My Mountain....

My Mother used to call ours "Hamby Mountain". Sounds like something that we owned, could climb to the top of, do the whole "goodnight John boy" routine on. But our mountain didn't rival Walton's mountain. Nothing so spectacular. Nothing so grand. It was actually pretty horrifying and dreaded. See Hamby Mountain was what we called the pile of laundry we had to contend with every day/week/month/year. With raising four kids, my mom had a massive amount of laundry. We did a dance and celebrated when we could see the bottom of the baskets. It didn't last long.

I never thought I would see the day when I had my own mountain. It keep growing. The bad thing is that I hate doing laundry. I hate every step there is of doing laundry. I think it is a carry over from my childhood mountain. ~grins~ The image you are about to see may scare some. Please note that I did not have all the laundry in that one pile. It was the major bulk of it though. Again, note that I did warn you about the graphic nature of the photo. May it not scare you as much as it scares me.