Iron Fist

What was your New Year's resolution?  What are you giving up for Lent?  Do you find that these two endeavors tend to support each other?  Lose weight - give up candy/chocoloate/wine; Be a better person - no yelling at the strangers who cut me off in traffic (in front of my kids).  The list(s) go on. 

My NY resolution and Lent sacrifice are also symbiotic.

Blogger's Note:  I'm not Catholic, but my father was Catholic (before he converted to Lutheranism to marry my mom... who will forever be considered "that lascivious Lutheran whore" by his (devoutly Catholic) mom).  So, genetically I'm Catholic, right?  I have Catholic heritage?  Catholic roots?  What do you mean, Catholicism is not a nationality or a race????  I'm claiming this one, so lemme be!

My NY resolution was to stop wasting time on things that aren't important (like shaving my legs in the winter... Matt loves this one; wearing makeup just to sit - alone - at my computer at home; making dinner for my family, etc).  My Lent sacrifice fully supports my NY resolution:  no ironing of the sheets!

Now don't start jumping to conclusions and assuming that this is no sacrifice, at all.  I assure you, it is a giant sacrifice for me.  Several years ago, a pair of sheets emerged from the dryer in a horrible state of wrinkliness, so I ironed the pillow case hems.  But once I saw how lovely that pressed hem looked, I ironed the whole pillowcase.  But I couldn't have neatly pressed pillowcases and a shabby, wrinkled top sheet!  So I ironed just the edges of the top sheet.  Do you see where this eventually went?  Before I knew it, the entire set was pressed with beautiful crease marks at the folds.  And what do you think happened on 'clean sheet nite'?  The angels sang when we pulled back the comforter to reveal crisp, perfectly pressed linens!  Oh dear God, it was heaven in the form of 1000 thread count...

... and I was hooked.

Eventually, I ruled the whole house with an iron fist... literally... a gnarled, arthritic fist clutching a heavy, hot iron. 

Soon, it became an obsession and a burden.  I couldn't keep up!  I was staying up till 2 or 3am to get the sheets ironed before the cleaning lady would come at 8am and change the beds.  And let me just tell you, Hell hath no fury like a woman whose cleaning lady pulled WRINKLED sheets from the dryer and put those on the bed instead of the NEATLY PRESSED linens from the linen closet!!!!  WHO THE HELL DOES THAT???  WHO???  WHO???  TELL ME!!!!

It was recommended to me (by everyone with an ounce of sanity) that perhaps this was not the best use of my time.  So here I am, overcoming my ironing addiction for Lent. 

I just pulled 2 sets from the dryer.  I was shaking in a cold sweat as I folded them.  I snapped those bastards as hard as I could to try to release the wrinkles into submission.  I smoothed my hand across the seams so swiftly, I think I have sheet burns on my palms.  And do you know that I actually considered plugging in the iron and "just swiping it across the hems of the pillowcases"???  "Just the hems", I muttered to myself, swaying back and forth slightly while clutching the pillowcase in my sweaty, burned hands.  "Just the hems.  Just the hems.  Justthehemsjustthejustthejustthe...".

I didn't do it.  I crammed them into the linen closet and came right here, to you, for support.  To confess my near-sins and purge my soul.  My Lenten sacrifice has been laid out on the table for you to hold me accountable. 

Now, if you will excuse me while I say the rosary and hover over the bed.... sheets...

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee...

-B