My husband is on the front line in Iraq, not as a soldier, but as a reporter. When I told my friends about his latest task, each had the same reaction. “Did you tell him no?”

They reminded me, as if I’d somehow forgotten, that he would have left behind our three young children for weeks, perhaps months. He’ll be risking his life, they say, only for some news.

Is it worth it?

I understand the pity they feel for me because of the burden suddenly heaped on my shoulders.

My 5-year-old daughter designed a schedule to determine which of the children would keep me company in my empty bed at night. Whether it was her turn or not, I can usually wake to find her huddling against me. My 7-year-old son has many questions about the war and weapons. Though I’ve never allowed my children to watch the evening news, National Public Radio had been my constant companion, and he was interested in any mention of the war, and he questions me about “when will Dad go home…” Most troubling of all, my 9-year-old daughter has said nothing. She has asked no questions, shed no tears, and she merely glances at the photo of her father displayed on the page next to his article each morning. And all three are probably the only kids at their school who can find Iraq on a map.

In the end, when friends ask, “Is it worth it?” I can answer yes. He, like other reporters from other countries, is presenting us with the truth.

So when my friends ask, I tell them it isn’t a matter of letting him go or making him stay. My husband just does what his career asks him to do.

1．Who cares for the mother most?

      A．Her friends.                                         B．Her son.

       C．He nine-year-old daughter                    D．Her five-year-old daughter

2．The underlined word “schedule” （in paragraph 5） means        .

       A．the way of doing things                      

       B．the place where something happens

       C．the time when some activity is to be held

       D．the rule to do something to follow   

3．The nine-year-old daughter worried the mother most because she        .

       A．doesn’t care about her father very much

       B．hasn’t asked any questions about her father

       C．isn’t as lively as the other children in the family

       D．acts strangely and her mother doesn’t know her attitude

4．The writer thinks her husband        .

       A．is doing a worthwhile job in Iraq

       B．considers his career more important than his family

       C．should follow her friends’ advice

       D．should pay more attention to their children

It was Saturday . As always, it was a busy one, for “Six days shall you labor and do all your work” was taken seriously back then. Outside,Father and Mr. Patrick next door were busy chopping firewood. Inside their own houses, Mother and Mrs. Patrick  were engaged in spring cleaning.
Somehow the boys had slipped away to the back lot with their kites. Now, even at the risk of having Brother caught to beat carpets , they had sent him to the  kitchen for string(线). It seemed there was no limit to the heights to which kites would  fly today.
My mother looked at the sitting room ,its furniture disorderd for a thorough sweeping, Agun she cast a look toward the window. “Come on, girls ! Let’s take string to the boys and watch them
On the way we met Mrs. Patrick, laughing guiltily as if she were doing something
wrong, together with her girls.
There never was such a day for flying kited! We played all our fresh string into  the boys’ kites and they went up higher and higher .We could hardly distinguish   the orange-colored spots of the kites. Now and then we slowly pulled one kite back, watching it dancing up and down it the wind, and finally bringing it down to earth , just for the joy of sending it up again.
Even our fathers dropped their tools and joined us. Our mothers took their turn, laughing like schoolgirls. I think we were all beside ourselves. Parents forgot their  duty and their dignity; children forgot their everyday fights and little jealousies. “Perhaps it’s like this in the kingdom of heaven,”  I thought confusedly.
It was growing dark before we all walked sleepily back to house. I suppose we   had some sort of supper. I suppose there must have been a surface tidying-up, for the house on Sunday looked clean and orderly enough. The strange thing was , we didn't mention that day afterward. I flt a little embarrassed .Surely none of the others had been as excited as I. I locked the memory up in that deepest part of me where we  keep“the things that cannot be and yet they are.”
The years went on, then one day I was hurrying about my kitchen in a city  apartment, trying to get some work out of the way while my three-year-old insistently  cried her desire to “go park ,see duck.”
“I can’t go!”  I said. “I have this and this to do, and when I’m through I’ll be too  tired to walk that for.”
My mother , who was visiting us , looked up from the peas she was shelling ,“It’s a wonderful day,”she offered，“Really warm , yet there’s a fine breczc . Do you  remember that day we flew kites?”
I stopped in my dash between stove and sink . The looked door flew open and  with it a rush of memories. “Come on.”I told my little girl. “You’re right , it’s too  good a day to miss.”
Another decade passed. We were in the aftermath (余波)of a great war. All evening we had been asking our returned soldier, the youngest Patrick Boy, about  his experiences as a prisoner of war. He had talked freely , but now for a long time  he had been silent . What was he thinking of – what dark and horrible things?
“Say!” A smile slipped out from his lips . “Do you remember --- no, of course  you wouldn’t . It probably didn’t make the impression on you as it did on me.”
I hardly dared speak.“Remember what ?”
“I used to think of that day a lot in POW camp(战俘营), when things weren’t too  good. Do you remember the day we flew the kites?”
【小题1】
Mrs. Patrick was laughing guiltily because she thought       .

