father was 64 years old, he didn't wake up from a sudden illness. There were half-pulled cloth shoes made by his mother in the sewing basket. It took her witty mother nearly a year to finish this pair of shoes. That year, my mother's tears were dripping with fine stitches. It was not until my father burned his shoes on his anniversary that my mother seemed to give up a worry. Since then, the sewing basket has never left my mother, and it is very dirty. She was afraid that the washing powder would be corrosive, so she cleaned it with toothpaste. It is broken. She mended it with a piece of cloth.

My father has been away from us for 15 years, and my mother seldom mentions him in front of us. It turned out that when she stroked the sewing basket silently, she silently missed the simple love between herself and her father. ...

My eyes are full of tears. I said, "Mom, I'm going to hold your baby now." Mother, listen, happiness blooms from wrinkles.

Mother's Needle and Thread Prose 3 The tractor sent by the company to move is already at the gate of the yard, and the helping friends are busy going in and out, packing things and loading the car. This is the fifth time my family has moved.

I have moved. Is my sewing basket packed? The old lady is nagging again. I said to her loudly, it's loaded, your antique!

You won't forget your old man's sewing basket, don't worry! What the old lady said more than ten years ago. It seems to be whispering in my ear!

Moved again this year. Is the old lady's sewing basket loaded? The wife said:

This is no longer what the old lady said. This is what I said, not my mother.

"Mom" has been away from us 12 years, and the rattan sewing basket is still there, which should be more than 50 years! He should be older than me.

This is mother's sewing basket, which has been with her all her life, and now we continue to cherish it.

I remember having this sewing basket made of rattan at home as long as I can remember. It is exquisite, but it is my mother's treasure. According to my mother, I brought it from my hometown in Henan. The sewing basket is filled with all kinds of sewing cloth, needles and needles, as well as all kinds of equipment for sewing clothes and making shoes, such as reels, scissors, thimbles, awls and socks. What I remember most clearly is that "Mom" spun hemp rope with a tumbler, combed hemp skin between her teeth, held the tumbler rope high with one hand, and quickly rotated the tumbler with the other hand, twisted the soft hemp skin into a rope, slowly stretched it to almost unbearable, and then quickly put it away to continue the previous action.

Sometimes. "Mom" will ask me to tie the rope with her and wrap a knot in my heart. My mother will put the rope around my wrists and let me pick it up. My little hand will swing from side to side with the action of "mom" winding, and the strings will keep jumping up and down in the middle, just like holding two beating hearts, because the electric waves oscillating in * * * are churning. My heart is so hot.

At that time, it was difficult at home. "Mom" often took this sewing basket to mend my torn clothes. At that time, I was very naughty My clothes are either my arms and legs are broken or my ass is rotten. When they rot, I ask my mother to mend them. One piece after another is a very brilliant phenomenon. I didn't feel my mother's hard work at all, but I was tired of her nagging. What annoys "mom" most is that I am playful and aggressive, and I am also naughty with other children. I climbed the Elaeagnus angustifolia tree, and the thorn of Elaeagnus angustifolia tree hung a hole in my sleeve, but I didn't want to take off my clothes and go out to play. My mother didn't want to, so she took my arm and sewed it directly. Before he finished, the child came to scream, broke free and went crazy with the child. Old, I know. Life is getting better, but "mom" is still doing needlework and can't bear to throw away a little cloth. When every button falls to the ground, she will bend down and pick it up and put it in the sewing basket for later use until she can't do sewing. The sewing basket is placed in the "museum" at home.

Hard life often makes mothers feel sour and helpless. Who let us live in that era when everything is in short supply? Who is to blame? I often see my mother put the needle and thread basket on her leg, sorting out the cloth head and needle and thread, and finishing it for a long time before hiding the tears in her eyes. This is really: "How many tears have been flowing, and I dropped a sewing basket."

Don't say that at that time, every family's life was very difficult. The clothes they wear are all three years old, and they have been mended for another three years. My brother wore it again after wearing it, and so did my sister. The big ones wear the small ones and pass them down one by one. If it is broken, it will be repaired. It is common to put another patch on the patch. I remember my mother said, "Don't laugh!"

As long as I can remember, I always grew up happily wearing cloth shoes made by my mother. My mother's shoes are durable, soft and comfortable to wear, breathable and sweat-absorbent, so I didn't know who had beriberi at that time.

