I do a 'red' wash load.

My husband wears lots of brightly coloured cheap t shirts he bought in african markets. I use so many colour catchers that I now spend more on them than I do on clothes.

As the fifth of six children (and the first girl) I can confirm that I had to eat fast if I wanted to eat at all.

Except when it came to Mother's Delicious Pressure-Cooked Stews (grey amorphous mass of yukkiness). Strangely no-one ever tried to grab that off me......

Of course, having 6 children means that there is no childhood-related difficulty that my mother didn't suffer and to a far greater degree than I ever could with my mere two.

(But she also suffers from competitive hard-done-by-childhood syndrome so I can't beat her there, either)

Ironing bibs. . I bet your face was a picture!

A woman heading for a fall, I think.

Thanks for the press clarification - have never heard that before. Learn something new every day

I was on a plane recently feeding DS and the woman beside me asked how I ironed her bib which had a plastic backing. Now that's what I call martyrdom.

Getorf - yes it is an airing cupboard, or a hot press for the Irish. In fact I do call my kitchen cupboards presses as well which is still very confusing for everyone else.

My mum irons EVERYTHING including pants, nighties and teatowels. I have cut out ironing altogether by just sticking to cotton clothes. They kind of fall into place but I admit they have a slightly rumpled effect. I like to think it's in vogue.
I am dreading all the school uniform maintenance.

My mother is the original mummy martyre.

She wathced me dealing with a very difficlt 2 yo DS1 once, and said

"I had two younger children by the time my eldest was his age"

Well, more fool you, Mother!

I am boggled by the fuss some people make about washing. Just throw it in (with approximate sort into lights and darks if you can be arsed, maybe), set it on the low-temp-quick-wash setting, let the machine get on with it then either hang on line or chuck on drying rail.
TBH this is where women in particular make their own lives so much harder. Some women seem to have fallen for the idiotic idea that housework is some sort of sacred difficult art, which it isn't. Housework is boring shitwork, so the less you do, the better, and every shortcut possible should be taken. No one will actually die if you only wash up every other day, for instance, and unless you have dozens of pets you don;t need to hoover more than about once a fortnight.

GentleOtter - yes Christmas martyrdom. Deserves its own thread really, but think if we started a Christmas themed thread in July we would get lynched!

My gran was a great one for Christmas maryrdom, despite stating that she loathed Christmas with a passion, she decorated the house to within an inch of its life (oh the tedium of going through the fairy lights to see which fucking bulb had blown!

She also spent a small fortune on perishable food from Marks & Spencer (all of which went off as we were not allowed to eat it - greedy, apparently). We had to watch all the church services on telly on Christmas morning (god forbid if I wanted to watch Noels Christmas Presents) and then she would go inot the kitchen and begin a 5 hour cooking epic, during which everything would be banged and crashed about because she so loathed cooking, but of course nobody was alllowed to help. She would then dish up (burnt) roast dinners with every single trimming you can think of, her hair all in a flurry and near to tears. She would then be in a foul temper for the rest of Christmas.

I try desparately to make Christmas all perfect a la glossy magazines, I always fall short (as I would, if you set perfection as a benchmark you are bound to fail) and end up in tears myself. Bloody Christmas

Oh, Christmas time! It brings out the martyr and sighs so deep that my lungs go into collapse.
And just as you are almost, but not quite, over the immense effort of recreating Lapland and feeding the five thousand, life hits you with New Year a week later.