12 January 2010

Confession of a Housewife

I have something I need to get off my chest. It's a little secret I've been keeping for a few months now. I wouldn't call it an addiction, rather, a guilty pleasure. It's not something I am particularly proud of, but I may not be the only one...

I realise that making an admission of this sort on a blog could be akin to telling the world. The voice of reason tells me that this isn't really the case, as not many people will actually read what I write. The voice's opposing whisper says that when it is public, I will feel better about it: exposed but free.

And no, the admission is not about me hearing voices in my head (the topic for a future blog post, perhaps?).

This confession is about a typical homely task. Some do it, some don't. Ironing. I used to avoid it at all costs. When I was in the workforce, I tried to get by mostly with work attire that did not require ironing. I would hang clothes in an attempt to get the creases out and ironed only as a last resort. When Missy Moo was a baby and I was at home full time looking after her, ironing hubby's work shirts was the extent of it. I had a uselessly thin ironing board cover which would press the ironing board's grate pattern into the shirts, so I sometimes used the hanging up trick for hubby too, particularly in winter when he could wear jumpers over the top of the shirt.

But a few months ago, something changed. I can't quite put my finger on exactly when or why, but I began to iron more. It was not as if I suddenly had more time for ironing. I had been at home full time with MissyMoo1 since early on in my pregnancy with MissyMoo2. Baby was two or three months old when the increase in ironing activity began, so with two little ones to look after, I actually had less time.

Then I began to notice ironed clothes on other people ... and I liked what I saw. I began to be able to differentiate between people who were wearing ironed clothes and those whose clothes had perhaps just been hung up in the wardrobe (my old trick). The ironed clothes just looked so ... smooth. It was a revelation, as if, after 28 years, my eyes had finally been opened.

The next chance I got, I bought a new ironing board cover. It was smooth with luxuriously thick padding. It was also pink - my little indulgence considering I'm the only one who does the ironing in our house these days.

The next time I did some washing, I put away the clean underwear, socks, singlets and pyjamas. Most other things went in the ironing basket. I got out the equipment, filled the iron with water and let it warm up. Then I got to it fervently. My steam engine of smoothness made the evil creases disappear. It was ... enjoyable.

There, I said it. I like ironing. I find it enjoyable, satisfying, relaxing. I LIKE IRONING!!!

What has become of me? How could I, formerly a sworn enemy of any task pertaining to home life requiring effort, be taking such pride in steam-pressing clothing? Perhaps I am less exciting these days; perhaps it is a function of spending more time at home. All I know is , I feel good about it, and I feel good about telling you.

I'd better go, I have some ironing to do.

1 comment:

  1. I don't love ironing but I HAVE to because I love 'neat' --- :)


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