Ironing Troubles

7:00 AM

Some housework doesn't bother me. I don't mind washing and folding laundry. I don't mind vacuuming. I don't mind cleaning the bathroom.

In fact, some of those things are relaxing to me.

But there's one thing that I absolutely hate doing.


Clark makes fun of me because since the first day we were married, he's the one who wanted the ironing board. He picked it out, along with the iron, and even some starch. I suppose it's the military side of him. He is an excellent ironer.


I'm terrible.

I don't know why. It's not like I never learned. Having a military-man for a father as well, and a mother who insisted on most things being wrinkle free, I grew up around ironing. But for some reason I just hate to do it.

The other day it was necessary. I was working on a new craft project (which you'll soon see) and needed to iron a small piece of fabric. Cotton. Easy breezy.

Michael was in his bouncer so I pulled out the ironing board from our little laundry closet.

I couldn't unfold it.

It's not like it was rocket science. There was a little lever which clearly needed to be manipulated and then it needed to be set to the correct level.

The stupid lever would not budge. I tried pulling out, pushing in, pushing down, pushing up... it would not move.

I didn't want to ask Clark for help.

He was in the other room working on studying for his final exams. I didn't want to call him in the room and get some snide comments or jokes made at my expense because of the ironing board.

So I kept trying.

Clearly I was making a racket (at this point I was shaking the ironing board hoping it would just pop into the right position), because Clark emerged from the office and stood there with his arms crossed.

"Ironing something?"

"Yes," I said hesitantly.

"Well this is a miracle."

This is the part where I imagine steam was coming out of my ears

"Are you going to help me or not?"

"Help you what?"

As if he didn't know.

"I can't get the stupid thing to open."

"Maybe you should use it more." He was laughing.

So... I took a deep breath... and smiled.

Once it was set in position (and I still honestly don't know how he did it), I got the iron, added some water, set it to cotton, and did my thing.

He said I should blog about it. So here I am. Blogging about it.

I hate ironing. Clark will be the one that teaches our son how to crease his pants and flatten his collar. I just can't stand it. I'm not sure why. Maybe because it's time consuming in a way that isn't relaxing. Maybe it's because I'm afraid of leaving a big iron print in the middle of something. I don't know.

There's only one thing I do know.

We need a new ironing board. A fool-proof ironing board.

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