The Laundromat

Now that we have been here for three years, it's not very often that I have those moments of complete panic    that used to be so common in the first few months.  That feeling of walking into a place, and having absolutely no clue about what was expected of me or how to accomplish what I needed to accomplish.

Flashing back, I remember having said moments of panic: the first time I went to the gas station; the first time I had to pull a cart out of the cart coral (here you need to insert the proper coin), the first time I had to buy produce (here, loose produce is weighed by the purchaser on a scale and you have to print the price sticker); the first time I had to use my bancontact card.  It was a fun first week, filled with lots of panic-stricken  moments.  

I am happy to be beyond all of that.  Every now and then, though, something comes a long to remind me that I don't know everything.  

A few months ago, one of the kids threw-up on our king-sized quilt.  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stuff it into our 8kg washing machine.  There is a laundromat in town, across from the grocery store.  I had driven by it a number of times, thinking "I really should wash our big quilt from our bed."  The sick kid expedited this errand.

I did a little reconnaissance.  I learned that there was a big enough washing machine, I needed my own soap, and I had to buy tokens on the wall.  Upon venturing back with my smelly quilt, I was delighted to learn that the large washing machine had a delicate cycle that only took 24 minutes.  

Mission accomplished.  The other day when I realized that the cover for our Ikea sofa was washable, I returned with confidence to the laundromat, no reconnaissance necessary.    

I know it's a simple thing to be proud of.  But I'm proud of it anyway.