A．The boys must have had more fun than the girls.

B．They should have finished their work before playing.

C．Her parents should spend more time with them.

D．All the others must have forgotten that day.

It was Saturday. As always, it was a busy one, for “Six days shall you labor and all your work” was taken seriously back then. Outside, Father and Mr. Patrick next door were busy chopping firewood. Inside their own houses, Mother and Mrs. Patrick were engaged in spring cleaning.
Somehow the boys had slipped away to the back lot with their kites. Now, even at the risk of having brother caught to beat carpets, they had sent him to the kitchen for more string(线). It seemed there was  no limit to the heights to which kites would fly today.
My mother looked at the sitting room, its furniture disordered for a thorough sweeping. Again she
cast a look toward the window. “Come on, girls! Let’s take string to the boys and watch them fly the kites a minute.”
On the way we met Mrs. Patric, laughing guiltily as if she were doing something wrong, together with her girls. There never was such a day for flying kites! We played all our fresh string into the boys’ kites and they went up higher and higher. We could hardly distinguish the orange-colored spots of the kites. Now and then we slowly pulled one kite back, watching it dancing up and down in the wind, and finally bringing it down to earth, just for the joy of sending it up again.
Even our fathers dropped their tools and joined us. Our mothers took their turn, laughing like schoolgirls. I think we were all beside ourselves. Parents forgot their duty and their dignity; children forgot their everyday fights and little jealousies. “Perhaps it’s like this in the kingdom of heaven,” I thought confusedly.
It was growing dark before we all walked sleepily back to the housed. I suppose we had some sort of supper. I suppose there must have been surface tidying-up, for the house on Sunday looked clean and orderly enough. The strange thing was, we didn’t mention that day afterward. I felt a little embarrassed. Surely none of the others had been as excited as I. I locked the memory up in that deepest part of me where we keep “the things that cannot be and yet they are.”
The years went on, then one day I was hurrying about my kitchen in a city apartment, trying to get some work out of the way while my three-year-old insistently cried her desire to “go park, see duck.” “I can’t go!” I said. “I have this and this to do, and when I’m through I’ll be too tired to walk that far.”
My mother, who was visiting us, looked up from the peas she was shelling. “It’s a wonderful day,” she offered, “really warm, yet there’s a fine breeze. Do you remember that day we flew kites?”
I stopped in my dash between stove and sink. The locked door flew open and with it a rush of memories. “Come on,” I told my little girl. “You’re right, it’s too good a day to miss.”
Another decade passed. We were in the aftermath(余波) of a great war. All evening we had been asking our returned soldier, the youngest Patrick Boy, about his experiences as a prisoner of war. He had talked freely, but now for a long time he had been silent. What was he thinking of --- what dark and horrible things?
“Say!” A smile sipped out from his lips. “Do you remember --- no, of course you wouldn’t. It probably didn’t make the impression on you as it did on me.”
I hardly dared speak. “Remember what?”
“I used to think of that day a lot in POW camp (战俘营), when things weren’t too good. Do you remember the day we flew the kites?”
【小题1】Mrs. Patrick was laughing guiltily because she thought________.

