老公一直自夸是个好丈夫好爸爸，每日努力工作，疼老婆爱儿子，把一切可能来犯的假想敌统统拦截在我家围城之外。他说从来都没想过堡垒会从内部攻破，一把屎一把尿地将儿子养大，愣是给自己弄出个第三者来，真是越想越没脾气。
你自己有妈妈
儿子三四岁时，我家几乎每天都会上演一场双人床争夺战。战场从床下到床上，硝烟弥漫，从温情片演到悲情片，战斗往往在儿子的大哭声中结束，但这并不表示儿子输了战争。
记得有次事先说好了儿子自己睡，结果等父子俩洗完澡出来，儿子拖着大浴巾就往我们卧室跑，爬上床钻进被窝大声向老公宣布：“今天我跟妈妈睡！”经过一番好言相劝及唇枪舌战，老公终于失去耐心，撕下所有的假面具，冲儿子叫：“哪有小孩子挤在大人床上的，哪有你这么不听话的孩子！你有自己的房间有自己的床，回你自己床上去！”儿子把小嘴一咧，拖着哭腔：“哪有你这样对小孩说话的嘛……”然后不服气地对老公哭着说：“你自己也有妈妈，你去找你妈妈！这是我的妈妈又不是你的妈妈！妈妈！……”放声大哭。
我笑得几乎岔了气。最终，老公哭笑不得地一边收拾自己的枕头被子，一边嘟哝：“哎哟！算你狠好不好？我怕你，我让着你行不行？”然后夹着自己所有的床上用品从客厅狼狈而过，到另一间卧室去了。
我记得你说过的话
到了三年级，儿子开始不那么听话了。看到别的孩子安静守礼，我也想让他像个小绅士似的表现出应有的教养，谁知他就是不肯合作。我不免检讨自己教子无方，同时开始留意与儿子说话时的措辞，尽量跟他说从书上看来的、我认为有哲理的话，希望能让儿子留下印象并潜移默化产生正面的影响。可现实是，说得最多、不假思索从嘴里蹦出来的还是“吃饭的时候不要老说话！”、“去把书包收拾好！把你的爪子洗干净！”……一副气急败坏有失母仪的样子。每每事过境迁，想到自己说出的这些毫无智慧的话，心虚得不得了。
偶尔也会问儿子，为什么妈妈说过的话你都不记得？儿子悠悠地看着我：“你说的我都记得呀。”听闻我兴奋得一塌糊涂，急忙验证自己的家教结果：“那你都记得什么？”儿子想一想：“噢！我记得你说过吃饭要吃干净不能剩饭，不然我以后只能跟长一脸麻子的女生结婚；我还记得你说过不能看女生上厕所，不然会长针眼；还有，口香糖不能吞到肚子里去，不然会把肠子粘在一起，一辈子都不能大便……”
行了行了！我连忙打断。该记的不记，记住的都是什么乱七八糟的东西啊。
天下最漂亮的石头
一个星期六的中午，儿子要去参加同学的生日会。送他到了目的地，我说等聚会散了再来接他，同学的妈妈说她有车，可以送儿子回家。
谁知直到晚饭时间，儿子还没有回来。待我联系到那个过生日的同学，说儿子６点不到就出发了，算算时间早该到家了。我跳起来就往楼下跑，小区保安、超市店员，连附近的民警都问了，全说没见过儿子的踪影。我一阵发晕，越想越怕，两手冰冷两腿发软，回到家跌坐在沙发上，心里软弱得没有一丝力气。正巧在外出差的老公打来电话，我握着听筒不由得大哭。正哭着，儿子在楼下按响了门铃。
打开门，只见他脸上左一道右一道的黑印子，两只手像翻了垃圾一样脏。我怒火攻心，一把将他拉进门，劈头就是一掌：“疯到哪去了？为什么不打电话回来？知不知道妈妈快急死了……”儿子大概被我的凶相吓住了，呆在那里半天没敢出声。我一时气愤难平，把他拉进卫生间，打开水龙头狠命地把他的手往水里按，“铛”的一声，一件亮亮的东西从他手里掉出来。捡起一看，是一块圆形的半透明的石头。
“这是什么？”我厉声道。儿子的眼泪这才流下来，抽抽泣泣地说：“是我送给你的……”
“送给我的，你哪里捡来的？”
“回来路上捡的，我想你喜欢……”
“不管怎么样，你都应该打个电话回来。”我依然铁青着脸说。
“我是要打的，陈妈妈说不能打了。”儿子越说越委屈，哭了起来。
原来，饭后同学的妈妈邀请大家到家里去玩，孩子们就往家打电话报信，轮到儿子时手机没电了。儿子怕回家晚了我着急，执意要赶回来，也不让同学家长送，自己去坐公车，结果提前一站下了车，就顺着公路往家走。走着走着，看见花坛里有个亮亮的东西，是块漂亮的石头。他想着妈妈一向喜欢漂亮石头，就用手挖出来，又找了水龙头把上面的泥土洗干净，才高高兴兴地回家来，不料进门就挨了我一掌。
我顿时呆在那里，心中一阵阵地揪痛。想到儿子怕妈妈着急要早早回家，第一次独自坐公车走那么远；想到他一个人在路灯下的花坛里用手挖一块石头，就因为妈妈可能会喜欢；想到他满心欢喜地跑回来却挨了我无情的一掌，我心里自责得无法言表，泪一点一点地溢满眼眶。
晚上，我走进儿子的房间，轻轻亲了亲他的脸。儿子的眼泪一下流了出来，我搂着他不停地说：“对不起，妈妈错怪你了，原谅妈妈好不好？”儿子摇着头，一边抽泣一边说：“没关系，妈妈。”他拿出那块石头，说：“妈妈，你喜欢它吗？”“喜欢。”儿子又说：“妈妈，这是钻石吗？”“不是。”我说，“但它是天下最漂亮的石头！”
译文:
You are the Sonny of My Life
My husband has boasted himself as a good lover and good father. He works hard every day and dotes on his wife and son. He keeps all possible imagined opponents out of our family. However, he said he had never expected the fortress would be broken through from the inside. He has begun to foster him with great care since his son was born, but he turned out to be called a third party. The more he thinks of it, the better-tempered he becomes.
