Ironing

Laundry has become one of my obsessions. Laundry and all that comes with it. I chalk it up to the fact that my son goes to a school where a uniform is required wear and therefore, by Monday, the uniforms should be ready (or at least one of them). But really, the part where the washing is done is the least of my worries. The boys (husband included) are quite adept at running the washing machine. And although I have a tendency to still check the way the wash is hung afterward, I can pretty much rely on them to get that part of the laundry done.

So really, I wasn't being quite specific when I said that Laundry has become an obsession. Truly, it's the Ironing that taken over my schedules and priorities. Whenever I tell my friends that I have ironing to do, it's not unusual that I get a puzzled look in return.

"Why? Do you iron even the t-shirts they use just for the house?"

"Aren't those ironed too?" The thought of not ironing them actually shocks me.

"If you use fabric conditioner (which I do), you just hang them well and then fold them neatly and they won't need ironing!"

"Did you ever feel the difference between a tee that's ironed and one that's not? The fibers are flattened when you iron so the shirt is softer!" I hear myself saying those words and suddenly, I feel ridiculous.

Sometimes while I iron, I remember that conversation and when I'm ironing a tee that's seen better days, I do ask myself why I bother. Then Tillie Olsen's words from I Stand Here Ironing begin to fill my head. I've not memorized the words--oh my goodness, not with the memory in its present state--but bits and pieces do float in and out. I don't have a daughter but I knew what it was like to be in that mother's shoes.

And then I realize I obsess about ironing not really because I'm thinking of giving my family wrinkle-free clothing but because it's become another sort of quiet time for me to mull over events of days and even lifetimes past. Like the mother in the short story, I sometimes address particular people as I try to validate decisions I've made or I explain away my sons' attitudes, mistakes, or misdemeanors. And of course, the more intense the memory or the situation I'm mulling over, the better my ironing becomes.

Perhaps the iron as a metaphor had become cliche, but in this case, I can't think of it in any other way. Motherhood has never been as three-dimensional as it is now for me. In the past, mothering was a task I shared with the caregiver and my mother. If I had to leave the house to get my college degree, I could do it without worrying that my children had no one to see to their needs. If I stayed up nights finishing a novel, waking up late the next morning was never an issue because the caregiver would be there to make breakfast. Even during the time my husband and I led different lives, I didn't have to go it alone. And certainly, the laundry (and the ironing) was the least of my concerns!

I've come to realize though, that since the caregiver has retired and mom lives a city away and I've taken over the motherhood role completely, I've been trying to iron out kinks and wrinkles, imperfections and mistakes that I've made in the past where my sons are concerned. As I move away from my newbie Golden Girl status, I can pick out instances in my life when I was so sure I was doing the right things and making the right decisions and I can, quite matter-of-factly, point out to myself where I had gone wrong as well. And that's when the ironing does its bit to help me deal with the mistakes and to move on.