It has been raining for SIX YEARS.
We ran out of activities days ago. A situation which came to a head yesterday evening when the kids started flinging spoonfuls of yogurt at each other and I barely glanced up from my email before shrugging my shoulders, relieved that at least they were happy and not fighting.
Then they spent an hour taking a bubble bath.
Today the forecast promised drier weather and temperatures in the fifties by the afternoon. I foolishly told Charlie that we would get to go outside and play in the afternoon. He briefly stopped scratching tally marks into the living room wall with a sharpened baby carrot and smiled.
As it turns out, when I said "play outside" I meant "run from the car to the grocery store with your coat over your head while your mother mutters swear words under her breath about the El Nino."
Over the summer when I read that El Nino would bring us a cooler and wetter winter than average, I was thrilled! We had NO RAIN all summer. And all spring for that matter. No rain! And I was really missing the seasonal changes of our old town. So a cooler and wetter winter? Bring it on! I'll make soup! I'll bake! It will be so cozy and special.
It is not cozy and special. It is like being locked in a shipping container with two golden retrievers on Red Bull.
We've done playdoh, we've done Legos, we've done TV (OH SO MUCH TEEVEEEE), we've had an escalating civil war over the two square feet of carpet immediately in front of the TV, we've made art out of cotton balls, we've baked muffins, we've made stew, we've fallen off the coffee table in front of the window in the playroom after what I can only assume was a last ditch effort to not succumb to a lethal Vitamin D deficiency. We've played nine-thousand games of pig pile, taught Charlie "Go Fish," built forts, and let Wes do pretty much anything he wants that doesn't involve electricity or alcohol.
We've also been consuming more caffeine than has been deemed safe by the FDA. And by "we" I mean "me" because no matter how early Charlie gets up to sit on the potty and sing "Jesus Loves Me" at the top of his lungs, it never seems to put even the smallest dent in his boundless energy.
And now Ryan and I are GChatting the word "poop" back and forth to each other from our respective couches. It's time for the weather to start acting like Texas, is all I'm saying.