Of Men and Irons

Sometimes all that can be done is laugh.

First, let it be known, I do not iron or do windows. Ironing ceased our first week of marriage when my new husband discovered I could not iron his shirts and began taking them to the laundry. Since then I have raised 4 kids without ironing. Well, truthfully, if something looked too bad, I have been known to pull the board out.

There was the day when the board was drug out of the closet and the iron was steaming, ready to get rid of pesky creases. Suddenly Ken came in the room shepherding four bewildered kids, having disrupted whatever they were up to at the moment. Lining them up in front of me, he instructed them with great pomposity, "Children, you need to watch this. You may never see it again." He laughed harder than I as I fought the impulse to let the iron fly--somewhere.

As far as windows go, I always figured that if I worked outside the home--which I did--part of my income was to be used to make my at-home life easier. This reasoning was also applied to whom would clean the house. I have viewed my responsibility as being to help sustain the employment level. That thought occurred to me the day I stepped out of the shower, faced the toilet and burst into tears thinking of how many years of toilet cleaning lay ahead. It was an overwhelming growth moment in my life--one of the milestones mentioned in my last post.

This brings me to this week's story. Casey is going to Vacation Bible School next week at a friend's church--his friend's father is the pastor there.

Last week we received a very complete package in preparation for the week--which starts Monday. The package included a CD of the songs they will sing, a handout explaining what mission project the children would focus on and offering envelopes. This is good as Casey saves "Jesus" money from any money he receives so that he can give from his own reserves.

Included in this package was a rather large latex decal to be ironed on the front of a yellow shirt which we were to buy--each grade level wears a different color. The decal came with detailed instructions as to how to iron it on the shirt.

Since I do not iron, Ken took on this detail. He carefully measured to make sure the decal would be straight on the shirt from side to side and top to bottom (his attention to minute detail drives me to distraction.) And then he started. The first sigh of displeasure I heard (from the other room) was when the decal slipped and destroyed his measuring. But he persevered and kept on going.

A few seconds later either the iron or the husband exploded. As I walked in the room, all I could see was the iron sporting a totally white, rather gooey bottom and an irate man whom sometimes I know. It seems that the wrong side of the decal was ironed. Definitely, it was not the time to laugh or even stick around. The last I knew the decal had sprouted wings and flew across the room.

I called my friend, the pastor's wife, and explained to the answer machine what had occurred and did she have another decal. Today when we came home from the fair, there was a new decal hanging on the door.

Now, I have no intention of taking over ironing this thing, but, do feel that marriage involves shared responsibility. So, I cleaned the bottom of the iron--figuring that would be too maddening for him to do.

Thank goodness for "GOOP"--you know that miracle substance that takes all goop off anything--store stickers on picture frames, cellophane which has burned on top of the toaster oven and irons that have sprouted goo.

Tomorrow, which unfortunately is Father's Day given this circumstance, the decal will be attached and Casey will not be humiliated at Bible School by being the only one with a bare yellow shirt. No wonder he loves his Papa.


Post-Script: I'll try to give an update with a visual of the completed shirt--decal and all.