Learning to live with it.

I ran into a neighbor walking home from the playground the other day.  He introduced his two-year-old and acknowledged upon my inquiry that he was indeed from Wales.  I introduced the Boo and asked how he liked Portland. 

"Oh, it's a very nice city," he said.  "When can we expect it to dry out?"

Gwynedd, Wales (citypictures.org)

"Oh, about July," I told him. 

"So it's something we have to look forward to," he rejoined with a laugh. 

I laughed too.  "Exactly."

I didn't think about it then, but now the question kind of confuses me.  Isn't Wales one of those preternaturally green places, fairyland green?  And how can a place be green without lots and lots of rain?  Surely a Welshman, of all people, should be used to constant cloud cover and soggy ground. 

It's easy to get tired of the clouds and the rain, I confess, but we're trying to make a point of adapting to them.  Being angry at the clouds isn't going to make them go away.  If it's better to light a single candle than to curse the darkness, then it's better to splash in puddles than to curse the clouds.  So that's what we did yesterday.  We splashed in puddles and held our faces up to the rain.  There was a lot of it. 

Today, the sun is shining.  At least is was just a second ago.  It's amazing how quickly white patchy clouds can turn into a completely overcast sky.  The wind is picking up outside.  The weatherman predicts a real thunderstorm.  It's been so long since I've seen a real thunderstorm that I hope he's right.  So do my husband, my chiropractor, and all the radio djs I've listened these last two days.  Thunderstorms are a sign that warmer weather is coming.  They're also a break from the constant grey.  If you can't have blue, why not go for black?

But the real concern my mind right now is a big change that's working its way into our family.  No, I'm not pregnant.  I'm employed.  I am now a work-at-home online tutor in English Language Arts.  Granted, it's not a nine to five, have-to-leave-the-house-and-put-the-kiddo-in-daycare sort of job, but it is going to take a few hours here and a few hours there, hours when I'm accustomed to jumping up to tend to Boogaloo, to dozing a little between chores, to scooting frenetically between this and that.  Now I have a single purpose for those hours, and the Boo and the dog may not interfere.  So we begin the great transition. 

Seth is very excited for me.  He's already looking for new ways for us to balance the household responsibilities so that I don't get overwhelmed.  I know.  I'm exceedingly blessed to have a husband who thinks that way.  Many don't.  Just read the comments on any momma blogrole.  Still, part of me is reluctant to relinquish the territory, and part of me is worried that if I get too used to letting him do stuff, I'll lose the initiative and expect him to do everything.  (Wait.  I hear snickers from the peanut gallery, a sigh from my mother, eyes rolling from my siblings.  Ok, you're right.  Maybe that is a pointless worry.) 

The point is, this is a new dance, a new pattern of life that we're going to have to get used to, something else to learn to live with.  I don't like change, even though we've weathered it many times before, and it almost always turns out well.  In a month, I'll wonder what the fuss was all about, but right now, I'm a little nervous.