If I hear talk of the “good old days” one more time I’m going to barf!
There was a time, many years ago, when I was living in a little cottage right close to a lake; this was when my first born was a toddler and a typical week went something like this:
Monday morning - up early so I could get my washing done. Chop wood for the stove to get a fire going. Out to the lake to get a couple more buckets of water. While it’s heating, get out the wash tub and scrubbing board and start scrubbing until the dirt’s disappeared, along with some of the skin off my knuckles. Hang clothes on the line after rinsing clothes (what the heck do you think I went to the lake again for?). Make lunch for the man of the house and the little one. Change the diapers again and wash them. It’s freezing out there, so a bunch of so called “dry clothes” have to come in to dry (all of them stiff as a board). Relax?
Tuesday morning – ironing to do, so go through the drill with the stove to heat my too sad iron. Balance an ironing board size wooden board between two chairs, and have at it.
On Wednesday you cleaned house (that old wood floor was a son of a gun to wash), more splinters in my fingers.
Thursday and Friday - clean house again, wash diapers, bake bread; and if there’s any time left before supper, listen to the radio and relax.
It’s hard to believe how many necessary jobs continuously filled the days until you put them all down on paper.
So much for the good old days!