The waters are receding, R’s tooth is hanging in there (although it’s still a bit loose, it hasn’t discolored any more and is actually a bit whiter) and it looks like MAYBE, just MAYBE the snow might go away.

Much to the disappointment of Cass, who would sled forever if he could.

On his shiny red toboggan.

This makes me nervous. Most of Nova S is so low-ground and close to the sea (or assorted rivers) that with any good soaking rain, flood waters rise quickly.

While B shrugs it off (It’ll go down, Jess. It always goes down.) the non-native part of this marriage freaks out every spring.

I grew up near large bodies of water. I’m acquainted with the tides and shifting seasonal levels of lakes and rivers. The Great Lakes swallow and spit out their beaches yearly. It never bothered me before.

What I’m not used to (and can’t seem to get used to) is having my house slowly be circled with water. Water encroaching on the lawn, whittling away at the side yard. The sound of the river getting louder and louder. Watching large chunks of logs (and last night a TREE) bobbing outside in the (usually much calmer) Medway.

It’s not bad – our sump pump hasn’t even been needed yet and the basement is dry- but I’m having flashbacks to a few years ago when our basement was full of water to the rafters.

I haven’t been sleeping much.

Hopefully in a few days this will all be behind me, and I can relax and enjoy living by the water again.Because if it goes up again? I’m building a raft.

Cass lost a tooth last Friday. One of his top front teeth, his third tooth lost, and he’s thrilled. Of course, you expect your six year old to begin losing teeth, although I definitely mourn the loss of his little-boy face. There’s just something about getting big teeth in that really changes their whole visage.

You don’t, however, expect your three year old to whap! her head on the stairs a mere six days later and then swallow her tooth while she has her nap. Nope, I was really unprepared for that one. Poor baby.
Now I have to go round up a bunch of shiny quarters to tuck under her pillow.

Because somehow I think the tooth fairy is getting tired of coming to our house.

I have very little clue about what’s good for me anymore.

Oh, I know the oldies and goodies. Fibre, carbohydrates, vitamins. Leafy green vegetables. Protein. The more colorful the salad the better.

But the newcomers? Are kicking my bum.

Reading the flyers is an exercise. Where do you find a trans-fat? Do they lurk in doorways on the seedier part of town? Organic food sounds great, although I tried not spraying and feeding my garden a few years and got stunted, nasty-looking fruit and vegetables the rabbits turned their noses up at. For omega-3 fatty acids, I just eat fish, right? I can do that. Or, if I’d rather, I can swallow fish oil capsules. Nummy.

Folate. Zeaxanthin? They sound like superheros to me. Look! It’s Zeaxanthin Man! He’s come to slay the Folate Monster!

I am absolutely flabbergasted by the sheer number of probiotic commercials on the teevee. I had no idea so many people thought they had problems pooping. Much less that they would all feel comfortable going on the television and talking about it.

Great…now what in hell is inulin?

I obviously either need a medical dictionary….or a good bathroom break. Although I’m certainly not going to talk about that.

My son attends a tiny, rural elementary school, grades Primary through sixth.
We (B and I) love that he is able to go to school where his father went to school, that he knows all his teachers, that the school is located a house away from his grandfather’s house.

We love that he is so loved there, that he’s soaking up everything like a sponge, that everyone there is so interested in our boys’ future.

Recently I attended a meeting about a report commissioned by the school board to discuss school utilization. Our tiny little school has less-than-optimal enrollment, and costs the province an over-average amount to keep running.

In the past, studies like this have been the beginning of efforts to close the school – and the beginning of prolonged efforts by the community to keep the school open, to not let the doors close and keep this bit of history alive. How many people can say they went to a country school with individualized attention?

Now, this isn’t the last meeting, and no final recommendations have been made. If they close down the village school, the primary students would be on a bus first thing in the morning for a minimum of an hour and fifteen minutes* one way - a bit long to send little ones, think? Especially since they’d have the same ride home. Kindergarten children, on a bus for over two hours?**

The school also has a LOT of community support. The village has (for amenities) a post office, a church, a fire hall and a store – noone wants to see the school close down.

But pocketbooks and assimilation mentalities may rule the day.

This may be a battle. But we’ll fight, to keep our kids childhoods’ local and complete.

*No, we don’t live an hour and change away from the nearest other school. But with circuitous bus routing, that’s the amount of time the Bus Garage came up with.
**And guess who’d be on that bus? Miss Rosey-Posey herself, as any changes would start the year she enters school.