Mothers at their ironing boards. What a nostalgic thought. Mine was angrily (and she was always angry) ironing my dad’s handkerchiefs, sprinkling water from a Pepsi bottle fitted with a cork designed to allow water to sprinkle through, while she silently (but sometimes loudly) cursed her life of domestic servitude, cursed her husband, cursed her children for making it so.
What a mind. And to think you grew up with that inquiring mind! The world needs your imagination. Today, I'm going to think back to my own mom's ironing board-- a spot where we could catch her standing still, at least, even if we didn't always get a response.
One of the first feeling I can remember is that of injustice (when I was treated unfairly). I had to find a more immediate way for God to resolve it rather than waiting for him to sort things out in heaven.
That vivid picture of all our moms at the ironing board pressing our dad’s shirts draws up long forgotten moments in my house. (I want the 5-year-old you to still be right, maybe we can switch to make things right). My mom was not made to be a servant/nanny. That was not her not nature. Her mom was a teacher until she got married and was required to quit. She loved her teaching job; her wife and mom job-not so much. She did get to work in her husband’s bank. No pay, of course—just like the ironing, cleaning and cooking.
Maybe you knew how unfairly you were treated by her free-floating rage. But the thought hit you when she was angry-ironing. Your little self had real insight, plans to fix unjust treatment of you, and a good read on the feelings flooding the room.
Mothers at their ironing boards. What a nostalgic thought. Mine was angrily (and she was always angry) ironing my dad’s handkerchiefs, sprinkling water from a Pepsi bottle fitted with a cork designed to allow water to sprinkle through, while she silently (but sometimes loudly) cursed her life of domestic servitude, cursed her husband, cursed her children for making it so.
I remember the coke bottle and on hot days you could catch a sprinkle or two!
What a mind. And to think you grew up with that inquiring mind! The world needs your imagination. Today, I'm going to think back to my own mom's ironing board-- a spot where we could catch her standing still, at least, even if we didn't always get a response.
One of the first feeling I can remember is that of injustice (when I was treated unfairly). I had to find a more immediate way for God to resolve it rather than waiting for him to sort things out in heaven.
That vivid picture of all our moms at the ironing board pressing our dad’s shirts draws up long forgotten moments in my house. (I want the 5-year-old you to still be right, maybe we can switch to make things right). My mom was not made to be a servant/nanny. That was not her not nature. Her mom was a teacher until she got married and was required to quit. She loved her teaching job; her wife and mom job-not so much. She did get to work in her husband’s bank. No pay, of course—just like the ironing, cleaning and cooking.
Maybe you knew how unfairly you were treated by her free-floating rage. But the thought hit you when she was angry-ironing. Your little self had real insight, plans to fix unjust treatment of you, and a good read on the feelings flooding the room.
You are such an insightful reader, Morgan. You name truths in a way that makes the store resonate even more than it does.