Melaleuca cloth shoes take a lot of effort to make, but also use hemp rope to spin, tie, vamp and sole. It takes many processes to make a pair of shoes. It is really in response to the poem of Meng Jiao, an ancient man, "The thread in the hands of a loving mother makes clothes for the body of her wayward child. Before leaving, I had a stitch for fear that my son would come back late and his clothes would be damaged. But how much love has an inch of grass, and it is rewarded with three spring rays. "

I remember that when the weather is warm, "Mom" often sits on the roof with a sewing basket on her shoulder, basking in the sun, chatting and sewing with her neighbors, Aunt Yang and Aunt Jiang. They live a comfortable life of soles, spinning hemp ropes and sewing. ...

It's very tiring to close the soles. Usually wear a long hemp rope and swing your arms hard. Every time you close the needle, you should prick it with an awl first, so that it will slip when the needle passes. If the needle doesn't slip, rub it on your hair twice. That's brain oil to increase lubrication! Every time I take a needle, I move like a bow. You have to pull the plum blossom needle a few times and walk on the soles line by line. The "rub, rub" sound made by the hemp rope pulled out from the sole is very clear, making the sole strong and durable.

The elders talked and laughed together, talking about what this parent's family lacked. We children joined in and ran around. If we accidentally knock over someone else's sewing basket, we will be reprimanded.

The sewing basket has been with "mother" all her life, and she sewed all her love and blessings into the dense stitches. "Mom" leads a hard life. She came from the old society and worked as a child bride. Because I didn't let go of my feet, I was often tortured by my feet. After I got married, my wife often trimmed her deformed feet and cut her toenails. Feeling the pain of ignorance in her time, trimming the daughter-in-law's love for her mother-in-law.

"Mother", as a family member all her life, collects firewood and cooks for this simple family. It's over. But the tired figure who often wears needles under the faint kerosene lamp often flashes in my mind.

That year, "mother" passed away. After 89 years of vicissitudes, we quietly sent her away with tears. My wife and I looked at the rattan sewing basket she left behind, and we couldn't calm down for a long time and decided to stay. Looking at it, I always feel that the scissors, buttons, thimbles and rags inside are the silent care and warmth of "mother". I think: "mother" is still using her sewing basket in heaven, careful and meticulous, trying to repair the broken days of poverty and backwardness, lack of clothing and food. The needle basket is full of "mom's" expectations and longings! I kept my mother's sewing basket. When I saw the sewing basket and its contents, I felt that my mother was always by my side.

Now, people's living standards have undergone earth-shaking changes, the urbanization construction of Corps has begun to take shape, and residential buildings have mushroomed. The people's food, clothing, housing and transportation are all up to grade. There are few sewing baskets, but "Mom" sewing basket is still there, because it will always contain my wonderful childhood, mended years and even emotions, as well as my mother's kind smiling face when she holds the sewing basket.

Driving, I was broken by the urgent shouts in my memory.

In a daze, "mom's" sewing basket is around.

As we move into our new home,

That's a brand-new building.

Mother's needlework prose 4 When my mother was young, she learned beautiful and unique needlework, especially embroidery. She always embroiders a small flower or pattern on an ordinary cotton shirt or cloth shoes, so that her daughter can go out with the beauty embroidered by herself. When I was a child, my family was poor, and my mother often said, "Take care of clothes, three years old, three years old, and three years sewing." I remember my dad's coat. My mom used to hang it upside down after washing it. I was surprised to find that the rectangular patches on my father's shoulders were stacked one by one, and the stitches of each patch were as thin as pieces of fish eggs dug out from the belly of a fish, stacked layer by layer; The big circle on the knee and the small circle on the bottom of trousers are like the annual rings of an old willow tree. I wear small clothes, and my sister always wears shoes and socks. The cuffs of shabby clothes are so chic even if they are patched. I remember wearing a small green shirt with a hole in the cuff. My mother cut a piece of pink cotton cloth into a petal shape, and it took less than half a cigarette for the silver needle to wear the red thread. My broken cuff became a new sleeve shirt with petals in full bloom. Not including my old shoes. My mother cleaned the vamp, spread a piece of toilet paper, found a match stick stained with soot from her collection of pleated embroidery pictures, carefully traced a pair of dancing butterflies and embroidered them on the front of the vamp. My sister wears them and smiles happily. With the girl's rhythm, the two butterflies came to the grass like sisters and mothers.

