The Ideal Homemaker

Grandmother, on a winter's day,

Milked the cows and fed them hay,

Slopped the hogs, saddled the mule,

Then got the children off to school.

Did a washing, mopped the floor,

Washed the windows, and did some chores;

Cooked a dish of home-dried fruit,

Pressed her husband's Sunday suit.

Swept the parlor, made the bed,

Baked a dozen loaves of bread,

Split some firewood, and then lugged in,

Enough to fill the kitchen bin;

Cleaned the lamps and put in oil,

Stewed some apples she thought would spoil,

Churned the butter, baked a cake,

Then exclaimed, "For Heaven's sake.

The calves have got out of the pen!"

...Went and chased them in again.

Gathered the eggs and locked the stable,

Back to the house and set the table,

Cooked a supper that was delicious,

And afterward washed up all the dishes,

Fed the cat and sprinkled the clothes,

Mended a basketful of hose;

Then opened the organ and began to play,

"When You Come to the End of a Perfect Day."

Author Unknown

You wanna know why the author is unknown?  Because she's got my bounty on her head and I'm hunting her down.  As long as this person is female, I think I can rest if I just reason with her.  If it's a man . . . I do believe I am going to have to spend some time in jail after I finish with him.

My mother put together a huge cooking bible cookbook in 1980 for church.  On the front page-before even the title page-was this poem.  Well, I'm sick of it.  I ripped it out, and the only stop was for me to type it down to be mocked.  Then it is going in the garbage.

I think I'll go grumble myself some cold cereal for breakfast before we turn into couch potatoes.

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