Naomi touched on something in the comments that I wanted to mention anyway, so I’ll take the opportunity and do it now!
First, a little insight into my insanity. Back when I was young (I’m speaking of my latter teenage years) I started to develop a sense of style and a bit of an obsession with making my corner of the house (my room)look perfect. I had the perfectly made bed, the shelf with a few antique books and a silver julep cup of fresh flowers, and matching candles in matching candle holders. In the evenings, I would light the candles, put on some music (I think the favorite of the time was Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong), and dream about the day when I would have a house and it would look that perfect and there would be a husband to come walking through the door (the only way it could’ve gotten more idealistic is if I had actually posed myself for a J. W. Waterhouse painting). Yikes. Anyway.
In my search for perfection, I used to iron my pillowcases. Now I’m not saying that ironing your pillowcases is wrong, I’m just laughing at how much time I had back then. Again, I digress. I discovered that it was quite easy to make your own ironing spray. I’ve always loved the scent of lavender (I had it spread down the aisles at our wedding) and so I put just a few drops of lavender essential oil in my spray bottle to use when I ironed my pillowcases. It worked wonderfully! Didn’t stain or discolor or anything. And, it’s quite thrifty. $5 or so for a little 1 or 2 ounce bottle of the oil will last forever. And it made my bed smell really really good. You could use any essential oil – eucalyptus, tea tree, sandalwood, rose, you name it. If you’re using it on your husband’s shirts though, you should probably avoid the rose and lavender. ;)
For your enjoyment, I add these images. I can’t look at them without smiling. They make me laugh at my former idealism, and thankful for the home I have and its way of shouting that I have a toddler. The first one makes me think of a trashy Victorian romance novel, and the second one, well, makes me wonder if the artist ever actually had kids (because no mother I know would ever use lace like that in a newborn’s cradle).