The ancients often said that there was a "ploughman and weaver girl", but my family was a "ploughman and weaver girl". Mother does a lot of farm work at home. Father learned a good craft of "weaving socks". Every day, he walks in country markets and towns with a sock machine in his hand, facing the dawn. As soon as the machine was put on the ground, it was surrounded by girls and daughters-in-law. They will each take the thread spun by the cotton spinning wheel and knit a new pair of "foreign socks" for the children at school and their husbands who have run away. This was the most fashionable brand in the countryside at that time. My family's financial resources depend entirely on socks knitted by my dad for Pixing Dai Yue. Every winter, in my spare time, my mother took my sister and me to live in two thatched huts in the east wing, working day and night, and busy making all the clothes and shoes for a year so as not to miss the farm work.

I remember when I was 6 or 7 years old, I loved to watch my mother's movements and demeanor of threading needles up and down when she was embroidering-skilled, serene and clever fingers kept waving up and down. I am humming a ditty, especially at night under the dancing oil lamp. Mother's white and delicate face is so handsome, kind and beautiful under the oil lamp. Listen to Yimeng Mountain Minor that she hummed in her mouth again. With her slender calluses patting me gently, the rhythm of my mouth seems to have penetrated into my blood and my young heart. Melodious tunes floated in the wind in two humble huts. A feeling of caring for each other's families flutters warmly ... this is my home in Lijiatang village at the foot of Mount Tai when I was a child.

When I was 0/0 years old, I was sent to a boys' school as a "son" by my mother. My mother pinned her love, hate, hatred, sadness and ambition on me. She neither allows me to be wronged nor allows me to be inferior to other boys. In daily life, she uses her mother's natural ingenuity to make me look outstanding and foreign. Her original intention may be to cover up and make up for the regret left to her daughter! Mother Zhang Xiuqing's face is very white. God gave her a pair of big eyes like a pool of clear water, clear and bright, with long eyelashes and a high nose. However, she gave birth to me and my sister and left us no beauty. When we grow up, we will still complain about her meanness. I think her natural dexterity may just be trying to make up for her daughter's shortcomings.

What impressed me the most was that when I was in high school, there came a knowledgeable woman director in our village. One day, she came to our village for a meeting. The women in the village want to see this modern female cadre. She wore a yellow military cap, a yellow uniform and a wide shiny belt around her waist. Mom really fell in love at first sight! Specifically, I took a fancy to her yellow uniform. My mother took the initiative to ask the village cadres to deliver meals to my family at noon. When her mother's request was approved, she ran home and made careful preparations, took out her highest cooking skills and cooked several dishes. When eating, the village chief accompanied her. Mother obliquely praised the figure and eloquence of female cadres, especially her beautiful and imposing yellow uniform, and praised the clever women director for seeing through her motives. The village chief said at once, "Sister-in-law is clever and handy. You don't want to learn to be the uniform of our female director, do you? " Mother nodded shyly, and the director of women immediately took off her uniform and handed it to her. Mother took the uniform and quickly spread it on the toilet paper already prepared, describing it as a gourd painting gourd ladle. When they finished eating, my mother sent them away as she wished, and couldn't wait to rummage through the closet, find a new piece of cloth called "Lan Shilin" and open it. Then she spread the drawn paper on the cloth, cut it off one by one, and then connected it one by one with a needle and thread, tried it on me to match the size and width until it fit. My mother pressed the fine needle size of the original uniform with a hand needle. It usually takes an ordinary plainclothes several times to make such a uniform, and this is by no means something that ordinary people dare to do. Until I finished, my mother found a warm crock, filled it with boiling water, wrapped it in a cloth, and let me stretch out my sleeves to iron my shoulders and sew. This is the first work of mother replacing sewing machine with her hands. She looked at it carefully and said to herself, it's not worse than the needle size of a sewing machine. Finally, my face showed a kind of joy and excitement like the completion of a new engineering building. After I tried it on again, my mother immediately folded it and put it in the only wooden box in our house.

Half a month later, the morning before the Children's Day celebration in the whole town, my mother took out this new uniform, as if she had re-examined her wishful work. Let me put on my white shirt first, then put on my blue uniform and turn the white-collar outside. Pants of the same color, without lace and shoes with any patterns, my mother looked it up and down and said, "Not bad, very energetic." I must study hard, and when I grow up, like the female director who came to our house, let the villagers look up to it. " Then solemnly enjoin; Don't be afraid when you speak on the stage today. You must win honor for the school like a boy.

Wearing that gorgeous new uniform made by my mother, I am excited and unnatural. Sneak into school like a mistake. As soon as I entered the classroom, I stood at the door, like a kilowatt light bulb stimulating my eyes in the classroom. The male students glared and stuck out their tongues, while the female students touched my uniform and surrounded me. Cast envious eyes. My mind is in chaos, and the contents of the speech at the conference are all in my mind. Fortunately, the old headmaster called me away and helped me out.