You Have Your Own Mum
When my son was three or four years old, almost every day a fight for a double bed would be on in our family. The battlefield began its position in bed and then out of bed, full of laughters and shouts. The fight had its theme ranging from warmth to tragedy, always ending with the cry of our son. But it didn't mean our son failed.
I remembered once my son was early persuaded to sleep by himself. But when the father and son finished bathing and came out, our son, wrapped a turkish towel, ran into our bedroom, climbed onto the bed and got into the quilt, shouting at my husband, "TonightI sleep with mum." After a little gentle encouragement and serious debate, my husband finally lost patience. He removed his false face, yelling at son, " Is there any kid sleeping in the adult' bed? Is there any kid so naughty as you? You have your own room and bed. Go back to your bed!" Our son broadened his small mouth and began to cry, "No daddy talks to a kid like you......" Then he blubbered, debating for himself, " You have your own mum. Go to look for your mum. She's my mum, not yours. Mama......" With this, he had a good cry.
Seeing the scene, I laughed so hard that I almost became breathless. In the end, feeling both amused and annoyed, my husband had to do out his pillow and quilt, murmuring, "Well! You are a winner, OK? I fear you, so I leave, OK? " Then he hugged all his bedding and ran away unwillingly from the living room to another bedroom.
I Remember What You've Said
When my son was in Grade Three, he became less obedient than before. Seeing other children keep quiet and polite, I also wanted him to behave refinedly like a little gentleman. But he refused to do like that. For this reason, I began to wonder if I hadn't taught him in a proper way. Meanwhile, I also paid close attention to the words I said to him. I tried to tell him what I read from books and what I believed reasonable, which I hoped would leave deep impression and have unconscious influence on him. However, what really came out of my mind without hesitation were still those clinches such as "Don't talk while dining!" and "Put your bookbag aside! Wash your hands!".....I was utterly discomforted, acting as if I was not qualified as a mother. After that, whenever I thought of saying these uncultured meaningless words, I would feel deeply guilty.
