|Blossom Time in Chagrin Falls. Circa:2006.|
Goodbye end-of-year wrap-ups like Parent Coffee and Volunteer Appreciation Luncheon.
Goodbye spending time and talking with some truly incredible women/moms.
Goodbye putting some of those birthday gift cards to good use at Barnes & Noble.
Goodbye gathering cool tunes and creating a summer playlist to keep us moving.
Hello sampling summertime and making plans for fun in the sun.
Hello sweet, long, welcomed weekend.
Hello BBQ's and get-togethers.
Hello antique shows, mega-sales, and local festivals.
Hello remembering what Memorial Day is really all about.
My lesson learned for the week is more of an admission of guilt coupled with a curiosity of how the rest of the world handles my loathsome nemesis. If you've been a reader for a while, you already know my disdain for ironing. Washing, drying, folding, putting away; I'm all good with those tasks. In fact, I rather enjoy the process. But, those wrinkly clothes that beg to be flattened out by heat and steam end up in a very tall pile just waiting, waiting, waiting for me to get to them. And, I don't. Only in desperation will you find me ironing a shirt when absolutely necessary, going from ironing board to body in one smooth motion. With this practice, the ironing job grows into this huge monstrosity of wrinkled clothes and it just mocks me because it knows it has won; it has gotten the better of me and I'm frozen by the mound of clean, wrinkly clothes.
I need to know, DO YOU IRON? Help me, give me a plan to handle the task better and allow me to gain some control. I'm all ears, my friends! Spill your ironing secrets...