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Pressing Matters

I hate ironing.

No. I don't think you understand.


Like...hate it so much I never ever do it. Ever. Never. Even for my husband. Even for myself.

Wrinkly clothes? No problem. Just as long as I don't have to iron.

Bad house wife? You bet. Just as long as I don't have to iron.


Today, I broke my own moral code and ironed. And I have never been so happy to iron something as I was to iron my husband's shirt and pants today.

Today, ironing meant the three weeks of separation from him was over. Ironing meant he was safely back in my sight and in my arms. Ironing his church pants and white-collared shirt meant he was willing to sacrifice his desires to be with me and the kids after being so recently reunited, to go to the Priesthood Session of General Conference.

As I attentively and blissfully ironed out each wrinkle, I thought lovingly of the man that filled these clothes.

We have been separated by 800 plus miles for over three weeks now as I have been visiting family in another state. And let me tell you something. If you find yourself looking at your spouse with chagrin and irritation, try being apart for an extended time. Three weeks ought to be more than enough.

Three weeks gives you a lot of time to remember all the reasons you fell in love with that person in the first place. Three weeks gives you plenty of opportunities to investigate all the reasons you grow more deep and cemented in love over each passing year. You recognize how accustomed you have become to having them around all the time. You see how much you've taken their companionship for granted. You forget about the stupid, little things like work shirts left crumpled on the floor or whiskers in the sink or... You know what? I forgot.

I have had a hard time taking my eyes off of him today. I have to fight the desire to keep at least one hand on him at all times. I want to pinch myself to remind me that he really is here. He is the most handsome man I've ever seen. He is kind. He is good. He is mine.

Well, almost mine. I have to compete with our three children who are smothering him with kisses and hugs. Our son particularly won't leave his side. Their reaction to his return makes me all the more grateful for him; all the more in love with the good man who is the father of my children.

My heart is in overdrive. I feel rather dizzy with the all these feelings of love and gratitude that are practically oozing out of it's swollen, pitter-pattering form. It's almost like being a newlywed again. Everything is warm and wonderful and brand-new and beautiful... and forever.

Is there cheese oozing out of the computer screen? Sorry. I just want to remember how much I miss this guy when he's not around. How grateful I am for his faithfulness and goodness and him-ness. How much I love him. And I want to remember how grateful I am for eternal families and temples and plans of salvation and love and an all-knowing, wise, loving Heavenly Father who makes it all possible.

And maybe...just maybe...I'll be a little more willing to iron my husband's clothes from now on.


Evelyn Perkins has been married to her hunka' hunka' burnin' love for almost seven years. Read about the good (and the not-so-good) days at The Perks of Life.

*Image courtesy of Google Images

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