A mom like no other

When I was a child, my mother was simply my "confidant" because she was so different. I've known this for a long time.

When going to other children's homes, their mothers open the door and say things like "wipe your feet clean" or "Don't bring garbage to the house" is not surprising. But in my house, it's a different story. When you ring the doorbell, the voice of a pretending old child comes out of the door: "I'm the giant boss, are you, graffiti the goat?" Or is it a sweet fake voice singing, "Who's knocking on the door?" Sometimes, the door would open a slit, and my mother would crouch down, pretending to be as tall as we were, and then she would say, "I'm the shortest little girl in the family, please wait a minute, I'll call my mother." "Then the door closed for about a second, opened again, and Mom appeared in front of me — this time in a normal shape." Oh, hello girls!" She greeted us.

Whenever this happens, the first-time companions will look at me with a puzzled look on their faces, as if to say, "Oh my God, what is this place?" I also felt that my face had been lost to my mother. "Mom—" I complained loudly to my mother as usual. But she never admitted that she was the little girl she had been before.

To be honest, adults like their mothers, but after all, it is I who spend time with my mother, not them. They must not have been able to tolerate the existence of the "observer." It was an invisible man, and Mom used to talk to him about our situation.

"You look at the kitchen floor." It is often the mother who speaks first.

"Oh, there's mud everywhere, and you've only wiped it clean," replied the observer sympathetically, "and they don't know how tired you are at work?"

"I guess they're forgetful."

"That's easy, give them the rag of the sewage tank and punish them to wipe the ground clean, so that they can remember it for a long time." The "observer" suggests.

Soon, we were all given a rag and began to work according to the advice of the "observer" to my mother.

The tone of the "observer" was so different from mom's that no one even suspected it was mom's voice. The "observer" watches the family members' every move, picking faults and making suggestions from time to time, so my friends often ask me, "Who's talking to your mother?"

I don't know how to answer.

As time passed, my mother's words and deeds did not change in the slightest, but her image in my mind improved, and a fortuitous event made me realize for the first time that it was a good thing to have a different mother.

The street where my family lives has a few towering trees, and the children like to climb up and down along the trees. If a mother catches a child climbing a tree, it will immediately attract mothers throughout the block, and then they will shout in unison:

"Down! Get down! You'll break your neck! ”

One day, a group of us children were staying in the tree, happily swinging the branches around. Just as my mother passed by, she saw us in the trees. At that time, everyone was frightened. "I didn't expect you to climb so high," she shouted at me, "great! Be careful not to fall off! Then she walked away. We lay in the tree and didn't say a word until Mom disappeared from view. "Wow!" A boy couldn't help but whisper. "Wow!" It was surprise, it was admiration, it was envy for having such a different mother.

From that day on, I began to notice that when my classmates came home from school in the afternoon, they always liked to stay in my house for a while: classmates were often held in my house, and my friends were silent in their own homes, and when they arrived at my house, they became lively and cheerful, talking and laughing with my mother. Later, whenever I and these partners encountered growing pains, I was always willing to ask my mother for help.

I am glad that I am my mother's daughter, I finally like my mother's difference, and I am very proud to have such a mother.