Inch of grass - and walk and cherish

　　 Whenever I mention the word "mother", I always need a lot of courage, because the word "mother" is too heavy, she carries a heavy love, so I dare not easily blaspheme her holy. And more heavy than the word "mother" is: Mother's Day.

　　 The 365 days of work a year, in exchange for the three words "Mother's Day". Every year on Mother's Day, the space, forum, microblogging, and other screens are full of blessings and thanks to mothers, but also the same are those few words. Once, I also wrote the words of blessing in space and even wrote a poem of gratitude, but this is the first time I feel that the word "Mother's Day" is very heavy. Now that I think about it, for those mothers, those words of blessing and gratitude, they can't see, can't hear, and don't care, because what mothers care about is the heart. My mother, a very ordinary, very ordinary rural woman, she can not read and does not know Mandarin, she just a day after day, year after year, toiling, busy, nagging. Looking back now, the blessings and gratitude in space, are very ironic, mother, she wants all this, and what is the use?

　　 I like to read books and read beautiful articles. Every time I see those articles about mothers, about motherhood, I am always moved by them and shed tears for them. I used to shed tears, but I'm not sure if any of the countless tears and cries I shed were for my mother. At home, since childhood, I saw more of my father's busy and thin, my father occupied the position that belonged to my mother in my heart, I knew very well what my mother needed, but never gave.

　　 The impression is that I washed my mother's hair and cut her nails, that's all.

　　 As for my mother, every time I came home, I could always hear her worry about me from the mouths of the neighbors. For me, my mother is not like my father, my father gave me the necessary capital to grow up and allowed me to study and get an education. My mother, on the other hand, gave me nothing but milk, but ordinary, ordinary meals. Now that I am alone in the city, I like to wash my hands and cook for myself, but these meals are always missing a taste that should be there in my memory - the taste of my mother. For all the housewives in the world, for the family, for the children, pay is cohesive in porridge and a meal in the heart of a long inch of grass.

　　The thread in the hands of a loving mother, the clothes on the body of a wandering son. I am afraid that I will be late in returning. Who says that the heart of grass is the reward of the three spring sunshine?

　　 I don't know if the clothes worn by others have been patched, but I wore, as a child, a large part of the clothes worn patched clothes, these are sewn by mother stitch by stitch. When I was a child, my grandmother used to let my mother help me thread the needle, and then watch her stitch by stitch, I also learned to sew clothes under the tutelage of my mother and grandmother. To this day, every time I come home, my grandmother always asks me to help put on the needle and thread to prepare for the need to sew clothes. Now, although I don't need to wear patched clothes anymore, I still carry a needle and thread in my luggage in case I need to sew a button or a cuff to experience the feeling of threading a needle.

　　 When I was a junior high school student, I ate my lunch at school. At that time, everyone brought their lunch box to school in the morning, and my mother was always the earliest one to get up, burning the fire and frying the rice before she called me up. When I was in high school, I had to live in school, and I went home once a week. Every Monday morning, when I left home, I took away not only my books, not only the food that was enough to eat for a week but also my mother's expectations and worries. Until junior high school, when I prepared the rice I brought to school by myself, my mother was always watching to see that I brought enough of those things. Whenever someone in the village had a birthday and gave out birthday cakes, she would hide one in the rice jar and leave it for me when I returned from school on weekends. When I wanted to eat dumplings or baked cakes, I would be able to eat them that day if I asked.

　　 Now, I have not eaten my mother's baked pancakes and boiled dumplings for several years, and I occasionally miss the taste of the year, but I wonder if my mother will also miss the days when the baked pancakes were cooked. I remember that every Qingming time, no matter how busy the spring farming is, almost every family in my hometown has to pick mugwort leaves to make mugwort know, those hot mugworts know, nine layer cake, is full of our childhood memories. Nowadays, I forget how many years it has been since my mother made mugwort and nine-layer cake, perhaps since I left home for high school.

　　 These things are small, but they are a combination of my mother's heart and mother's love, inch by inch. For mothers, for mothers' love, mothers don't ask for anything in return, and we can't return it. I know that many girls and boys will wash their hands and make soup for their significant others but rarely do I hear of children washing their hands and making soup for their parents. We grew up as babies and ate meals with the love of our mothers, so please, boys and girls, please wash your hands and make soup for your mothers, so that they can let go of everything and have a real holiday on Mother's Day.

　　 The law of life is set, one day we will have to face the eternal goodbye to our mothers, then, we have become parents, do not know how to cherish only when lost, from now on, with gratitude, with that long inch of grass, and walk and cherish!