Tastes a lot

Among the languages of the world, the most similar term for pronunciation is “mother”, mother of English, mère of French, Mütter of German, oblivion of Russian, māter of Latin, mātā of Sanskrit, which is said to be similar to “ummum” when we eat milk. It's a warm word, and when we first opened our eyes, for the first time, the confused pupils focused on the smile of their mother's face; her milk allowed us to know that we were well fed; we expressed our desire for their breasts by crying; from the moment we landed, her life was no longer for ourselves. We grew up along the way, Mom. Worried that maybe Mom was in the mood for us most. Sacrifice, perhaps, may be mother's greatest gestures to us; great, may be mother's greatest behavior to us... what kind of woman is your mother? ♪ Hot as fire ♪ ..the mother of blue heart is a double-faced mom. She's got a girl like a fire. She's a girl. She's a girl. The words are sharp, and there is no cover for what is wrong; she has the tenderness of the Gangnam women as water, but hidden, and there are some fragrances in the rings of the hot mothers. Mom used to be the backbone of the factory's business, passionate character, great ability to work, the looks of the sun, the way she behaved, the help of a friend's hometown, and the way she got to the top, the way she got to the top. My home is in a hidden military factory in the mountains. The father worked on the railway, working day shifts and two days off, and the hours at home should be very adequate. However, the station where Dad works is three stops away from my home, a moon bike, and any two-way train on the tracks is his vehicle. It takes three hours to get back and forth. The father is not allowed to come home when he is at work. He usually comes home after night shift, leaves at noon and leaves for the next afternoon. When I grew up with my mother, I was basically like a single parent's child, and I rarely had a relationship with my father. Just because of the little time he had with me, Dad was very fond of me, he would meet all my demands, and anything good he knew would buy me. A family is like a play, and if you have a face, you must have a red face, and Dad has taken the initiative to take up the status of a white face, and then you can only be my mom with me. Mother and Father, pain is unbearable. Mom works very hard, but she has to check her homework every day. It's only junior high school, but she's very serious, and any little mistake can lead to a storm. The blue heart can't be naughty, because my mother is so hot that if she gets dirty and delays her coming home because she's greedy, she'll sacrifice the “home” — lassing boards and “scrambled meat” — and make me cry. Heart blue was scared of Mom. Mom is "the devil's incarnation" and "punisher". The heart blue is very well studied in the harshness of the mother, year after year, and I even teach the children's shoes in the absence of the teacher. Because I'm a typical good boy paper, and I'm a three-barrel, a "Laining-style teenager," a great student in the city, a myth. I don't need to buy stationery, and every prize is enough for my children's paper to go to school; I'm the stick that every parent in the factory has set up for them, "Look at people's hearts blue..." is a bad education. Because of these, I am the nails in the eyes of the naughty children, who cast me out, bullied me, tortured me and set me up. One time, a baby paper framed me for ruining his scooter, and the rest of the baby paper went up and the parents blamed me. The kids pushed me, and they scolded me. That's when Mom showed up, and she hid me behind him like a hen guard, so I felt warm and safe when I was shaking. My hot mom used her spicy and bravery to show her selfless love and tenderness to me. Mom can't cook, she can perfect the simplest chili sauce into charcoal. Heart blue eats most of the canteen lunch boxes and noodles. Only when Dad comes back is the heart-blue food festival, the crustfish, the chickens, the yellow roosters, the ducks ... to keep the population flowing. However, noodles are the main melody of the heart-blue table, because mothers sometimes work late and the canteen is no longer served. Noodles can actually be colorful, but mom can only have two -- egg and meat. It's a nightmare, and to this day, the heart blues see noodles with the urge to turn their stomachs. And then one day, it wasn't noodles at the table that made the heart so glamorous that it was the end of it, and Mom got her favorite chili, very tempting and delicious. "Mommy, your cooking has grown so much, we don't have to eat noodles anymore, you can cook!" Spicy mom said, "It's a hell of a thing, I'll be an ant on the tree tomorrow." "It's so good, what about the day after tomorrow?" "Noodles." "Ah?" "Then it's the end of the meat, the fan of the meat, a thousand wheels of the meat, and sometimes an egg noodle. It's a good thing these things look like noodles, or I wouldn't have done them." ...my genius hot mom, I'm wearing U, and the reason for this is because it looks like noodles. Now that Mom is old, with all the silver hair in her head, the once delicate body has faded away, and Dan Feng's eyebrows have fallen to the end of their lives, the only thing that remains is still hot, still uncooked, still soft and loving. She'll take care of my career in detail, she'll take care of my life in a ding-ting. Sometimes she talks to me about the small things she did when I was a kid, and most of them are that she gave up her promotion for me, moved from the first to the second, went to kindergarten to take better care of me, followed me from elementary to middle school, and I said to my mother, "Mom, go to primary school and teach." Now it sounds like every time I wake up with tears, my double-faced hot mom, you've done everything for me, you've done everything for me, you've raised me by yourself, you've taken me through the frost with your hidden tenderness, and I'm growing up healthy. You're not "the devil's incarnation" "punisher," and those are the ways to hate the pain of iron and steel, and those dirty clothes are the pain of a day of labor, and now I can feel it and understand it. You're an angel, the most loving angel in life, the most beautiful angel mom. Now that my son has grown up, today I've done a piece of meat, looking far away, whispering, "Mom, I love you. May you be happy and well forever." It's the blues of the Chu。