Ironing

My iron and ironing board must feel very neglected. They don't get used very often.

My memories of ironing go back to childhood. Mom had a lot of ironing with a family of six. Those were the days before  permanent press, wrinkle free settings on dryers (even before dryers in the very early days) and before the days of steam irons.

My most vivid memories are of Mom with a basket full of laundry; hot, muggy days; a pop bottle with a sprinkler attachment on top, filled with water to moisten the clothes. She set up the ironing board in the living room. Hopefully she ironed in the basement in the summer when it was hot. 

I don't remember how often I had to iron, or if my siblings also ironed. We did sheets. I remember Mom ironing Dad's boxers and wondering why that was necessary. Mom taught me how to iron Dad's white shirts. I still know the order of ironing various parts of a dress shirt. We pressed dresses and shorts - practically everything in our childhood wardrobe needed ironing. 

Mom taught me to check out how much ironing a fabric would need by balling it up in my fist. If there were lots of wrinkles when I let go, I knew ironing would be required - buyer beware. I still do that when I purchase clothes and/or fabric. 

It was a wonderful day when permanent press became part of our lives. 100% polyester turned out not to the be best fashion trend but polyester and cotton can be nice. That, combined with customized dryer settings have made ironing not really necessary. Also, I think our cultural expectations have changed and the starched, freshly ironed look is no longer "necessary."  

I did teach the boys how to iron (along with how to do some basic mending). Joe knew how to iron from his days in the Navy. 

Over the years my iron and ironing board could go months and months without being used. One time Michael came home from college and wanted to iron a shirt. When he asked where the ironing board and iron were, I was mortified to realize it had been so long since I used them that I had no idea where they were! Eventually I located them and Michael proceeded with his ironing. For some reason this is a vivid memory (Guilt? Some feeling that a "good" wife and mother would be doing more ironing? Who knows.). I even remember which shirt Michael was ironing.

Now I don't feel at all guilty about neglecting the iron and ironing board. I'm thankful for the advances that have made them less necessary.