妈妈总是知道（2）
《穿过爱的时光》作者：杨柳青 2017-01-24 02:12
妈妈总是知道（2）
“我从您的脑门上读到的。” 我流着泪说。
“在加利福尼亚？”母亲问我。
那时，我意识到所有的女人都是母亲，但是只有很少的女儿会如此幸运。我抱着母亲说：“女儿总是知道。”
这是一篇很令人感动的文章,一句简单的“妈妈总是知道”道出了母亲对女儿的爱与了解；当母亲年迈时，这种爱又在女儿的心头燃起，一句“女儿总是知道”又表达了女儿对母亲的依恋与感激。
A Mother Knows
Lynn Ruth Miller
Not all women who have children are mothers. You can tell a true mother by the penetrating1 look in her eye. A mother always knows everything about you. Absolutely everything.
I had such a mother. I could hide nothing from her. When I would walk into the house after pigging out on chocolate cake at the neighbor’s, she would glance at me and say, “How many times do I have to tell you not to eat between meals? No dessert for you tonight, young lady.”
I looked at her, dumbfounded: How could she see across the street and through the walls of my friend’s house, while she was cleaning the bathroom floor?
“How did you know that?” I asked, wiping crumbs from my chin.
“A mother always knows,” she said.“I can read your forehead. Hand me the Bon Ami. I see a fingerprint on the doorknob. ”
When I would race into the house from school, my eyes popping like a choked fish, my mother would simply point to the bathroom door. “How did you know I had to go?” I asked, as I galloped2 to the toilet with my legs twisted like a pretzel.
My mother would shrug. “I read it on your forehead.”
When I
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“我从您的脑门上读到的。” 我流着泪说。
“在加利福尼亚？”母亲问我。
那时，我意识到所有的女人都是母亲，但是只有很少的女儿会如此幸运。我抱着母亲说：“女儿总是知道。”
这是一篇很令人感动的文章,一句简单的“妈妈总是知道”道出了母亲对女儿的爱与了解；当母亲年迈时，这种爱又在女儿的心头燃起，一句“女儿总是知道”又表达了女儿对母亲的依恋与感激。
A Mother Knows
Lynn Ruth Miller
Not all women who have children are mothers. You can tell a true mother by the penetrating1 look in her eye. A mother always knows everything about you. Absolutely everything.
I had such a mother. I could hide nothing from her. When I would walk into the house after pigging out on chocolate cake at the neighbor’s, she would glance at me and say, “How many times do I have to tell you not to eat between meals? No dessert for you tonight, young lady.”
I looked at her, dumbfounded: How could she see across the street and through the walls of my friend’s house, while she was cleaning the bathroom floor?
“How did you know that?” I asked, wiping crumbs from my chin.
“A mother always knows,” she said.“I can read your forehead. Hand me the Bon Ami. I see a fingerprint on the doorknob. ”
When I would race into the house from school, my eyes popping like a choked fish, my mother would simply point to the bathroom door. “How did you know I had to go?” I asked, as I galloped2 to the toilet with my legs twisted like a pretzel.
My mother would shrug. “I read it on your forehead.”
When I