When I got home, I asked my mother for cloth and stitches. My mother doubted, "what do you want cloth for?" I said happily, "sew pockets." My mother was obviously a little uneasy after listening, but she still found me cloth. With all the preparations in place, I began to make my pocket. I take scissors in one hand and cloth in the other hand, and carefully cut the square. It's really a tiring job! The square I cut was either a little less or a little more. When I got angry, it was just like this. Anyway, the cloth seams were sewn in, and I couldn't see them outside. I sewed it with a square piece of cloth with more sides and less sides. When I sewed my pocket, I suddenly felt that it was so difficult to sew things. The needle was not as obedient as my mother used it. It moved in my hand. I pricked it hard, and then I pricked it on my own hand. I cried out pain and watched the blood on my hand come out. My mother ran over at the sound, looked at my hand and said with concern and anger: "look at you, your hands are pricked. Hurry up Don't sew! " My mother took out a band aid from the cupboard and stuck it on me. I endured the pain and said, "no, I don't believe I can't sew a pocket!" My mother was stubborn, so I had to continue to sew. "Kung Fu is not inferior to the painstaking," I finally sewed my pocket. But I found a mistake that can't be ignored - I didn't put "food" into the "big belly" of the pocket, so I sewed up its "mouth". I can't help but ask my mother to open its mouth and fill its "big belly" with rice. At this time, the pocket is bulging like a smart little ball. I sewed his mouth carefully to prevent the food he had just eaten from coming out.
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