It occurred to me today, as my kids were headed to church in our (very) wrinkly clothes that if there is a “me” that exists somewhere in an alternate, parallel universe, she is doing an inordinate amount of ironing.
I feel very sorry for her.
(And please don’t feel sorry for my wrinkly church-clothed children. They have had an awesome time hosting family – Aunt B, Uncle T and 3 cousins! – in a weekend that has included a college football game, playdo, blocks, dress-up, stories, movies, books, duck-feeding, ice-cream cones (in a place with a view, rocking chairs, and a field big enough to play duck-duck-goose), and lots of time on the back porch. So what if we’re all a little… I mean a lot… I mean, ridiculously, wrinkly?!
– Number one: I don’t ever iron (see this previous blog post at http://wp.me/p1Auii-V), and
– Number two: With all that fun going on, it’s a miracle we managed to make sure all the kids had a (relatively) clean change of clothes!)