Sundays are housework day around The Apiary, as I am usually too lazy to do laundry, iron or vacuum during the week. So, if I’m going at a pretty good clip, I can actually get five loads (workout clothes, whites, colors, towels, and delicates) from laundry 30-gallon-garbage-can to back in dressers and closets in 16 hours; as well as vacuuming the house and getting the ironing done as well.
It used to take me a lot longer to iron, doing Charlie’s work shirts and pants, as well as whatever ironable I had. But there is definitely truth into practice making perfect, and I can usually bang out the ironing much faster than I used to. I’m one of the few people on the planet who doesn’t mind ironing: I enjoy the careful repetitive motion of it, and I’m of the mindset that no amount of shower-humidity or Downy wrinkle-release will make up for what an iron can do. Martha Stewart is very proud of me, I’m guessing — I’ve never actually asked.
Today was no different. Laundry and ironing went faster than I thought it would, so I changed the sheets on the large guest bedroom bed, too. Now, they have nice, soft flannel, as well as the addition of a tootsie heater for guests. I find little else as jarring as sliding your feet into ice cold sheets when it’s cold out.
Of course, this bed-sheet-updating dovetails with the arrival of Pottery Barn’s winter catalog and my new obsession with getting the linens in our house as fluffy and almost-pornographically-sumptuous as in the pages of those catalogs.
As it turns out, and what I suspected was true, it takes some finagling and a little cambric chicanery to get a home bed to look like a hotel or catalog bed. I’m just going to have to split the difference and overstuff the duvet covers and get bolsters, because there is no way in hell I am going to get hospital corners on a double-quilt-top Queen sized mattress without slipping a disk and ending up in traction.
This is clearly a sign that I am growing up, because I’m learning to pick my housekeeping battles.