It was Saturday. As always, it was a busy one, for “Six days shall you labor and all your work” was taken seriously back then. Outside, Father and Mr. Patrick next door were busy chopping firewood. Inside their own houses, Mother and Mrs. Patrick were engaged in spring cleaning.

Somehow the boys had slipped away to the back lot with their kites. Now, even at the risk of having brother caught to beat carpets, they had sent him to the kitchen for more string(线). It seemed there was  no limit to the heights to which kites would fly today.

My mother looked at the sitting room, its furniture disordered for a thorough sweeping. Again she

cast a look toward the window. “Come on, girls! Let’s take string to the boys and watch them fly the kites a minute.”

On the way we met Mrs. Patric, laughing guiltily as if she were doing something wrong, together with her girls. There never was such a day for flying kites! We played all our fresh string into the boys’ kites and they went up higher and higher. We could hardly distinguish the orange-colored spots of the kites. Now and then we slowly pulled one kite back, watching it dancing up and down in the wind, and finally bringing it down to earth, just for the joy of sending it up again.

Even our fathers dropped their tools and joined us. Our mothers took their turn, laughing like schoolgirls. I think we were all beside ourselves. Parents forgot their duty and their dignity; children forgot their everyday fights and little jealousies. “Perhaps it’s like this in the kingdom of heaven,” I thought confusedly.

It was growing dark before we all walked sleepily back to the housed. I suppose we had some sort of supper. I suppose there must have been surface tidying-up, for the house on Sunday looked clean and orderly enough. The strange thing was, we didn’t mention that day afterward. I felt a little embarrassed. Surely none of the others had been as excited as I. I locked the memory up in that deepest part of me where we keep “the things that cannot be and yet they are.”

The years went on, then one day I was hurrying about my kitchen in a city apartment, trying to get some work out of the way while my three-year-old insistently cried her desire to “go park, see duck.” “I can’t go!” I said. “I have this and this to do, and when I’m through I’ll be too tired to walk that far.”

My mother, who was visiting us, looked up from the peas she was shelling. “It’s a wonderful day,” she offered, “really warm, yet there’s a fine breeze. Do you remember that day we flew kites?”

I stopped in my dash between stove and sink. The locked door flew open and with it a rush of memories. “Come on,” I told my little girl. “You’re right, it’s too good a day to miss.”

Another decade passed. We were in the aftermath(余波) of a great war. All evening we had been asking our returned soldier, the youngest Patrick Boy, about his experiences as a prisoner of war. He had talked freely, but now for a long time he had been silent. What was he thinking of --- what dark and horrible things?

“Say!” A smile sipped out from his lips. “Do you remember --- no, of course you wouldn’t. It probably didn’t make the impression on you as it did on me.”

I hardly dared speak. “Remember what?”

“I used to think of that day a lot in POW camp (战俘营), when things weren’t too good. Do you remember the day we flew the kites?”

1.Mrs. Patrick was laughing guiltily because she thought________.

A．she was too old to fly kites

B．her husband would make fun of her

C．she should have been doing her housework

D．her girls weren’t supposed to the boy’s games

2. By “we were all beside ourselves writer means that they all ________.

A．felt confused                           B．went wild with joy

C．looked on                             D．forgot their fights

3. What did the author think after the kite-flying?

A．The boys must have had more fun than the girls.

B．They should have finished their work before playing.

C．Her parents should spend more time with them.

D．All the others must have forgotten that day.

4.Why did the writer finally agree to take her little girl for an outing?

A．She suddenly remembered her duty as a mother.

B．She was reminded of the day they flew kites.

C．She had finished her work in the kitchen.

D．She thought it was a great day to play outside.

5. The youngest Patrick boy is mentioned to show that ______.

A．the writer was not alone in treasuring her fond memories

B．his experience in POW camp threw a shadow over his life

C．childhood friendship means so much to the writer

D．people like him really changed a lot after the war