Lambie and the turkey with a hat go to the Farm.

We've already been to Davis Farm a couple of times this season, and they opened only about a week ago. I swear, I work to make sure my membership is worth it. On opening day last Thursday, we bundled up, Marley grabbed a turkey friend, Rudy clutched her Lambie, and we were off. I pushed for this trip with Heather and Danielle and all the kids, and we had to reschedule some assisted living visits because of it, but if we hadn't, I would've been to about six medically-based appointments that week. I just wanted to have some springtime kid fun, man.

Marley was happy to see the turkeys, although the poults haven't yet arrived to strut around their enclosure. And speaking of turkeys, (or, as Marley said recently, "Speaking to...") why didn't the similarities between turkeys and dinosaurs occur to me until I was an adult? Bean's thinking of becoming a paleontologist these days, since her pre-school wrapped up the dinosaur unit last month. I got all teacher-y on her when I tried explaining that there really isn't a dinosaur named brontosaurus anymore.

Marley's class is talking about Community Helpers this month. I'm visiting on Tuesday to demonstrate: Coach. I plan on bringing my whistle and a clipboard, along with adult- and kid-sized lacrosse and field hockey sticks. Just trying to be a healthy female role model, people.

Rudy got to hang out with some real lambies at the farm, and it was so sweet to see her all delighted by the baby animals. She bounced up and down, shrieked with excitment, and laughed and giggled, reaching out for them. Then she heard the mommies bleating. Toot then grabbed my leg and started sobbing for her own mommy. I can say from some dreadful experience, sometimes adult sheep sound like nursing home inhabitants with dementia.

The day before, Rudy and I spent over three hours at a hospital, partly completing routine bloodwork, partly getting four different leg and leg joint x-rays, and mostly visiting with an orthopedist who wants to see my bow-legged little friend again in a few months. Let's just say, her rickets is affecting her bones differently than Marley's has, and she may need a brace sometime in the next year or so to straighten out. Poor Toot. I had a cathartic chat with Marley and Rudy's pediatrician that night, during which she gently cautioned me that Rudy may not do all the things I want for her to be able to do. Notice I used the phrase "be able." I'm not saying I want Rudy (or Marley, for that matter) to be athletes. I just want them to have options. Todd can't jog more than twenty yards, and he's happy enough on his bike, but, you know. You just want your kids to have possibilities, right?

After a full day of pony riding, shoveling in a sandbox so full that it actually contains its own playground structure, visiting dozens of baby animals, and munching lunch, all with their kooky and adorable cousins, Rudy conked out on the car ride home and then later in her crib, and Marley lasted about five minutes on the couch before she passed out and immediately began to resemble me: mouth-breathing, drooling, maybe even a delicate snore or two.

Totally worth it.