600 words to describe my mother's composition, not just maternal love, but to shape my mother's image and its influence on me. Two or three events showed her qualities respectively.

I love my mother, and I love her hardworking and warm hands more.

By chance, I noticed my mother's hand. Those are a pair of hands that don't match their age. Ten fingers were thin and long, and the veins stood out on their hands, as if each one had been engraved with traces of time.

I remember one morning last winter, the wind roared outside and it rained cats and dogs. On my way to school, I accidentally fell down and was covered in mud. When I get home, I am afraid of being scolded by my mother and want to wash it clean, but how cold it will be to wash clothes in the water in this freezing weather! So I quietly threw the dirty clothes in the corner while my mother was not looking.

In the evening, I was doing my homework when I suddenly heard the sound of brushing. I followed the sound and saw my mother squatting by the faucet in the kitchen, struggling to rub her cotton-padded jacket covered with mud. I feel guilty watching my mother's labored movements. I feel that my mother, who has worked hard all day, is not washing clothes, but washing the filth in my heart!

Among the pearls I remember, there is another one: I don't know why, my mother and I had a "conflict" and spoke ill of my mother in a rage. Mom is angry. It's the first time I saw her so angry. I pretend it doesn't matter, and I talk endlessly. Mother raised her hand angrily and fell high ... It didn't hurt, but it hurt in her heart.

I don't know if it's injustice or regret at night, but I secretly hide under the covers and cry. Then someone patted my quilt, and I quickly wiped away my tears. When I saw it, it turned out to be my mother, and my unruly tears swirled in my eyes again. My mother sat down to apologize to me. I feel extremely ashamed and uneasy in my heart. I don't know what to say. My mother held out a warm hand and motioned for her to "get back together". I reached out and gave my mother a high five.

That night, I tossed and turned. When I close my eyes, I see countless pairs of mothers' hands shaking: hands washing clothes hard in cold water; Go shopping with a basket in one hand in the morning; In the middle of the night, the hand sewed clothes under the lamp. ...

Article 2:

My motherland, high mountains and towering peaks overlook the history of wind and rain, and at dusk, the wind and clouds pass by. The solid back has withstood the vicissitudes of hundreds of millions of years.

My motherland, the river is rushing, the mighty torrent rushes through the whirlpool of history, goes forward bravely, washes away the pollution of a hundred years, and the stormy waves hit the canyon, which has experienced many ups and downs of fate.

My motherland is vast in territory and abundant in natural resources, and the beautiful scenery breeds splendid traditional culture. The sun sets in the desert, the moonlight is drunk with lotus flowers, and there are still many splendid civilizations shining on the vast land.

My motherland, with its industrious people, 56 caring nationalities, wonderful oriental charm and romantic humanistic customs, has many beautiful and moving legends that have been passed down through the ages.

This is my motherland, this is my beloved motherland. Is there a beautiful language that can express maternal love? I don't think so.

Is there a magic ruler to measure maternal love? I don't think so.

I read in the newspaper that a massive mudslide in meigu county, Sichuan Province destroyed four villages overnight in June last year, instantly devouring the lives of more than One Happy and Fifth people. A young mother, although her thigh was crushed by a rock, stood in a waist-deep mudslide for more than four hours with only a few big babies in her hands. She persisted until the early hours of the morning, and when the rescuers came, the baby was unscathed!

Tears ran down my cheeks when I read this report. In the misty eyes, there seems to be a sculpture standing in front of us, surrounded by sacred light, that is our mother! It is the maternal light of Chinese mothers that surrounds her!

I once read an article in Reader magazine: In the "7.3 1" air crash in Nanjing, almost all the passengers on the plane were killed, but a baby girl named Dany miraculously survived. It turned out that at the moment of the plane crash, Dany's mother Gong Hongmei held the child tightly in her arms and blocked the rocky foreign bodies and flames with her body. Gong Hongmei exchanged her own death for the life of Little Dany. The mother held her daughter tightly, and the rescuers made great efforts to save little Dany.

A few years ago, when I was a primary school student, I read this article, but I will never forget the shock it caused in my heart! With tears in my eyes, I thought about an age-inappropriate question: what is maternal love? It seems that from this moment on, I found the answer.

One day, my brother copied me a poem entitled "A bowl of rice with oil and salt": The day before yesterday/I came home from school/there was a bowl of rice with oil and salt in the pot. There wasn't a bowl of rice with oil and salt in the pot yesterday/when I came home from school. /Today/I came home from school/fried a bowl of rice with oil and salt/put it in front of my mother's grave.

Glancing at this little poem, I am still in a state of ignorance. When I read this little poem carefully for the second time, my tears came down. For such a mother who has to prepare a bowl of oil and salt rice for her children in the last days of her life, and for such a mother who tries her best to give her children warmth and love in poverty and bitterness. Through the biting wind and rain, I seem to see that there is a poor and great mother like Qian Qian in thousands of poor villages in Qian Qian, Qian Qian!

Like many classmates, I grew up under the care of my mother. Maybe it's because I have too much, and I can't appreciate the preciousness of maternal love. Until my mother left me to work in a distant place, until I left my hometown to study in a vocational school, leaving me away from my parents for a long time. During that time, whenever I saw my roommate and visiting mother happily get together, I would quietly hide aside.

Maternal love is the greatest in the world.