My mom used to keep a postcard on the refrigerator, that was a little cartoon from the teens or 20′s, depicting a contented housewife sitting in her immaculate living room. Contented and immaculate, because she had solved her problem of mess and labor: she had suspended her husband, two children, and dog on little individual swings, where, presumably, they’d been instructed to stay for their evening’s recreation.
That was not our house. And I’m not sure my mom REALLY wanted an immaculate house ever, since she certainly didn’t devote much stress to it. but interesting how we all have that little vision of what it should be in our heads, eh?