The story of my mother and I, fourth grade composition

Writing ideas:

Mother is an indispensable member of each of our lives. She gives us life and raises us to grow. I believe that there is a relationship between everyone and their mother. There must be a little story that more or less belongs to both of you? By narrating the story between himself and his mother, he expresses his deep love and gratitude to his mother.

I will write three essays titled "The Story of My Mother and Me" below for your reference! Story of My Mother and Me Essay 1

Many classmates around me said: "Mother is like a river, and father is like a mountain." But when I was a child, I stubbornly believed that our family said it backwards: "Father is like a river." , Mother is like a mountain.” In my memory, when I was a child, my mother didn’t seem to like to smile. She always called me by my first name and seemed very unfamiliar. When I got into trouble, she would slap me with her hand and never gave me a smile. After learning about that incident, I discovered that my mother is actually a river.

I was about seven years old at that time, and I was taking the final exam of the first grade. In the morning, my mother and I were the only ones at home. I didn’t want to pay attention to her, so I quickly picked up my schoolbag and prepared to rush out. But I heard my mother's voice from behind: "Come back!" I slowly put down my schoolbag, and then walked slowly over. "Sit down!" my mother yelled. I sat down with tears in my eyes. "Be careful about the exam questions. Look at you, you are so careless every time. At that time, I didn't understand my mother's hard work. Thinking of the grievance just now, the anger in my heart suddenly came up. I stood angrily He picked up the rice and shouted: You are just trying to compare my gifts to others! You are not giving me any gifts at all!" I saw my mother was stunned for a while, and then she slapped her. I burst into tears, my mother didn't love me at all! She also beat me in the exam today! After a long time, a pair of rough hands touched me. Was it my father? I rushed over, but fell into my mother's warm embrace. Are those hands just now belonging to my mother? In my memory, my father’s hands are rough. Every time I hold his hand, I can always feel the friction of the cocoons. Growing up, I never held my mother's hand, and I never thought that her hands were so rough. "It's okay. How could mother not love you? But when mother said this, she seemed to have thought of something. "Hurry, baby! You're going to be late!" I was stunned for a while. Baby? Are you calling me? But I Before I had time to think about it, my mother took me to school, feeling the friction of the cocoon along the way. At night, my father pulled me over: "It's not that I don't love you, it's just..." At this time, my mother came over and smiled at me. Laugh. She smiled? From that day on, my mother changed and became more loving.

Later I heard the teacher say that my mother is like a river and my father is like a mountain. They all love us the same. It's just a different way of expressing love. I'm still young and don't understand. But my mother is really the river in my heart. The story of me and my mother is incomparable.

The sky is incomparable. It was gloomy, as if a big hole had been torn. Not long after, the heavy rain began to rain down on the earth along with the thunder, and the wind blew in my face. I gently closed my smart eyes, and I could only secretly sigh at the gloomy weather. My eyes were unsteady. I looked at the clock face in the classroom uneasily, praying in my heart that the rain would pass quickly. But the sky seemed to be against me, and the rain poured into the window sill, dripping gently on my fingertips. Jumping to the white ground.

The crisp end of get out of class sounded as usual, and there was no joy in the classroom. Everyone lowered their heads and felt a little depressed, but the rain started to fall more gracefully. Dancing on the gray earth, I merged into the gentle embrace of the earth in a moment. I watched other students holding umbrellas one after another and walking on the way home, but I looked at the Dahua board indifferently, and felt a little bit in my heart. Nothing. I had brought an umbrella if the weather was so bad. I sighed lightly, but suddenly I saw a gentle and familiar figure.

She was holding a light purple umbrella. The ground was walking in the rain, and the raindrops had already soaked her thin clothes. Her face was a little pale, and there were some beads of sweat on her forehead. After a while, she walked up to me and said, "Look at you, you are so big." I don’t know how to bring an umbrella. "My voice was choked, and tears burst out of my eyes: "Mom!" I threw myself into her arms, and she just held the light blue umbrella with endless love, braving the heavy rain and holding it. I was sent back to my warm home. Thank you, Mom, and I closed my eyes again, with tears filling my firm eyes.

The story between me and my mother will never end. The same umbrella, the same story. But my mother’s love for me will never end. My mother’s story essay 3

When I was seven years old, I always came home from school at noon. I ran to the kitchen first. Seeing my mother busy cooking, I would immediately jump into my mother's arms. My mother hugged me and said, "My dear, you are back from school. Go over there and play, Mom." Make delicious food for you. "I asked my mother to squat down and give her a kiss on the face, and then I ran out to play happily. Now that I think about it, maybe that kiss was a reward for my mother's hard work.

< p>When I was nine years old, I came home from school at noon every day. As soon as I entered the door, I smelled the aroma of food. My mother was tidying up the things in my room. Judging from the mess in your books, you have grown up. If you can't even do this little thing, you will make people laugh. "I know, I know," I said as I picked up a piece of meat and stuffed it into my mother's mouth, and my mother smiled happily.

Now, I gradually understand my mother’s love. On my mother's birthday, I used the money I saved to buy a big birthday cake. When I held the cake and walked slowly to my mother, she hugged me excitedly, with tears in her eyes. I gently whispered in my mother's ear: "Happy birthday, Mom!" My mother said emotionally: "Nier has really grown up." At that moment, I suddenly understood that my mother also needs her daughter's love and love in return, and the only person who can give her this kind of happiness is me. A daughter who can understand maternal love early.

There are many more stories about our mother and daughter. I believe that these stories will accompany me as I continue to grow, and the love between mother and daughter will be like a stream, flowing forever and never ending.