Momservation: Strike while the iron is hot—or get someone else to do it.
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Apparently, I’m not setting a good example in the ironing department.
Hey—God wouldn’t have invented dryers if he didn’t want us to just throw wrinkled clothes in for a quick roll on high heat.
Ok, so God didn’t invent dryers, but I still believe being permanently pressed is over-rated.
But I admit there is a time and place where presenting yourself as a wrinkled slob is not image you should project.
So one of these moments happened upon us where my daughter was helping my son pick out an outfit for a permanent-press-is-best event.
My 15 year-old had picked out a good-looking ensemble for my 16 year-old. Unfortunately, (and probably my fault for establishing low iron-worthy standards with my iron aversion) neither child recognized that the outfit was sub-par for the event until it was ironed.
“C’mere, Whitney,” I said after I had gotten my son to hand over the selected shirt and pants, realizing my daughter had made it solidly into teenagerhood without one of life’s basic instructions. I had already taught my son how to iron since he had a few more Homecomings, Galas, and bar mitzvah’s under his belt. Now it was Whitney’s turn at the dreaded task. “Let’s teach you how to iron.”
But instead of following me into my room where I had set up the iron and table top ironing board (From college. With the big iron-shaped burn in the center of it. Never bought a standard ironing board. Told you I hate ironing.), Whitney didn’t budge from her brother’s room.
“C’mon Whit!” I called. “I can’t believe I haven’t taught you how to iron yet!”
Instead of coming to my call she called back, “I refuse to be domesticated!”
Ok. I laughed. But even though I’ve raised my daughter to be strong and independent, I still saw value in be able to decently iron.
“You know,” I called back trying to appeal to my budding feminist, “Being capable of doing many things is an attractive quality.”
“I already have a lot of attractive qualities,” she confidently shouted from the other room.
This girl. Can’t get mad at her for knowing who she is. Another tactic:
“Don’t you think you’re going to need to know how to iron at some point?”
“I’ll have people for that.”
And you know what? I don’t doubt that she will.
My future prosecuting attorney, she of always having the last word, then made it clear she wasn’t her brother’s keeper, her charity work helping him pick out an outfit was done, and she would be going back to her room to finish her homework.
Since my son was running late and still had to jump in the shower, I went ahead and ironed the outfit myself.
Thought about throwing it in the dryer with a wet towel though.