The other morning as James was getting ready for school, he came into my bedroom as I was doing my morning reading. Strangely enough, I heard the washer going. Since we were the only two people home, I couldn't imagine what would prompt him to start laundry.
"Mom, I am washing my nice button-up shirt this morning," he said. "I put it on a mini-cycle of eleven minutes and then I'll throw it in the dryer."
Who was this 14-year old boy, posing as my son, talking to me ABOUT LAUNDRY?
About a half-hour later, he came upstairs with his shirt on, but seemed to be struggling with the wrinkly collar.
"Mom, how can we fix this?" he asked.
"We might need to iron it," I answered. He looked confused.
We went to the laundry room and reached for the iron together, blowing the dust off of it. I set it up on the kitchen table, which I covered with a towel. No need to go to all of the trouble to get the ironing board out.
James sat there and watched in amazement as I "magically" pressed out the wrinkles. He thought it was the coolest thing and asked me so many questions. I felt as if I were on TV as a Carol Brady or June Cleaver, demonstrating and explaining how to be a good housewife and mother.
"I used to do this a lot," I explained. "I used to press your father's clothes and my outfits for work."
He had that sense about him like I was showing him one of the latest electronic gadgets. But no, it wasn't sophisticated at all. It was a simple iron that I was using to straighten out his shirt.
He put the shirt on and looked in the mirror (he's big into that these days), and said, "Thanks mom! I look tight," which is his word for cool, great, awesome, etc.
As he walked out the door, I smiled. Who knew I could impress my 14-year old with something as simple as an iron?