First and foremost: some of you may have heard about the metro crash in Rome this morning. I was not on the train, I and all of my friends are fine and there’s no cause for alarm.

Yes, that would be me handwashing the feature of this article in a bidet, more recognizable as a butt washer. Though I don't think many people use them, it was still a little gross washing my pants in one, despite having sterilized it first. Reason being: our bathroom sink drainage pipe had fallen to the floor during one of my former roommate Lindsey's extremely physical make-up application acts. My personality just screams class with this photo.

I’d like to take a few moments today to talk about all those things moms do that don’t seem like the miracles they are until their children actually try to attempt them on their own. In this case I’m focusing on ironing. Now I’ll admit it, I am a total leech on my mother when it comes to ironing my clothes. Usually I hide it behind masks of, “I’m in a hurry, could you please iron this for me so I’m not late for the CCP concert?” Or a, “Well, I’m going out with some Craftsbury friends soon, and I won’t really get the chance to do this before I have to go back to Burlington, any chance you could do it, Mom? I’d love you forever.” Then I would bat my eyelashes and be all cute like I was when I was four and had an excuse to not know how to do something like iron, and rush off into the night as she was setting up the ironing board.

Well, I’m 22 now, and the only thing I know about ironing is that black pants should be ironed inside-out so that they don’t get the shimmery sheer look to them on the outside. Okay, no problem. Today I tried to iron a pair of gray wool blend pants before a job interview. The first ten minutes were spent in dreaded fear as I increased the temperature setting on the iron, just waiting to burn a whole through them and continue my misfortunes of pants ownership. The next ten minutes were spent trying to iron the pants with the cool crease down the front that makes them look all snazzy and professional. I’d get one side of one leg done, flip them over, and discover that the ‘factory’ crease wasn’t really lining up with my ‘homemade crease.’ And the butt and front of the pants were still all wrinkly, and when I tried correcting, I caused more wrinkles than were originally there. Damn it, why can’t I be a genius like my mom and pull iron settings for fabrics and how to arrange them for the best crease factor as if they were math formulas? I swear, had I called and woken my mom up at four in the morning when I was attempting this grand feat, she would have gone straight through the grogginess and said, “Wool blend, warm to high setting, match the seams on the sides of the legs to get the best crease, hang them up afterwards, hand wash with cold water, line dry. Any other laundry questions before I get back to my night’s sleep, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, can you fly over here and do my ironing? No one makes those creases like you do.” I pulled the same guilt trip for a fried egg before I left, knowing that Mom just makes awesome fried eggs, and yes, I should make my own, but my eggs are always royally messed up somehow-the yolk starts to cook, or break, or I burn the butter before I even get the damn egg in the pan. It sounds like I’m totally domesticating my mom, but that’s not the point. The point is that I’m pathetic and don’t know how to do a lot of things I wish I did…mayhaps I’ll set up a day of “How to do all those things mom is so damn good at” when I’m home over break (though I’ll probably be too busy skiing, huzzah!) Or maybe I’m doomed forever, and won’t really get the hang of these miraculous tasks until I actually become a mother, which is still a very shaky prospect of my future. In any case, this is a salute to the Mom’s Miracles network, because you put my ironing and egg frying to shame. Sigh.