经典美文：妈妈的小甜饼

以下是小编整理的情感类英语美文欣赏：妈妈的小甜饼， 希望对你有所感触。

那天下午，我坐在学校二楼的窗沿上，看着一辆辆过往的汽车，心不断地往下沉。我们班的终派对将在那天举行，我已经盼了好几个星期了。那个星期，老师还在黑板上弄了个倒计时牌。当这个“派对星期五”到来的时候，我们一班九岁大的孩子兴奋得炸开了锅。

As I sat perched in the second-floor window ofour brick schoolhouse that afternoon, my heartbegan to sink further with each passing car. Thiswas a day I'd looked forward to for weeks: MissPace's fourth-grade, end-of-the-year party. MissPace had kept a running countdown on theblackboard all that week, and our class of nine-year-olds had bordered on insurrection by thetime the much-anticipated "party Friday" had arrived.

I had happily volunteered my mother when Miss Pace requested cookie volunteers. Mom'schocolate chips reigned supreme on our block, and I knew they'd be a hit with my two o'clock passed, and there was no sign of her. Most of the other mothers had alreadycome and gone, dropping off their offerings of punch and crackers, chips, cupcakes andbrownies. My mother was missing in action.

"Don't worry, Robbie, she'll be along soon," Miss Pace said as I gazed forlornly down at thestreet. I looked at the wall clock just in time to see its black minute hand shift to half-past.

Around me, the noisy party raged on, but I wouldn't budge from my window watch Pace did her best to coax me away, but I stayed put, holding out hope that the familiarfamily car would round the corner, carrying my rightfully embarrassed mother with a tin of herfamous cookies tucked under her arm.

The three o'clock bell soon jolted me from my thoughts and I dejectedly grabbed my bookbag from my desk and shuffled out the door for home.

On the four-block walk to our house, I plotted my revenge. I would slam the front doorupon entering, refuse to return her hug when she rushed over to me, and vow never to speakto her again.

The house was empty when I arrived and I looked for a note on the refrigerator that mightexplain my mother's absence, but found none. My chin quivered with a mixture of heartbreakand rage. For the first time in my life, my mother had let me down.

I was lying face-down on my bed upstairs when I heard her come through the front door.

"Robbie," she called out a bit urgently. "Where are you?"

I could then hear her darting frantically from room to room, wondering where I could be. Iremained silent. In a moment, she mounted the steps—the sounds of her footsteps quickeningas she ascended the staircase.

When she entered my room and sat beside me on my bed, I didn't move but instead staredblankly into my pillow refusing to acknowledge her presence.

"I'm so sorry, honey," she said. "I just forgot. I got busy and forgot—plain and simple."

I still didn't move. "Don't forgive her," I told myself. "She humiliated you. She forgot her pay."

Then my mother did something completely unexpected. She began to laugh. I could feelher shudder as the laughter shook her. It began quietly at first and then increased in itsvelocity and volume.

I was incredulous. How could she laugh at a time like this? I rolled over and faced her,ready to let her see the rage and disappointment in my eyes.

But my mother wasn't laughing at all. She was crying. "I'm so sorry," she sobbed softly. "Ilet you down. I let my little boy down."

She sank down on the bed and began to weep like a little girl. I was dumbstruck. I hadnever seen my mother cry. To my understanding, mothers weren't supposed to. I wondered ifthis was how I looked to her when I cried.

I desperately tried to recall her own soothing words from times past when I'd skinnedknees or stubbed toes, times when she knew just the right thing to say. But in that moment oftearful plight, words of profundity abandoned me like a worn-out shoe.

"It's okay, Mom," I stammered as I reached out and gently stroked her hair. "We didn'teven need those cookies. There was plenty of stuff to eat. Don't cry. It's all right. Really.'

My words, as inadequate as they sounded to me, prompted my mother to sit up. Shewiped her eyes, and a slight smile began to crease her tear-stained cheeks. I smiled backawkwardly, and she pulled me to her.

We didn't say another word. We just held each other in a long, silent embrace. When wecame to the point where I would usually pull away, I decided that, this time, I could hold on,perhaps, just a little bit longer.