Once upon a time, when I was the biggest overachiever mom in the universe, I ironed everything. I ironed baby tshirts and onesies, my own t's and denim shorts, starched every button down collar and button placket, and made sure every skirt pleat had a nice sharp edge.
I also kept floors spotless, changed bedlinens every week, and couldn't abide a spot or smear on a window.
At the same time I was channeling June Cleaver, I was billing 40-60 hours a week as a freelance copywriter, in pockets of time between naps and preschool, then in solid chunks from 7 PM bedtime until well past midnight (including weekends).
Sound exhausting? It was heavenly. I had a lot to do and I did it. That sense of accomplishment is pretty darned satisfying.
Ten years later, I'm still ironing ... reluctantly and only when the basket is overflowing with shirts and skirts I'd forgotten my daughter and I owned. Floors get a lick and a promise when they're noticeably dirty. I trained the kids to wash sheets and make their own beds. (Their bedrooms no longer look like a Southern Living photo spread ... they're in charge of keeping those tidy, too.)
While my interest in June Cleaver-isms has decidedly waned, I'm still freelancing. Because I really, really like writing. I'm also putting in mornings at the Nature Center and broadening my folk skills (knitting, gardening, weaving, sewing). Because I also like the idea of sustainability and self-reliance.
This afternoon, as I ironed three dozen napkins, a shirt my daughter will be thrilled to see again, and some cloth prewashed for a sewing project, I was content. There's little room in my overbuilt schedule for complete idleness, but that's by design. I don't like idle. I like doing. So what looks to others like a crazy quilt day filled with work and volunteering and chores and precious time with my family looks like peace to me.
The more I do, the more I get done.
It may be another month before I get the iron out again. Meanwhile, the dryer has a handy-dandy "refresh" button that gives a do-over every time we forget to unload it. Bliss.