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A quick search left me feeling surprised that I have not used this phrase as a title before. Well I’m using it now.

The reason why I rarely post about my life has little to do with the fact that my children are getting older and are therefore not as cute and funny in the eyes of the public.

It’s not because the great adventure of moving to our dream home, in a dream neighborhood, in the one and only state we have been dreaming about living in for over a decade, has settled into comfortable bliss. Or that the kids are doing so well in school I have nothing left to piquantly rant about.

I don’t barely squeeze out one or two posts a week because I suffer from writer’s block. Or that I haven’t found my happy writing place in my new awesome home. And it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m so often uninspired I don’t think to write until “the moment has passed.”

These are all valid reasons.

However …

The reason why I don’t write more is really because of the rain.

For nine years I lived in perpetual sunshine. Rainy days were so rare I treated them like movie days. Cloudy days were still warm enough to go outside for a walk or play at the park. Rainy days felt infinitely more despondent. Rainy days called for the comfort of a snugly blanket, the familiar voices from the television, along with special treats like popcorn and Diet Coke.

Rainy days were not go outside and do anything days. Nor were they find something to do in the house days. They were the ultimate lazy days. They were do as little as possible days because rainy days had such a small window of opportunity and even then it felt as likely as seeing a unicorn finding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Rainy days called for quiet reverence inside.

After nine long years of this mindset, you can see how lost one might feel when every day is a rainy day. When water constantly streams down windows and drips into ever present puddles and the temperature feels colder still from the 2,000% humidity, you can see why the words don’t come easily. Announcements from Wally Weatherman stating that it was the wettest February on record and the fourth wettest March ever, at least since they started measuring that stuff back in dinosaur times, only exacerbate the blame I am placing on the rain for my writing absence.

Life does continue. It’s not like we stop existing between posts. On Friday we learned we should never bring our daughter to a parent teacher conference. She is nothing like her brothers who were always shy and mute at those meetings. Not Gwen. Her confidence extends to situations involving adults who have taken a secret oath to only say positive things about her. She is aware of this and toots her own horn before anyone else has a chance. It’s okay. We still love her, including the confidence she has.

She spent most of her money on books at the book fair. I was impressed with her math skills. She even tried to figure out tax before she got to the register. She can’t spell to save her life (her friend suggested she make her passwords “incorrect” so when she misspelled the word it would show up in nice red letters on the screen!) But she is a smart cookie and everyone loves her.

We enjoyed dinner with friends on Friday evening. And General Conference the rest of the weekend. Then we played in Seattle on Monday where we ran into some friends from California who are also on Spring Break this week. That was a fun surprise. We went north to the Tulip Festival on Tuesday. It was nice to have so much fun as a family on the only nice days this week. Wednesday was business as usual. Rain, work, and writer’s block.

Until I get used to my less hectic life along with completely different weather, I blame the rain.