I Hate to Iron

The First installment of My Saga of Domestic Ineptitude

Some of my friends grew up at the knees of domestic divas, the unsung Martha Stewarts of their generation. I did not. Other moms baked their own bread and sewed their own clothes before anyone realized that being a homemaker could be marketed.  My mother routinely burned food and passed it off as our “Minimum Daily Requirement of Charcoal”, just like we had a MDR for vitamins. My brother once wrote a school essay entitled, “Morning at My House.” Apparently it started with “I come downstairs and smell the burnt toast…”

Mom didn’t wash dirty dishes immediately; she hid them in the oven. Needless to say, she didn’t bake. She hated to vacuum. When we were in preschool she paid me or my brother 5 cents to vacuum the entire downstairs.  When I complained about the poor wages later in life she said “I got what I paid for.” I never saw her dust. I was 14 before I realized that other people dusted their homes.

My mother, however, DID do laundry. She was almost compulsive about it. When we were very young we had a washing machine but no dryer. I remember laundry hanging out on a square clothes line in the summer and from the rafters in the basement in the winter. And, she loved to iron. She ironed everything from our sheets to my father’s boxers.  She had a frosted glass spray bottled filled with scented water. She would spray the clothes and then roll them carefully. One by one she would unroll the damp item and iron it, then carefully fold or hang it with all of the buttons buttoned, the zippers zipped and the snaps snapped.

I toss clean laundry on the floor of the laundry room. Dirty laundry is typically on the bedroom floors, so we can tell it apart from the clean stuff.  One of the flaws with this “system” is that our clothes are always wrinkled. I once had a neighbor tell me that she’d rather send her kids to school without breakfast than wearing wrinkled clothes. I guess we all have different ideas of good parenting…

I own an iron and even an ironing board. I bought them for my mother when she came to visit.  Kevin gave up on the possibility of me actually ironing a long time ago and takes anything he wears to work to the drycleaners. As for me and the girls, well… I have a few tricks. Like my mother, I own a bottle of scented water. Unlike my mother I just spray the clothes and toss them a back into the dryer. If there isn’t time for that I spray them with Downy Wrinkle Releaser and hope. In really extreme situations I’ve been known to straighten hems using my flat iron. (Finally, a use for the beauty products I buy and never use!)

Sometimes I feel a tiny pang of guilt when I drop the girls off at school and see all of the other children neatly pressed.  And then I think smugly, “at least mine have had a good breakfast…”