Once in a while, I ask my son why he can't remember what mother tells him. He would look at me and answer in a leisurely way, " I remember all you've said." On hearing that, I became so excited that I hurried to test how much I had taught him, "Then you tell me, what do you remember?" He thought a while and said, "Well, I remember you've told me to eat up rice and not to have leftovers in the bowl, or I will marry a girl with a pitted face when I grow up. I still remember you've asked me not to peep at girls toileting, or I will get pin-eyed. Besides, I can't swallow chewing gums, or they will make guts stick together so that I can't go to stool in my life......"
That will do! I hastened to interrupt him. See how much he has remembered! What should be remembered is not remembered. All he's remembered are nothing but such petty things.
The Most Beautiful Stone In the World
One Saturday noon, my son was invited to attend a birthday party. After I sent him to the destination, I told him I would pick him up after the party was over. His classmate's mother said she had a car and that she could drive my son home.
However, when it was time for supper, my son still didn't get home. I called the classmate, only to be told he had set out by 6 o'clock and that he should have arrived home. I ran quickly downstairs and asked everyone including security guard in our community, supermarket clerks and even nearby policemen. But they all didn't see my son. I fainted and became fearful, my hands ice-cold and my legs weak. On arriving home, I slumped onto the sofa, devoid of strength. Just then my husband on business in another city called me. I held the headphone tight and couldn't help crying. While I was crying, my son was ringing the door bell downstairs.
I opened the door and saw his face with two black marks on each side and his dirty hands as if he used them to search the trash. Seeing this, I became so angry that I pulled him in and gave him a slap without asking why. Then I shouted at him, " Where did you go to play? Why didn't you call home? Didn't you know how worried mum was......" Maybe frightened by my fierce look, my son stood there in silence for quite a while, not daring to say anything. I still couldn't refrain my anger, so I dragged him into the toilet, opened the tap and rinse his hands under the running water. Following the sound of "dang", a bright thing fell off his hands. I picked it up and found it a round semitransparent stone.
"What's this?" I snapped. At this time my son's tears streamed down. He sobbed, " I sent it to you......"
"Send to me? Where did you get it?"
"I picked it up on my way home. I though you would love it......"
"Anyway, you should call home first. " I said, still with a straight face.
"I intended to make a call, but aunt Chen said it didn't work." As he explained, he felt more and more wronged and began to cry.
It turned out that his classmate's mother invited them to play at home after dinner. Those children called home to inform their parents in turn, but when it was my son's turn, the mobile phone run out of power. My son was afraid that I would feel worried about his coming late, so he insisted on leaving early and not letting others accompany him home. Instead, he took a bus by himself, but he got off at the first stop before the destination. Then he had to walk home along the road. As he walked on, he saw in the flower bed something bright that was a beautiful stone. He thought his mum had a preference for beautiful stones. So he dug it out with his hands, rinsed the dirt on it under the tap and went home cheerfully. He didn't expect he would get a slap from me immediately he arrived home.
Suddenly I stood there and there was a gnawing pain in my heart. My son decided to go home early for fear that his mother would feel worried, so he took a bus for the first time and walked so far. He dug a stone in the flower bed under the streetlight because his mother might like it. He ran home happily, only to get a hard slap from me. At the thought of these, I felt so obsessed by deep remorse that words failed me, tears beginning to fill my eyes.
That night, I walked into my son's room and kissed his face gently. Tears came into his eyes. I embraced him with my arms and kept apologizing, " Sorry. Mum is wrong. Forgive mum, will you? " He shook his head and said while sobbing, "It doesn't matter. Mum." Taking out the stone, he said, " Mum, do you like it? " Then he added, " Mum, is it a diamond? " "No, " I told him, "but it's the most beautiful stone in the world. "