Sep 3, 2009

Reflections on ironing

While Garry was potty-training upstairs, I turned on Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban downstairs and caught up on ironing. I can't say that ironing is my favorite thing to do, but I really don't mind it at all (especially when I have a movie or a friend on the phone to entertain me).

Some of the things I ironed today were super wrinkly because I neglected to fold the laundry for two days after washing it. But today even the most stubborn creases didn't bother me. I liked making order out of the chaos, one shirt or pair of pants at a time. Hanging the items in a neat little (long) row was pretty satisfying, too.

About half the batch.

I made the observation that when Zachary was Gavin's age, I really liked little-boy button-down shirts. This week I opened a box of hand-me-down clothes for the new season, and out came a big pile of plaid button-down shirts. I must have had more time for ironing back then. Also in the box was a church outfit I can't wait for Gavin to wear. That was a fun find, and especially fun to iron.

{Sidebar: Garry is whooping and hollering upstairs at Gavin's latest toilet victory. Flush!}

Another observation: The $1.00 Target spray bottles that I love so much don't last very long. I haven't found a style I like better, functionality-wise, but I find myself buying them two at a time so that when one breaks, I have a spare. (The bottles don't always survive a fall, but I'm a klutz and drop often.) Today they are both broken. It wasn't worth interrupting my movie to make a trip to Target, so I used the built-in sprayer on the iron. I survived. But I'm hoping Target has a pink bottle when I go back for another one (or five).

Whenever I iron, I also think about my mother and my grandmother, who have passed on a legacy of ironing. I started ironing my dad's shirts when I was about nine. As a teenager, I frequently came home from school on Fridays to find "Iron 10" on the job board. After Garry and I were married, it didn't take long to convince him that creases in his pants and on his shirt sleeves looked spiffy, and that spiffy was the new cool. (I know, I'm a dork.) My boys have already asked when they have to learn to iron. It'll still be a few years. But believe me, they'll learn.

I'm just not sure if their wives will thank me for it.
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