It’s funny the things that give us comfort.
After a long day at school I came home to my two beautiful girls. We chatted about the day, in this new way I have of talking to these young women who just last week were my baby girls. They started homework and I threw in a load of laundry and hopped on the treadmill. After that, I made a nutritious supper and my dear husband arrived just in time for us all to sit together. As the girls cleaned up, I opened up my laptop to finish up Progress Reports.
The second half of my day was clearly so much better than the first; my family is fantastic. Counting my blessings is a blessing in itself.
Still, the best part of my day came after Greg left for soccer and I tucked the girls in bed and I turned on the iron.
Ironing is not my usual choice for a fun evening, but there was a pile that had to be tended to and neither Greg nor I had any work clothes left. I flipped on the TV and got to work. By the time I quit (notice, I didn’t say finished – still a pile left) I had this overwhelming feeling of love for and connection to my mother. So many times I walked into the room to find her behind the ironing board, watching the little television she kept nearby, taking care of my father’s shirts or our school uniforms. The pile of clothes in need of ironing was endless, as if her Midas touch created wrinkled clothes rather than gold. She would watch Bonanza or The Big Valley and get it done.
When I turned off the iron tonight and saw the row of freshly pressed pants and shirts, I smiled. All I could think was, I am my mother’s daughter.