Mondays, Moms, & Memories

Mondays, according to my mother, are reserved for a lot of hard work, mostly for washing clothes. I have about 3 loads to wash and I can do other things while that is going on. But, in the days of my mom, I remember the following happenings:
First, a lady named Iona would arrive at our home around 7:00 AM, cook and eat breakfast with my mom (they would laugh and have the best time for awhile), then they would begin the ordeal called "wash day". Down to the basement, Iona and Mom would go with baskets of dirty clothes (there were 7 of us to wash for). There were homemade block-type tables that held huge wash tubs which they filled with clean water, one of which had soapy water in it, and scrub boards (or washboards as some called them). In our basement, there was a round hole in the floor about the size of a barrel where the dirty wash water would be thrown. It would fill up the hole and be all over the floor too. (I wonder now if there was any danger that I or my siblings, or our little friends, might have been washed down that hole; but, at the time, I didn't think about it and neither did any of the other children. Evidently, my overly-protective mom knew that we were safe playing while they washed). My dad bought my mom a wringer-type washing machine later on which replaced the tubs and the washboards (Everyone always said Daddy spoiled Mother, and he did because he loved his "little wife", who was 10 years his junior, so much. In fact, once, when dating, they went to the movies, and she was so small and cute that she was admitted in the show for half price! She loved to laugh and tell us about that event!).

Back to my story: even with that new contraption, much work was still involved for Mom and Iona. Up the steep, dark steps, they would then trod to the clothesline which was triple-stranded and went all the way down one side of the yard (Mom lost her princess ring out there one day which was never found. My husband tried to find it many years later with his metal detector but to no avail).
Oops, I digressed again! After many hours, clothes were taken down, folded and placed in huge baskets, to be ironed by Mom and another hired lady, Juliette (or sometimes her daughter, Alma, filled in for her). This chore was an all-day Tuesday affair. (I'll tell you about that experience tomorrow).
I should feel guilty sitting here blogging while my clothes are being washed and dried...Why don't I? Maybe, it's partly because my hubby spoils me too, as my dad did my mom, with all the latest and greatest inventions. She thought her days were made easy but I didn't; I think the same thing; BUT, what will my grandchildren think when their wash days roll around, I wonder!