Perhaps when everyone was a child, everyone could hear the lullaby, or poems: “Even though you are older, you are still my mother. Gone away, still under the mother's womb". And in this essay, I will tell about my wonderful mother - who loves her baby with her whole life.
My mother is over thirty years old this year, her complexion is no longer white, but has turned dark because of her hard work taking care of us. She has waist-length black hair and is always in a neat bun at the back. Her teeth are even, white and shiny and always smile when she has something to make her happy. Her mother is not very tall, a bit thin, and her gait is very agile. Mother is always busy with any job which is shopping, housework, going to work ... but she never complains of hard work or fatigue. Despite being busy, I still make time with the children. My mother taught me to learn, teach me to do housework, she taught me wholeheartedly from the smallest jobs. Well done. I always remember my mother's advice and try to do well.
I always remember the day I first entered the first grade. My mother took me to school. Before that day my mother took me to visit the school, the night she slept, she encouraged and encouraged me not to be surprised by the first days of school. Then when she learned that she wrote letters with her left hand, she persisted every day to practice writing her right hand. Mom took my hand to shape each word, shaping every stroke so that now I can go to the school's clean text exam and win awards, all thanks to her.
I remember one time I was still a child, that day all classes were dismissed early. I was waiting for my mother at the school gate when a friend near my house invited me to walk home because the school was not far from home. As usual, when my mother came to pick up after school, all the classes had come home. Mom hurriedly asked the guard if she saw any children waiting at the school gate but the guard didn't have one. Mom panicked to find me, called Dad to see if he came to pick me up, but he was still doing it. Needless to say, how worried she was. She looked around the streets, where she used to take me out but couldn't find it. Only when my dad came home from work found me at home and then called my mom. Mother came home in a tired state. Right now, I still don't know what I did, so I still sit still. Then my mom beat me, this was the first time my mom beat me, I cried and she cried.
I'm too young, so I don't know what to blame my mother for hitting me. Later, when I was a little older, I found out that my mother beat me just because she was too worried about me, beat me because I didn't listen to her. Until now I still can't forget the time my mother beat me. Mom! I'm sorry. At that time I did not understand to say sorry mom
