The irritating thing about living in Oregon is that you can never be certain that it will not start raining on you at any moment.  It is impossible to make plans that depend on it not raining.  You can’t count on weather being sunny and warm at any time of year.  In fact, if you do make plans for an outdoor activity, you have just increased your chance of rain by fifty percent. 

I understand that there was supposed to be some warm weather here while I was in California.  I wouldn’t know, I don’t keep up on the weather in places where I am not–unlike my mother-in-law, who always knows what the weather is in any given place.  My mother-in-law often asks me how my brother is doing with the weather in Maryland.  I don’t talk to my brother often (no offense to him, he’s just not much of a talker), and when I do, the weather does not usually come up.  It wouldn’t come up, unless there was a hurricane or something, in which case I probably wouldn’t be talking to him anyway because the phones were down.  Whatever.  I usually find out about the weather in Maryland from my mother-in-law, who has never been to Maryland.  That’s neither here nor there.  Where was I?  Oh, yes.  There might have been some kind of heat wave while I was gone, but now that I’m back and taking my kids to swim class at the outdoor pool [beats head against wall], the August sky bears a striking resemblance to the one I saw back in April.  It’s warmer than it was in April, meaning that we can go out without jackets and be perfectly comfortable (and usually dry), but it’s not the kind of weather that makes you want to put on a swimsuit and jump in the pool.  Princess Zurg takes it all in stride, but Mister Bubby was purple when he came out of the boys’ locker room.  The boy has no body fat, what can I tell you.

I actually find this weather exceptionally pleasant, so don’t get the idea that I’m complaining.  It’s only Mister Bubby who’s complaining and saying he doesn’t want to go to swim class until the morning dew has burned off (which should be at about 4:30 in the afternoon).

Speaking of swim class, I signed them up for lessons at the outdoor pool during the summer because a) it’s closer than the indoor pools, b) it’s summer and I’m not keen on spending summer inside a humid public pool building where I can feel the chlorine leeching into my skin and burning my sinuses, and c) there’s a playground right next to the outdoor pool, so I have something to do with the younger children while the older ones are off gallavanting in the water.  (Speaking of the playground, someone finally got the brilliant idea to build a fence around it.  A fence!  For an area where children play???  I’m flabbergasted!) 

What I don’t like about the outdoor pool is that, because it is a small pool and the locker rooms are therefore very small, there is always a huge line for the girls’ shower–because both girls and young boys whose mothers can’t (or won’t) let them use the boys’ room by themselves have to shower there.  Also, they all seem to have to wash their hair there.  With shampoo.  And conditioner, in some cases.  I don’t get it.  There are two whole showers, people, and forty-seven people who want to use them.  Rinse the chlorine out and put on your underpants.  What’s the big deal?

In other news, I have recently concluded that Elvis only wants to eat fruit that requires me to stop whatever I’m doing and cut it.  I cut up a whole canteloupe, he wants the watermelon.  I cut up the watermelon, and he wants the strawberries, which don’t usually need to be cut except that he insists on having the stems sliced off.  Or he wants an apple, which needs to be cut and peeled.  If the only fruit we had were grapes, he would probably want me to start slicing them, so I’m glad we don’t have any.

Speaking of fruit, Sugar Daddy bought some kiwis the other day.  We haven’t had kiwi fruit in our home for years, and he might have forgotten why that is.  It’s because my children LOVE kiwi fruit, but kiwi fruit does not love them.  Or rather, it does not love their digestive tracts.  I absolutely love kiwi fruit myself, but I have had to forsake it because I love my children’s digestive tracts more.  Or rather, I love not having to change kiwi fruit diapers more.  Of course, everyone who was in diapers when the kiwi fruit ban was instituted are no longer in diapers, and now that I think on it, the diaper-wearing children have probably never had kiwi fruit.  However, I am not, shall we say, as uninvolved in the events surrounding my older son’s digestive tract as I would like to be.  And so far all the other food sensitivities that the older children have are also present in the younger children.  And thus I am afraid to feed them kiwi fruit.  I shall have to eat it myself.

Thus endeth today’s blog, as I have a lot of housework and Harry Potter-reading to do, not necessarily in that order.