Posted by peskypippi | Posted in Cleaning, Clothes, Connections, Life Lessons, Memories, Mothering, Mothers and Daughters, Relationships, Ritual | Posted on 25-07-2012
Tags: Laundromat, laundry, memories
I’m not a fan of washing laundry these days. What a chore.
But it didn’t used to be a chore. Growing up, my mother didn’t buy a washer and dryer until I was a teenager. So, every Saturday night, we’d haul a week’s worth of dirty laundry to the Laundromat.
It was our Saturday-night ritual. And it was kinda like date night.
With a purse full of quarters weighing down one hand and the jug of bleach in the other hand, laundry night was also a workout.
I remember the sounds of the chugging of the washers. We could wash 10 loads at once!
Then we’d sneak out and go next door for donuts. I would get a chocolate old-fashioned doughnut and a bagful of doughnut holes. Oh yeah, and a raspberry jelly-filled doughnut with powdered sugar. The anticipation of folding those mountains always increased my appetite.
When drying the clothes, the Laundromat would fill with the wonderful smell of Bounce. If it was raining, it would be so toasty inside.
Time to eat the donuts and guzzle down the carton of milk. And talk. When it was time to fold, that’s when the party really began.
My mother taught me to match up the socks and fold them over in pairs so they stayed together and how to tri-fold bath towels. Just like the Hilton.
It was together time, snack time, and hang-out time. My mother transformed the typically tedious ritual of doing laundry into Mom-and-daughter date night.