國中母親節的英語作文

對於國中生來説，如果要你為母親節寫一篇英語作文，那麼，你會寫些什麼內容呢?以下是本站小編為大家整理的國中母親節的英語作文相關資料，歡迎閲讀。

I love my mother very much. Like many other Chinese women, my mother is diligent. She works in a primary school. In order to teach well, she prepares her lectures very carefully and often works so late at night.

My mother is very kind and sincere. She gets along with her neighbors and colleagues. When they have difficulties, she is always ready to lend them a helpful hand. Therefore she is loved and respected in our neighborhood. From .

Mother often tells me to be honest and upright. She expects me to be useful to the people in the future. Up to now, I still remember her saying: Do as much as you can and you will succeed.人人聽力網

我非常愛我的母親。我的母親跟其他中國婦女一樣，很勤勞。她在一所國小工作。為了教好書，她備課很仔細，常常工作到深夜。

我的母親待人非常和藹而且真誠。鄰居和同事都與她相處得很好。當他們有困難的時候，母親總是樂意幫助他們。因此在我們社區裏，她深受大家的尊敬和愛戴。

母親經常教導我要誠實正直。她希望我將來做一個對人民有用的人。直到現在，我仍然記得她説的話：盡你最大的可能去做事，你就會成功。

Night after night, she came to tuck me in, even long after my childhood years. Following her longstanding custom, she'd lean down and push my long hair out of the way, then kiss my forehead.

I don't remember when it first started annoying me — her hands pushing my hair that way. But it did annoy me, for they felt work-worn and rough against my young skin. Finally, one night, I shouted out at her, Don't do that anymore —your hands are too rough! She didn't say anything in reply. But never again did my mother close out my day with that familiar expression of her love.

Time after time, with the passing years, my thoughts returned to that night. By then I missed my mother's hands, missed her goodnight kiss on my forehead. Sometimes the incident seemed very close, sometimes far away. But always it lurked, in the back of my mind.

Well, the years have passed, and I'm not a little girl anymore. Mom is in her mid-seventies, and those hands I once thought to be so rough are still doing things for me and my family. She's been our doctor, reaching into a medicine cabinet for the remedy to calm a young girl's stomach or soothe the boy's scraped knee. She cooks the best fried chicken in the world... gets stains out of blue jeans like I never could...

Now, my own children are grown and gone. Mom no longer has Dad, and on special occasions, I find myself drawn next door to spend the night with her. So it was late on Thanksgiving Eve, as I slept in the bedroom of my youth, a familiar hand hesitantly run across my face to brush the hair from my forehead. Then a kiss, ever so gently, touched my brow.

In my memory, for the thousandth time, I recalled the night my young voice complained, Don't do that anymore — your hands are too rough! Catching Mom's hand in hand, I blurted out how sorry I was for that night. I thought she'd remember, as I did. But Mom didn't know what I was talking about. She had forgotten — and forgiven — long ago.

That night, I fell asleep with a new appreciation for my gentle mother and her caring hands. And the guilt that I had carried around for so long was nowhere to be found.

翻譯：

夜復一夜，她總是來幫我把被子掖好，即使我早已不是小孩子了。掖好被子後，她會彎下身來，撥開我的長髮，在我的額頭上吻一下。這是母親長久以來的習慣。

不記得從何時起，我開始討厭她用手撥開我的頭髮。但我的確討厭她長期操勞、粗糙的手觸摸我細嫩的皮膚。終於，一天晚上，我衝她嚷道：“別再這樣了——你的手太粗糙了!”母親什麼也沒説。但從此之後，她再也沒有在一天結束的時候用那種熟悉的方式表達她的愛。

時光流逝，許多年之後，我的思緒又回到了那個晚上。那時我想念母親的手，想念她晚上留在我額頭上的親吻。有時這幕情景似乎很近，有時又似乎很遙遠。可它總是潛伏着，時常浮現，出現在我意識中。

