I used to be more attentive to the wrinkles in my life. During the first year of wedded bliss (when we thought mail addressed to "Pizza Lover of the House," was actually naming one of us specifically) I was very determined to get the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval. I ironed my husband's shirts, my skirts and blouses, and even dinner napkins. Then somewhere starting around "Oh, my gosh, we're having a baby!" and ending at "Get your shoes, where's your coat, don't look at your brother, and quit slurping your go-gurt!" the ironing got left in the dust.
I really do admire those die hard ironers out there. My mom is one of 'em. She can iron like no other. I went through a ruffle stage during the '80s - and by golly, my mom smoothed out each and every one of those ruffles attached to most of my Jessica McClintock collars or hems of my Gunnie Sax skirts. And therein lies one of the differences between me and my mom - she truly embodied June Cleaver. She took those duties very seriously and completed each task with perfection. I, on the other hand, have taken to hoodies and yoga pants for my daughter and track pants and t-shirts for my son. Nothing like a little spandex/cotton blend and some swishy nylon to make a kid feel special.
Anywho, I should probably keep it around... in case neck ruffles and pirate sleeves come back into fashion.