If you looked at the Christmas pictures I posted, you might remember that the Tall Kid showed up bright and early to open his gifts fully dressed, right down to the belt and that fastened top button.
And here he is eating his breakfast before school:
One note—thanks to crappy cellphone camera, it looks like he’s wearing a sweater vest, but he’s not. That was last year. This year’s vest is a fabric one, like you’d wear under a suitcoat.
He’s got his own style and that’s fine, but there’s something that sets his clothes apart from the rest of the family’s other than the look.
They have to be ironed.
I do own an iron. If somebody dies suddenly and I don’t have time to take our funeral clothes to the cleaners for pressing, I’ll even try to remember how to use it.
But during his kindergarten screening, the only thing TK couldn’t identify was an iron. (As if it’s his fault his parents wear jeans and t-shirts.)
Since I can’t afford that fancy dryer system with the attached steaming closet, I’m trying to make do with a rolling clothes rack. The idea is that I can take the shirts and pants directly out of the dryer and hang them on the rack, where they can stay until I pass them off to TK. They don’t have the precisely pressed look, but they don’t look they were shoved under the bed, either.
Once I assembled the rack in the kitchen, realized I couldn’t get it down the basement stairs, took it apart, carried the pieces down to the basement and reassembled it again, that’s what I’ve been doing.
Sadly, my dryer doesn’t have a buzzer, so by the time I remember I need to get TK’s clothes out of the dryer before they wrinkle, they’re already wrinkled. What’s a mother to do?
It’s actually easier to throw a damp washcloth in and dry for another ten minutes, setting the oven timer so I can be standing in front of the dryer when it shuts off.
TK needs to find himself a wife pretty damn quick, because this is getting old.