It’s a funny thing about memories. In addition to giving us a look back at our life, memories have the power to unearth thoughts we had forgotten.

Out of the blue, I got hit with a memory of my early days as a wife. There were some things I didn’t expect, such as more than a dozen of my husband’s shirts that had to be stiffly starched and ironed each week.

When I was dating Andy I was so impressed with how he always looked so well-dressed. His shirts were always impeccable, starched to perfection.

It never occurred to me that when we married I would be the one responsible for starching and ironing the dress shirts he wore every day. Before we got married his mother was the one responsible for Andy’s starched to perfection shirts. After we were married she came to our apartment to show me how to do it. She showed me how to starch the shirts then roll them up in the refrigerator until I ironed them. Sometimes it seems like I had more shirts than food in the refrigerator.

Andy was a brilliant guy but this was his strange reasoning: My mother is a woman. My mother starches my shirts and irons them until they look better than new. My wife is a woman. Therefore, my wife will starch my shirts to perfection.

I tried. Oh, Lordy, I tried. Every night I was at the ironing board trying to catch up. Andy’s only role in that was to come home from school and change into another fresh shirt before he went to his nightly meetings.

I never questioned why he needed to wear two different shirts every day.

My daughters always accused me of being a Stepford Wife, someone who mindlessly obeyed and did what was expected without complaint.

I didn’t know any better, I guess. When two babies came along I was still there trying to starch and iron all those shirts.

It was my best friend, Priscilla, who told me the way other wives get that starched to perfection look: They send the shirts to the laundromat. Problem solved.

Thinking about how hard it was in those early days to take care of the children while trying to be all things to all people made me ever so appreciative of how it all worked out.

Little by little I learned what was important and what wasn’t.

My priority and my joy was spending time with my children.

If I was in the middle of doing the dishes and Andrea came to ask me to go with her to see the chipmunks, I left the dishes until later and went with my child.

Right from the start I realized my precious daughters were only mine for a short while.

Even way back then I realized life had many stages that would be there only briefly. All we could do was to treasure each stage that came our way. And if we made the most of every stage and appreciated it as each new role unfolded, we would have a happy life.

I didn’t get to go to college until later in life. But when I did, I was a serious student wanting to make the most of every class. I recall one assignment when we were asked to share a poem that had meaning for us.

I read a poem about motherhood where doing chores took a back seat to being with my children.

I grew up in a house that always looked like the Good House Keeping Team would arrive for inspection any minute. My mother’s house always sparkled. Every single minute of every single day her home was perfect. She worked hard and a perfect home was her priority. Each night after dinner she took the stove apart and cleaned every burner — every single night, regardless of circumstance.

If I walked a few miles to her house to visit, my mom first had to clean while I waited. Then she could talk.

Cleaning took priority over people.

I guess you can see why that poem resonated with me. Enjoying my children always was, and always will be, my priority.

No matter how strategic we try to be, children will grow up and leave and we will then be in a new stage.

What I’ve learned about life is that we get more out of it if we appreciate every day, every stage.

At this stage of my life I am thankful for every single blessing. If you could have seen me celebrating rain this week you would know what I mean.

While many areas are getting too much rain, my neighborhood has to work hard to overcome brown grass, and it’s a struggle to maintain my flower garden.

When I awoke to dark skies I didn’t believe those skies would bring rain. It fooled me too many times.

When I went for my early morning walk and got caught in a rainstorm, I was delighted.

Now it was a perfect day to welcome my friends Kay and Chris to the homemade soup I made. They arrived complaining about the rain, but I insisted the day couldn’t be any better. Rain, the best of friends and homemade soup simmering on the stove. Perfect.

I definitely do cherish every day. And when I thing about some things from the past such as starching shirts it makes me appreciate today even more.

Email Pattie Mihalik at newsgirl@comcastnet