The Irony of Ironing!

23 Aug

I iron, therefore I am.

Or something like that.

Fact is, there is something immensely calming to my soul about ironing. About moving that heavy piece of metal back and forth across fabric as the wrinkles break up and dissipate.

It is mindless and that may be its beauty. I often tend to turn to it when my mind and heart are overwhelmed. It is something I can do with my hands without having to think anymore!!! Or feel!

Thus it is with chagrin that I admit that my son is having a bear of a time learning to do his own wash at college. Much more, his own ironing.

I should have known this would be an issue. My lessons at home on washing his clothes seemed to need to be repeated step by laborious step each time he did the wash here.

I finally relented, believing that this may be one area where he just could not learn from me. I counted on him “getting it” very soon after he arrived at college.

And, mostly he is getting it now. He is scheduling his laundry and doing it, with supervision.

Except for the one time out of three he totally forgot to do it on the weekly rotation. And had to wait a week . . . Yikes!

He ran out of clean pants and texted me. Not much I could do at that point!

But what a good lesson to learn. When we don’t wash our clothes, we end up rewearing the least soiled pairs of pants for a second time until washday comes around again!

I just find it ironic that the only child of the ironing fanatic is going through this!

He will overcome that laundry beast eventually. I know he will.

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