A dandelion（蒲公英）kept in my dictionary always reminds me of my lunchtimes with my mother.
   When I was in the third grade，I was picked to be the princess in the school play，and for weeks my mother had practised my lines（臺詞）so hard with me.But no matter how easily I delivered them at home，as soon as I stepped onstage，every word disappeared from my head.Finally，my teacher took me aside.She explained that she had written a narrator's（旁白）part to the play，and asked me to switch roles.
   I didn't tell my mother what had happened when I went home for lunch that day.But she sensed my pain，and instead of suggesting we practice my lines，she asked if I wanted to walk in the yard.
   It was a lovely spring day and the rose vine（藤蔓）was turning green.Under the huge trees，we could see yellow dandelions popping through the grass in bunches，as if a painter had touched our landscape with a little bit of gold.I watched my mother casually bend down by one of the dandelions. "I think I'm going to dig up all these weeds，" she said，suddenly pulling a flower up by its roots. "From now on，we'll have only roses in this garden."
   "But I like dandelions，" I protested（抗議）. "All flowers are beautiful---even dandelions." My mother looked at me seriously. "Yes，every flower has its own beauty，doesn't it？" she asked thoughtfully.I nodded，feeling pleased that I had won her over. "And that is true of people too，" she added. "Not everyone can be a princess.Hence，there is no shame in that."
   Relieved that she had sensed my pain，I started to cry when I told her what had happened.She listened and smiled.

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Paragraph1：
"You will be a beautiful narrator，" she comforted.                           
Paragraph2：
Backstage on the night of the performance，I still felt nervous.