From that day on, I understood my mother's good intentions. Like several generations of mothers, she asked her children to put on clothes sewn by their mothers to go to work, take exams, travel to rivers and lakes and trudge through their careers. The world of mortals rolls around every year. The so-called "thread in the hands of a loving mother makes clothes for the wayward boy's body" is like this. No matter where the child goes, he is held by his mother like a kite. All children are the dragons and phoenixes expected by their mothers, floating high in the air like beautiful lanterns full of various wishes, shining on the land of the motherland and shining on the tired but hopeful hearts of generations of mothers.

Mother's needlework essay 5 It's raining cats and dogs today. Clean up the corner of the sofa and show my needlework. The so-called thin bamboo strips are breathable and the gap is too big. The sewing basket often leaks my thimble and sewing button. In order to prevent loss, we can only sew a layer of cloth on the inner ring and put it in front of us. At first glance, it is not pleasing to the eye, and it is far less exquisite and practical than mom's sewing!

The kang head of rural kang often has a round object with smooth appearance and delicate inside. This material is made of a thin layer of skin wrapped around corn in autumn. How to do it, how to make such soft and delicate corn leaves into such a crisp and delicate sewing basket, really needs kung fu! Careful observation, it turned out that the soft white jade rice skin was first twisted into a strong rope. This is a technical job with little strength. If the rope is not screwed tightly, the surface will not be smooth and delicate. If you are strong, the corn leaves will not hold and will break! After the corn rope is twisted, it will be woven on a circular mold. It is necessary to ensure that each corn rope is tightly together, so as to ensure the compactness and smoothness of the basket. I wonder if those craftsmen have passed it on. Once again, I saw such a needle and thread, which is no longer woven with a rope twisted from corn leaves, but has been mass-produced on the factory assembly line, standing in the booth like a soulless child.

There are needles and threads in my mother's sewing basket. The most striking thing is the shoe-shaped book named Harvest. The cover of the book has disappeared, and my mother put a thick layer of grass-green cloth on it as the cover. The old gray on the cover has been completely covered with grass green, and a big black cloth button has been nailed on the cover. We are not allowed to move shoes. My shoes are the smallest and my father's are the biggest. Every winter, my mother takes out a shoe sample and measures it on my foot three or four times. First of all, I make a pair of shoes of the right size to wear in the New Year. Make another pair of bigger ones to wear next spring; Make a bigger pair until autumn. Mother has been making shoes all winter. Three pairs each, me, brother, sister, father, and finally my own. Often before these shoes are ready, spring comes and farming begins again! In spring, we all wear new shoes to school, while my mother always wears shoes that have been severely deformed last year to work in the fields. The shoes in the shoe sample book are different from year to year. Whose shoes are on which page, and whose shoes are to be added this year, my mother will make it clear in her notes! At that time, I also went to school, and I recognized several big characters quite well, so I often read shoe sample books and made the shoes look messy. Although I secretly set it up, it will inevitably attract a lot of scolding! So the careful mother measured our feet one by one and recorded them again!

How many nights, I fell asleep holding my mother's sole! The bean-sized oil lamp braved black smoke, and thin twine shuttled on the soles of the feet. The shoes made by my mother have thick soles and don't hurt my feet. Others use four layers of soles, and my mother uses six layers. The sole is too thick to be penetrated by the strength of large needles and thimbles, and a needle cone is needed. First pierce the sole with a needle cone, and then pierce it with the needle of hemp thread. When a sole is accepted, there will be countless pinholes in the hand, which is the result of the deflection of the needle cone. Mom can finish a sole in one night and make an upper during the day. It is very demanding to make uppers. The stitches should be fine, even and strong. Mom made the vamp, which is called a nice one! My shoes are usually made of printed cloth, and the extension of the shoes is made of beautiful green Yanbian. The stitches are neatly arranged, and the ants are waiting for inspection. I put them on my feet and walked to the gate. I really hope everyone passing by can see my shoes.

Mother's needle and thread smoldered all the year round, and the top ring was greasy and shiny after months of scratching! But this does not prevent us from treating it as a treasure chest. Yesterday, we will find a glass ball from it. Today, there may be a beautiful button. I hope there will be good news tomorrow. It is my compulsory course to turn over my mother's sewing basket before going to bed every night!

My thoughts came back to my eyes, and my needle and thread lay shyly in the corner. My needle and thread have lost shoe samples, large needles, soles and comfortable cloth shoes.

