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Why I’m Almost Obsessed With Ironing (Thanks to My Mom)
So, there I was, just a kid in the summer of ’88, standing next to my mom in the kitchen, both of us leaning over our trusty old ironing board. She had her beige Sunbeam Select-O-Steam humming along, ready to tackle one of my stepdad’s church shirts—a crisp white number with a single pocket. I can still hear my mom say, “You need to know this in case you marry someone who can’t,” complete with a playful eye roll. It was like she was passing down some ancient wisdom, a skill that seemed to be fading away.
“Start with the yoke,” she instructed, expertly gliding the iron over the fabric, transforming it into something smooth and pristine. I took my turn and, of course, managed to create what she called “cat faces”—those annoying little creases that ruin all your hard work. After a few attempts and her patient guidance, I started to get the hang of it. She even mentioned how my Aunt Peggy preferred dip starch, whatever that meant. I had a vague mental image of what she was talking about.
Fast forward twenty-five years, and here I am in my own kitchen, prepping my work shirt for the day. My technique is a bit different now; I tackle the sleeves first, then flip it over for a quick steam on the front and back. If I have starch, I’ll use it, but if not, I’m okay with that as long as it looks decent. I guess my method is more of a man’s approach—quick and efficient, while Mom would probably disapprove.
I didn’t exactly marry someone who can’t iron, but I’ve developed a bit of a secret obsession with getting my shirts perfectly smooth before heading out. Even in this age of “iron-free” and “wrinkle-resistant,” I still prefer the old-school way. As I iron my blue Oxford cloth, I can’t help but think of my mom’s lessons in that warm, inviting kitchen. No matter how chaotic life gets, thanks to her, I’ll always have that little touch of order in what I wear.
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Summary
This article reflects on the author’s journey with ironing, highlighting the influence of his mother’s teachings. The author shares personal anecdotes and contrasts his current approach with his mother’s traditional methods, illustrating how those lessons have shaped his daily routine.