Field Trips.

My Marley Bean has a ridiculous sweet tooth that she inherited from I-don't-know-who. I was not that kid when I was little, and most ice cream and caramel aside, I prefer savory. Fried clams, for example. But Marley's whole face lights up whenever she hears the word chocolate, and if I have a secret Oreo-in-one-bite in the kitchen, she smells it on my breath when I plop down next to her on the couch minutes later.

A few weeks ago, Marley, Rudy, and I took a road trip out to Northampton ("Where the coffee is strong, and so are the women."), where my alma mater was hosting its annual graduation and reunion. Two metropolitan pals, one from New York City and the other from San Francisco, were going to be there, and I wanted to see them and introduce them to my bespectacled, kooky kids.

To help sell Marley on the trip, I used a downtown store called Sweetie's, which is really just a mom and pop version of Sweet Factory. I told her that it was the first place we'd visit once we got there, before we even met up with my friends, and she was skipping and jumping around the way I guess I would if someone told me I could have a shopping spree at The Container Store. And after Sweetie's and Ben and Bill's Chocolate Emporium, we went to Herrell's, which might be the most wonderful ice cream place in my life, for both taste and memories. I want some right now, since I'm reminiscing. (The passable caramel sauce I made after my first attempt last night, with some Brigham's vanilla, and crushed almonds, will have to do.)

After Marley loaded up on chocolate (she rejected other fruity and chewy forms of candy) and the sweetest, creamiest ice cream I know, we strolled to a small playground where I met Jake and Rachel, who really are the same ladies I used to hang out with on the third floor of Lawrence House. That was around the same time that I decorated my dorm room with posters of Snoop Dogg and the campus store classic of that sailor kissing that nurse on V-J Day.

But. While we were all merry and relaxed in downtown Northampton, Lambie was lost. And I panicked about this, but only on the inside, because I was still saying goodbye to old friends, and because I knew we had a back-up at home. Losing Lambie made me feel terrible. More specifically: negligent and jittery and forlorn and guilt-ridden all at once.

And here's something I think is worth noting. Even though Marley's black and white bean bag cat Sally was only beginning to earn a place as an indispensable stuffie when we lost her in Provincetown during the Wild, Wild West Carnival Parade, she set up a short pattern of loveys lost in Massachusetts Gay Meccas. The pattern has, of course, ended with Lambie. Liz says it's because I'm distracted. Maybe so.

Anyhow, about a week later, I ordered two Lambies from Amazon at a fairly embarrassing price, rationalizing that I needed another back-up, and a back-up for my back-up before they get any more costly. All three will soon be in rotation, and for now Rudy continues to joyously or serenely smush her face into the original back-up or its newest version whenever she's super excited, or about to collapse into sleep.

And a couple of Fridays ago, when Jackson was snoozing, slurping, and being so cool and cute at Heather's house instead of my own, I took Bean and Toot to the zoo. Marley was a sweet big sister, escorting Rudy on laps around the bronze-ish wall-fountain and later making a big deal out of the sleepy gibbons for Rudy's benefit. Toot is now officially into elephants and giraffes, and she sort of says both words when she sees pictures of them.

She also, by the way, now says "glasses" [more like GSHLASH-eeeesh], which makes sense, considering.