It's snowing and it's from ylq's blog

It's snowing and it's cold. When I ride a bike, I always shrink my hands into my sleeves, and wrap my handle around my handlebars. I also bought gloves at home, but I was too lazy to wear them. I used to wear gloves while riding, and those were all woven by my mother. When I was in the second and third grades of elementary school, my mother liked knitting sweaters, trousers, scarves, scarves, gloves and the like during farming. My mother likes scarves and scarves, my father likes sweaters, and my favorite is gloves. Of course, my mother also knits sweaters for me. The patterned sweater I am wearing now is made by my mother. I remember that the gloves my mother knitted at first were not very good-looking, the style was simple, and the colors were monotonous. However, I feel very warm and dirty, and it is suitable for me to play with my friends. Mother is very good at learning. As long as she sees the sweaters and gloves worn by others, she will look at them and ask questions carefully. Mother is smart, sensible, and learns fast. Later, the glove style I knitted was much more beautiful, and there were also patterns such as small flowers and puppies. This makes me like my mother's gloves even more. My mother knits gloves for me and never measures my hands; knits sweaters for me and never measures my waist. But the knitted gloves are fitting, and the knitted sweater is fitting. In the past, I often saw one of my mother's movements when weaving clothes: weaving for a while, holding it in front of you, looking at it for a while, and then weaving. I don't know if this is the reason why my mother can weave out fit clothes without measuring. In the past two years, my mother has become unwieldy because of too much housework. But I can still remember her expression when weaving, especially when a piece of clothing is woven Marlboro Red, and a smile will appear on my face from time to time. I want to come now, she might not help laughing when she imagined me or my dad wearing or wearing it. My mother's eyes were particularly focused when she was weaving clothes, and she saw the two needles that were one foot long. They were worn and worn, and nothing else. Sitting on the side, I sometimes dazzled. Now think about the mother who was really an artist at that time. What did she woven for me and my dad not art? Since I saw my mother knitting things, I felt itchy and wanted to learn. One day, when my mother knits gloves, I will sit next to it and take advantage of it. I said to my mother: "Mom, I want to give it a try too." Then he took the needle in her hand. My mother's face sank: "Go, how can a boy learn? While playing!" Looking at her mother's disgusted eyes and gloomy face, I had to run away in vain Carton Of Cigarettes. Since then, I never thought of learning anything to weave. In elementary school, in winter, I would wear my mother's gloves to ride a bike to school Cigarettes For Sale. When I arrived in the class, I often saw several classmates throwing their schoolbags on the table as soon as they entered the class. They stretched out their hands frozen like red shrimp and prawns. I will proudly stretch out the gloved gloves with beautifully patterned hands, and slowly stretch out a lazy waist, both hands draw a "heart" shape in the air. At that time, I did n��t mention how proud I was. Before, my mother wore a lot of pairs of gloves, big and small, and there were one pair left last year. Unfortunately, this summer was bitten by rats. Now I would rather use the sleeves to wrap the handlebars than wearing the gloves I bought. I always feel that they are not good.
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