一年年過去，我也不再是一個小女孩，母親也有70多歲了。那雙我認為很粗糙的手依然為我和我的家庭操勞着。她是我家的醫生，去藥櫥給我胃疼的女兒找胃藥或為我兒子擦傷的膝蓋敷藥。她能做出世界上最美味的炸雞…能洗掉牛仔褲上那些我永遠都弄不乾淨的污點……

現在，我的孩子都已經長大，離開了家，爸爸也去世了。在一些特別的日子裏，我經常情不自禁地走到隔壁母親的房間和她一起度過。於是，一次感恩節前夕的深夜，我睡在年輕時的卧室裏，一隻熟悉的手有些猶豫地掠過我的臉，撥開我額頭的頭髮，隨後是一個吻，輕輕地印在我的眉毛上。

在我的記憶中，無數次回想起年輕時那晚我抱怨的聲音：“別再這樣了——你的手太粗糙了!”抓住母親的手，我脱口而出地表示我多麼後悔那晚所説的話。我以為她會像我一樣記得這件事情。但媽媽不知道我在説些什麼，她已經在很久以前就忘了這事，並早就原諒了我。

那晚，我帶着對温柔的母親和她體貼的雙手的全新認識進入了夢鄉。而我許久以來的負罪感也消失地無影無蹤。

My mother has no idea that her ninetieth birthday is coming up. She has no notion of the time of day, the day of the week. the season of the year, the year of the century. No notion of the approaching millennium. And no idea any longer, who I am. Her forgetting of me happened just a few months ago, after I had been traveling for more than a month and hadn't been to see her. When I came back, she asked me if I were her niece, l said no, I was her daughter. "Does that mean I had you?" she asked. 1 said yes. "Where was I when l had you?" she asked me. I told her she was in a hospital in Far Rockaway. New York. "So much has happened to me in my life." she said "You can't expect me to remember everything."

My mother was once a beautiful woman, but all her teeth are gone now. Toothless. No woman can be considered beautiful. Whenever I visit her in the nursing home, she is sitting at the table in the common dining room, her head in her hands, rocking. Medication has eased her anxiety, but nothing moves her from her stupor except occasional moments of fear, too deep for medication. This is a room that has no windows, that lets in no light, in which an overlarge TV is constantly blaring, sending images that no one looks at where the floors are beige tiles, the walls cream colored at the bottom, papered halfway up with a pattern of nearly invisible grayish leaves. Many of the residents sit staring, slack-jawed, open mouthed. I find it impossible to imagine what they might be looking at.

When I walk into the dining room on the day of my mother's birthday, I see that she has already been served lunch. The staff has forgotten to hold it back. Though I told them a week ago that I would be providing lunch. She hasn’t touched anything on her tray except a piece of carrot cake, which she holds in her hands. The icing is smeared on her hands and face. I don't want my friends to see her smeared with icing, so I wet a paper towel and wipe her. This fills me with a terrible tenderness, recalling, as it does. a gesture I have performed for my children. As I wipe my mother's face, I see that her skin is still beautiful I hold her chin in my hand and kiss her forehead. I tell her it's her birthday, that she's ninety years old. "How did that happen?" she asks. "I can't understand how that could happen."

l have brought her a bouquet of crimson, yellow, and salmon-pink snapdragons. She likes the flowers very much. She likes the name. "Snapdragons. It seems like an animal that's going to bite inc. But it's not an animal, it's a plant. That's a funny thing,"

I have bought food that I hope will please my mother, and that will be easy for her to eat: orzo salad with little pieces of crayfish cut into it, potato salad, small chunks of marinated tomatoes. I have bought paper plates with a rust-colored background, upon which are painted yellow and gold flowers and blue leaves.

My friends Nola and Gary come for my mother's birthday. When we are about to leave, I tell my mother that I'm going on vacation, mat I won't see her for three weeks, that 1 am going to the sea. "How will I stand that, how will I stand that's she says, but I know that a minute after I’m gone she'll forget I was there.