I haven’t seen the sun in 10 days. For all I know, it may no longer exist. I’ve started to become accustomed to the rain and if I wake up in the morning and don’t hear a drip drop on the skylight my heart feels like it’s still in the Bay for a few seconds.

When we arrived in Oregon about a month ago, six different people must have told me that “this type of rain” wasn’t normal. I get the feeling they were trying to convince me not to leave my boxes packed and put the house back on the market. I’ve had to convince myself a few times and I suspect it won’t be the last. I left the culture of the laid back, yet fast paced, Bay Area behind and am attempting to “fit in” to life in the suburbs. Ironically, the young, black family from California never fits in. They stand out and proudly so.

Everyone is extremely nice and by extremely, I mean insanely nice. People’s willingness to go out of their way to lend a hand is extraordinary. It reminds me of the way I felt when I first visited Japan, minus the bowing of course. The California in me forces me to tense up every time I feel like my first encounter with someone is leading to an intimate relationship. I suppose one day, conversations in the check-out line at Target about how to apply for a discount on my home loan won’t be out of the ordinary — I’m sure having a kid that’s even cuter than the little boy from Stewart Little only paints me as bigger target. Lucky for me, I have a background in PR and am skilled in the art of keeping a conversation going.

If anything, it’s been memorable. Trekking outside with your husband on icy mud to take the garbage to the curb, all while betting on who’s going to eat it first, earns a spot on my highlight reel. And the rear-wheel drive Ford Mustang — racing stripe included — that was accidentally anchored in an icy gutter makes for great curb appeal. For some reason, the hot water that you so brilliantly thought would melt the ice under your car tires only made things worse. Needless to say, after a grueling 36 hours of being stranded (I know I’m so dramatic) with only a few bags of chips and half a growler of beer, Saeed and I are now prepared for the zombie apocalypse.

Shockingly, the forecast predicts rain tomorrow and throughout the rest of the week. In the spirit of embracing change, I’ve given up on my attempts to strap a diaper bag around my shoulder, hold a baby in one arm and an umbrella in the other. The curly hair has arrived and the sass is through the roof. Hello, Oregon, meet Cherie.