Mama's mama, on a winter's day,
Milked the cows and fed them hay.
Slopped the hogs, saddled the mule,
And got the children off to school.
Did a washing, mopped the floors,
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 wood and lugged it in,
Enough to fill the kitchen bin.
Cleaned the lamps and put in oil,
Stewed some apples she thought might spoil.
Churned the butter, baked a cake,
Then exclaimed, "For mercy's sake,
The calves have gotten out of the pen!”
Went out and chased them in again.
Gathered the eggs and locked the stable,
Returned to the house and set the table.
Cooked a supper that was delicious,
And afterwards washed all the dishes.
Fed the cat, sprinkled the clothes.
Mended a basket full of hose.
Then opened the organ and began to play,
"When You Come to the End of a Perfect Day.”
I think it would be a good idea for me to stuff a copy of the above in my jeans pocket and take it out every time I find myself whining about having too much on my To Do list.
Reminds me of what the Amish mama's around here must go through each and every day too.
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