Warm memory composition (about mom buying breakfast for children)

For many years in memory, breakfast at home was the same every day: eggs and noodles. They have never been changed. Eggs are ordinary eggs, and noodles are handfuls of dried noodles bought outside. They are neither thick nor thin.

It seems that my mother can only cook this kind of breakfast, chopped green onion, put it in water, put dried noodles when the water boils, and then beat the whole eggs, no more, no less, one for each person. When I was a child, I didn't know whether I liked it or not. I only knew what adults cooked and ate, so every morning, the whole family ate the same breakfast. I used to think that breakfast in all families was like this.

It wasn't until I lived in a middle school that I accidentally discovered that there were porridge, pickles, fried dough sticks and oil cakes in Sacido, where the school was a little humble-actually not many, but it was so rich that it surprised me and subverted my breakfast concept of 10 years. Since then, my desire for breakfast has been completely awakened. When I go home on weekends, my mother's noodles are tasteless.

After middle school, I began to refuse to eat breakfast cooked by my mother on the grounds that I had enough every morning. Then I asked my mother for money to go out for dinner. Of course, I also know that there are all kinds of breakfasts in the street, which are far richer than the school cafeteria. I seldom eat my mother's breakfast again, unless I am too lazy to go out and barely eat a few mouthfuls.

Later, when I went to college and went back on holiday, I found that my mother was still cooking egg noodles in the morning, the same method, the same procedure, the same noodles and a bowl with my father. There are poached eggs in the bowl with some chopped green onion floating on them.

That morning, I heated the milk in the microwave oven, opened the sandwich bread I bought from the supermarket the day before, sat next to them, joked with them while eating: "Mom, I really admire you, it's been decades …" and said to my father: "Dad, are you tired of eating it for so many years?"

"Tired of eating? Your mother will do the same. " The father smiled and said, "Your mother was so angry when she was a child that she couldn't do anything. This egg noodle is still the temporary cramming before marriage that your grandmother teaches now. " My father said, and began to eat noodles-I didn't think he was bored at all.

My mother poked me with chopsticks: "Little white-eyed wolf, you grew up eating this, and now you don't eat it at all." What happened to the egg noodles? " You have grown to one meter eight, and you are healthy and strong. "

What my mother said is true. I took a sip of milk and said, "If I drink milk every day, maybe I will play in the NBA ..."

Talking and laughing, my parents have finished eating eggs and noodles, and packed the dishes and chopsticks.