There is a string of Nike shoes at the door, but the children don't need cloth shoes anymore! Shoes made of more than ten layers of cloth simply can't adapt to the wide cement gravel road! Mother's cloth shoes can only be left in memory, and mother's sewing has also been forgotten on the deserted heatable adobe sleeping platform in the old house!

Mother's needlework prose 6 Mother has been dead for some years. There are not many things left in mom's hand. Sweep dust at home years ago. My daughter-in-law threw an old rattan basket under the cupboard as garbage, and I saw it.

Seeing things and thinking about people, I immediately said:

"That's my mother's sewing basket. Don't throw it away, keep it. "

The daughter-in-law is at a loss!

This is a cylindrical basket made of rattan. It is a little more than 20 cm high and 50 cm in diameter. It is interwoven with wooden rattan the thickness of chopsticks, which is very firm and practical. Decades have passed, and the color of sewing basket is gloomy, and it has already lost its original light yellow.

In retrospect, people's clothes at that time were not only monotonous in color, but also almost patched, whether it was cotton-padded clothes or single clothes, whether it was coats or underwear. What we are pursuing is the spirit of "new three years, old three years, sewing again and again". It is rare to see someone wearing new clothes for a long time. Unless there is a Chinese New Year holiday, or those days when you get married and become a "new person".

See things and miss your relatives. I remember that my mother brought up four of our brothers and sisters, and a younger brother named "Sanzai Lao" died of "acute meningitis" at the age of six. There are old people, grandparents and four of us in the world. You can imagine how hard it is for a mother who has been doing housework all her life. There are four things in life: food, clothing, housing and transportation, and don't let my mother worry. With my father's salary as a shop assistant, my mother, siblings and I have to do housework, such as chopping bamboo chopsticks and spinning hemp rope, to make money to subsidize our families. Mom wants to buy food, cook and do housework. The darned clothes also fell on the mother's shoulders. Now that I think about it, my mother's burden is incredible. But my mother did endure it for decades, and it was not until our four brothers and sisters went out to work and live independently that my mother was relieved.

Mother's sewing basket is very big and contains a lot of things. Besides needle and thread, scissors, ruler, paste bowl and all kinds of old and new pieces of cloth, there are my toys in it. For example: marbles (glass balls), steamed buns (triangular packets folded from cigarette cases) and so on. Mom has to cook and stir-fry during the day and sew clothes to make cloth shoes, so she has to use the evening. My brothers and sisters and I often sit around the big dining table with my mother. Under the dim kerosene lamp, we do our homework and mother sews clothes. Often the homework is finished, and my mother is still sewing late into the night.

When we were young, we children went barefoot every day. Especially for boys, except in winter months, I go to class barefoot every morning as soon as I get up. I am going to high school. My mother made me two pairs of cloth shoes day and night. I also bought a pair of liberation shoes, saying they were worn on rainy days. At this time, I was fifteen years old and began to have shoes to wear. Today, I was deeply moved to see that my grandson changed a pair of rubber shoes and sneakers and filled the shoe cabinet with colorful colors.

Every New Year, my mother will make one or two sets of new clothes for our brothers and sisters, especially me. At that time, Xing asked the tailor to do it at home. Mom will also invite the tailor to work at home for a few days, and pay by the day, including two meals a day. Mom said "worth it". The tailor brought his own sewing machine, needle and thread and other tools. The female migrant workers followed the master to make clothes one by one, carrying the sewing machine at one end and a small laundry basket with tools at the other. The host prepares all kinds of fabrics, cotton and so on. In order to save cloth, mothers often start preparing several months in advance. In addition to buying new cloth and cotton, they often take down old clothes and wash them, and take down materials that can still be used on old clothes to make welts, tin foil and pocket cloth for new clothes. Wearing new clothes is my most beautiful memory every year.

Mother always tries to sew clothes very carefully and sew them better. Not only should we pay attention to the color of patched cloth and patched clothes, but also the stitches are very thin, so wearing patched clothes like this is also very beautiful and close to the skin. Mother sat under the dim kerosene lamp to mend clothes for our four brothers and sisters. The scene of gray hair, rough hands pulling thin threads and needle after needle is still very clear in my mind. Today, when I saw the sewing basket left by my mother, I still missed a little kindness from my loving mother, and my heart ached.

Meng Jiao's Wandering Sons reappeared before my eyes:

The mother used the needle and thread in her hand to make clothes for her long-distance son.

Before leaving, I had a stitch for fear that my son would come back late and his clothes would be damaged.

Who can say that a filial child like the weak can repay his mother's love like the sunshine in spring?