Wet.Wet.Wet.

I feel a little bit bad complaining about the weather around here, given the recent natural disaster endured elsewhere and what still others suffer through on an everyday basis from November through March. Suffice it to say, I would not do well if we lived in Minnesota, for instance. Or a place or where it snowed at all.

Here in our neck of the woods, the heavens dumped rain on us this week. And then dumped again. And then dumped some more.

And then did it all over again.

All told, I think we had four separate storms move through, leaving the ground -- and us, at points -- completely saturated. Despite wanting to crawl under the covers and stay there, I slogged out into the torrential downpour over and over, to take kids to school, to pick up kids from school, to get groceries, to go back for groceries I forgot. I drove white-knuckled to my volunteer assignment in Noah's kindergarten class, though a very large part of me thought he'd be better served by a mom who was MIA but alive and well than by one who hydroplaned into a ditch.

This morning, we actually got a glimpse of blue. My hopes soared. It was supposed to be overwith today, right? I even saw the droplets covering everthing in the yard as beautiful, rather than annoying.





I even spent much of the schlep to preschool wishing I'd brought my camera along. How fun it would be to document the rainbow that arched across the hill behind school or the fat earthworm inching along the sidewalk. Even the potholes, now the size of compact cars, looked interesting to me.

And then it started to rain. Again.

And not only was it raining, but the car thermometer registered 43 degrees. So I cranked up the car heater and thanked my stars that I live in a place where this kind of weather is considered newsworthy.

Then I pulled into my garage and bolted out of the car and to the computer, to check the forecast for the hundredth time this week.