In the spring, the sun is warm. The narrow streets and low roofs were covered with a hazy golden gauze. My mother was waving a shovel in the kitchen to make a beautiful dish for me, while I was reading a book leisurely on a small wooden bench in the courtyard. With the flavours of the dishes coming from the air, I was a little nervous. After enduring a few minutes of torture, I finally rushed to the kitchen like an arrow. As I was about to taste a dish from my mother, I suddenly discovered that my mother's hands were oily-this is probably the reason for cooking. My eyes couldn't help but slowly move up: Mother's face was also fluttering with smoke, and her hair was greasy together. I suddenly came up with an idea: help my mother wash her hair! So I put down the chopsticks in my hand and went straight into the courtyard. I moved the small wooden bench next to the small flower pot
, poured cold and hot water into the washbasin, adjusted it to the most comfortable temperature, and then pulled the mother who was puzzled to sit down. I smiled and said to my mother: "Mom, I will wash your hair for you!" After a moment of surprise, my mother gave me a smile. I am twelve years old. , This is my first experience. After slowly soaking the towel, I untied my mother's headband. Some greasy hair mixed with white silk made me feel a faint pain from the bottom of my heart
, and my nose couldn't help getting sour. I gently pressed my mother's head down a bit, soaked my mother's long hair with a warm and damp towel, then squeezed some shampoo, rubbed my hands for a while, and gently smeared on my mother's hair. I gently rubbed my mother with short nails and soft little hands. After a while, my mother put on a pure white hat. I blow it gently with my mouth, and I saw the air floated. Bubbles one by one, under the sunshine, colorful, just like a rainbow baby ... I rinse my mother's hair with water, and as my mother's hair gradually softens, my mood clears inexplicably. I rubbed my mother's hair with a dry towel and gently brushed her long shawl for her. The sun shone on me and my mother, warm. Mother turned around and stroked my head with her hand: "Child, you are grown!" Then, mother lifted her beautiful face happily, and two crystal pearls dripped off my face off-line On the blue sky, clouds are floating; in the garden
Carton Of Cigarettes
, flowers are laughing. Sniffing the wisps of fragrance from my mother's hair, my heart filled with the smell of happiness.