Rowenta, The Maiden Voyage

Just before Mother's Day and all the craziness of traveling to Thailand and moving, I wrote a piece for my personal essay class. As usual, it started out as one thing and quickly turned into a story about my Mothers iron. I will put a little of it here:
My earliest memory is waking up to the sound of my mothers Viking sewing machine running at a full tilt gallop and rattling the entire house as she made our school clothes, Easter dresses, Christmas dresses, flower girl dresses. Growing up, my mom’s iron was always on. Every morning as she backed our Ford Aerostar down the driveway to get us to school on time, she would ask, “Did I leave the iron on?” I remember thinking, “Wait, you can turn it off?” I was in High school when my Mother upgraded to the Rowenta. I watched her eyes light up as she plugged it in, filled it with water, and tested its weight against her latest project. I could see she was excited. I couldn’t help but think, “She gets this excited about an iron? I don’t ever want to be a grown up.”

All my life I’ve been told, “You are just like your mother.” I’ve always taken this as a compliment. I just thought I’d have more time before I turned into her. Besides, I still feel like an amateur in the world of sewing. I’m fine with my little iron, it’s four generic settings, and it’s cord that always tangles while I work. Although, I might have better arm muscles if I used a heavier iron. Or exercised, ever.

I gave the full essay to Mom for Mother's day. (she loved it.) And a month later, on my birthday, she and Dad gave me my very own Rowenta. They laughed and told me it was a right of passage gift.

Does that mean I have to be a grown up about things?

Well, yesterday, I was working on a gift for my friend Laura, who just received her Doctorate in Psychology. I pulled out my new Rowenta iron, filled it with water, plugged it in and tested it's weight. It irons like a dream.