Tomorrow, my son will officially enter the park. Recently, he often said that he would eat dumplings. Today, at noon, as he wishes.. Slightly dusty, the lingering boredom came into the house, only to see him and his mother busy and happy in the kitchen. He stood high on the board, touching all hands to knead dough, shouting at me and excitedly reporting on his creation.. I quickly washed my hands and answered. Flushing water flowed briskly between my fingers, looking back at this clean hall and listening to the laughter from the kitchen. When I walked over, I saw that my son had already wrapped up more than 20 pieces. He asked me to count how many pieces he had already made. I said, how good do you remember yourself? That’s too much; I can’t remember, too much! I still have ten minutes to broadcast the news, so I quickly grabbed a handful of coriander from the plastic bag, cooked it and let my wife taste it. I’ll do the rest of the work.. At this time, if my mother knew about the situation of cooking in our family and heard our jokes, she would stand behind us calmly or quietly push the door and sit on a wide sofa in the living room and then gently touch her grandchild’s forehead or cheeks.. That is how fascinating the behavior, to be pleased with the smile? My wife knew the happiness of the family and could not see that I had swept away the dust outside. She just smiled and watched us eat, pushing dumplings in front of us, whispering to her son from time to time, and then whispering to me as if whispering among three close friends under the eaves of rain or hot sun.. The son ate a dozen dumplings, lifted his clothes and patted his belly, then jumped into his bedroom and looked at the bulge of his belly in the mirror.. As soon as I changed my old urge on him to eat, I was afraid that he would break his intestines and stomach and advised him to eat less and eat more when he added meals.. I have become vague. When I sit in front of the panel and crush the dough, whether the four members of our family sit together is a meeting every year when my mother comes back to her family. They are women, laughing and wrapping dumplings in their hands. The whole plate of dumplings, graceful and beehive – like, fell into the steaming pot in batches, from sinking to floating, rolling through the river and swimming in the sea under the impetus of the iron spoon.. Folklore seems foolish and wise, and has remained unchanged for thousands of years.. When I was young, I didn’t think dumplings were delicious, but I thought there was too much trouble from preparation to production and then to other things.. Every time my mother worked enthusiastically, she got my complaints. It was not until the years of flooding, the complicated and complicated instructions of things, the mother’s grief passed away, and she had to enjoy the happiness of the family, that she gradually understood the flavor of eating dumplings at the festival, and gradually realized that the taste of family affection and reunion was completely mixed in the bowl of dough and gathered in the sticky and inclusive skin of a page.. The dead are dead, so do more work for the living and give more energy. When a member of the family, who wants to eat dumplings, we can squeeze out time. We might as well have a game version of the big fight, scoop up the water of the source of life, add five flavors to the basin to blend, nourish it with the mixture of plants and animals, ignite the seven-color fire from the sun, and make the unique Chinese delicacies and auspicious life.. The essence of nutrition, hidden and hidden, has a long history. The wife fished out the dumplings from the hot pot, only to find a rotten one. She sighed and said, Alas, the skin is too thin to be wrapped. But the son of the food watcher next to the record, flashing his raven eyes, said, ” Mom, it’s dumplings too comfortable, it laughs.”.