In my childhood, my teacher Mrs. Hunter announced that our class would complete a pen-friend project. We would write letters to children in some African countries to make friends with them. So all of us needed to bring stationery (信纸) to school the next day.

Finding some beautiful stationery which was designed with lovely cartoon characters, such as Minnie Mouse and Snow White in the store, I asked my mother to buy it for me. At the store, we learned that a pack of ten pieces of such stationery cost close to seven dollars.

“You’ll have to use common paper,” my mother said. Then, she bought a pack of cheap common paper for me. Obviously, there weren’t any cartoon characters on the paper, so I was upset and disappointed. At that time, I didn’t know my mother was facing some financial (财政的) problems and was trying hard to support the family.

That night, my mother, a lover of schedules, sent me to the bed at the usual time of 9：30. But then instead of going to bed as she normally did, she remained in the living room. When I didn’t hear the voice of a news host through the TV, I wondered what exactly kept my mother up past her bedtime. Walking up to her I found she bent beneath our single lamp, sketching (画素描). When I asked what she was drawing, my mother just covered the page with her arms and ordered me to return to my bed. A week ago, I had begged her for a new box of crayons and she refused. Now I wanted beautiful stationery and she refused again. That night, I lay in bed looking at the moon, believing I was the unluckiest girl in the world.

The next morning, my mother’s eyes were black-ringed, and she looked so tired while preparing the breakfast of oatmeal (燕麦糊) in the kitchen. “Drink it before school,” she said, pointing at the food.

“I don’t want any,” I said unhappily, still upset she didn’t buy beautiful stationery for me.

“Mom, the cartoon characters are so beautiful”I said, with a smile.“Thank you.”

The average present merely satisfies a temporary desire; the great one becomes more precious with time going by.

When I was a boy of fourteen, I needed to have 80 hours of community service per year and I used to take care of Mrs. Long’s garden, which was near the Presbyterian Church. As a junior high school student, I devoted myself to it, sweeping the fallen leaves and mowing the lawn (修剪草坪). There I learnt how to cut away dry branches and even helped to plant a sapling (小树苗). Tired as I was every time I finished my work, I did enjoy the time there for learning something new. I clearly remembered that Mrs Long, a nice and caring elder, always treated me to delicious meals and drinks. She also loved taking photos, always with an old camera in hand. It was said that the camera was passed down from her father and she cherished it a lot.

Several days before Christmas, she whispered to me, “When Christmas comes, I shall have a present for you.” I spent much time wondering what it would be. The boys I played with had baseball gloves, ice skates and bicycles, and I was so eager to acquire any one of these that I convinced myself that she intended to choose from among them. But at the same time, I had some doubts whether she would buy me such things because she was not that well-off.

The day before Christmas, I went there as before. With the work done, I was going to leave when she pulled me aside. “Kid, wait for a minute,” she said, leading me into her living room. She seated me on a chair, went to another room, and in a moment stood before me holding a small package that under no circumstances could hold a bicycle or a pair of skates or even a baseball glove. It weighed almost nothing.

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My husband and I enjoy seeing life through the eyes of our children. It’s amazing to watch as they discover their world.

While we were outdoors last summer enjoying the sunshine, our oldest daughter, Kaytlin, called me to the doorway. Beneath the steps was a baby red squirrel.

We watched it from a distance, not wanting to disturb it or scare off its mother. But after a long wait—and looking all around our house for signs of a nest or a mother—we realized the tiny squirrel was lost.

Shaking terribly, he was weak, thin, and hungry. We tried to find an expert to help, but the Inland Fisheries and Wildlife website showed that there were no wildlife experts in our area. After some quick research, we concluded that the best way to give the squirrel a fighting chance was to care for him ourselves. So a trip to the local store for milk and supplies was in order. More research taught us how much to feed him, how to estimate his age, how and when to wean (断奶) him, and that we should let him go as soon as he could survive on his own.

Our daughters and I took turns in feeding “Squirt.” Kaytlin took on the most responsibility. She taught him to eat from a bottle, and she woke in the night for his feeds.

To our relief, Squirt soon became healthy and strong. Within a few weeks he became more active. He would chatter (吱吱叫) for his next meal, playfully go around the girls, and lie down on them for sleep. It wasn’t long before he was weaned onto solid food and reintroduced to the wild.

His first few visits to the great outdoors were funny. Just like a child, he would play in the grass some and then run back to Kaytlin for safety. Soon she had him climbing trees and finding nest material.

One day in the trees, Squirt met up with a family of gray squirrels.

One night, Squirt didn’t come back to our house and it rained hard.