I don’t know much, but I do know Phoenix. I’m a native (like, a real one — I was actually born here) and while I escaped for a few years, I’ve been back for more than 20. This city is a tough nut to crack, particularly in the summer. (Don’t worry, the forecast for next weekend is down to a balmy 109 degrees.) But in the last few years the city’s grown up a lot, and there’s more to do here than you might think. Better restaurants, too. Here are a few of our favorites.

(Be sure to call ahead for summer hours; you won’t likely need a reservation this time of year, but hours do change and sometimes folks close up for the summer. Another caveat: pretty much nothing on this list — and, in fact, nothing in general — is close to the convention site. Phoenix is a car town.)

FnB 

The one-two punch of Chef Charleen Badman and front-man Pavle Milic is irresistible. This is hands-down my favorite restaurant in town — high-end cuisine in a lovely, low key setting. Pavle will kill me for saying this, but I’ll warn you to steer clear of the Arizona wines unless it’s Todd Bostock’s sparkling rose in a can or Milic’s own line of wines. The menu is veg friendly (and kid friendly, too, though not for chicken nuggets-only types) but if there’s lamb that day, GET IT. And don’t skip the butterscotch pudding for dessert. Or the negroni. Side note: Charleen and my Sophie are BFFs — more than one science fair project has gone down in the FnB kitchen. (See photo above. from the time Sophie and Charleen made butter.)

(Other wonderful Scottsdale restaurants for dinner and cocktails include Posh, Citizen Public House, Virtu and AZ88, where Sophie’s favorite is the grilled cheese and my favorite is the espresso martini.)

Barrio Cafe

Sophie also has a love affair going with Silvana Salcido Esparza, the chef at Barrio Cafe (she has a couple locations at the airport and recently opened Barrio Urbana as well). My husband and I remember going to the original Barrio for our first real meal after Sophie’s first heart surgery 12 years ago — the restaurant is in Phoenix’s barrio, a few blocks from Phoenix Children’s Hospital. We don’t see much of Sophie when we eat at one of Silvana’s restaurants; the kid disappears into the kitchen with the chef!

Other options for Mexican food in metro Phoenix: the Sonoran Hot Dog is a must-try “dish” and you’ve got to get it off a cart. If you want your food super-hot, go to Los Dos Molinos (my favorite location is on South Central Avenue, in an old adobe). Los Olivos in Scottsdale is basic Sonoran Mexican food, kitschy and kid friendly.

Hana

Okay, I get that sushi in the desert sounds kind of sketchy. But Lori Hashimoto does it right. She will also accommodate “someone” (not Sophie!) with a fish phobia. (Thanks, Lori.) Seriously, every fish lover I know raves about this place. So if you need a sushi fix while you’re here, this is the place. Lori’s another local chef on Sophie’s list of favorite people.

Welcome Chicken and Donuts

No, that is not a typo. I did not mean to write chicken and waffles. The folks behind the amazing Welcome Diner (come back during a cool-weather visit, the seating’s mainly outdoors) recently opened a place that pretty much only sells fried chicken and donuts in flavors like Key Lime Pie. And cold brew coffee, they serve that too. It’s pretty much perfect. And right near the airport. You’re welcome.

Crepe Bar

What Jeff Kraus does with a crepe should be a crime. This place is casual with counter-service and the line can be long but it’s worth it — and you’ll probably get a sample of the best granola you’ve ever tasted.

Pizzeria Bianco

It’s probably the city’s most famous restaurant, and it’s worth going! But go to the Town and Country (20th Street and Camelback) location. It’s closer to the hotel, and I can almost guarantee there won’t be the infamous wait. Make sure you ask for the chef’s mom’s desserts.

Super Chunk

Country and Sergio Velador are the Wonkas of Phoenix. You have to see it to believe it. Their little candy shop features only handmade items, from sweet and savory popcorns to brittles, hand-pulled taffy and gorgeous cakes. Sophie never makes it out of there without a small tub of chocolate chips.

Sweet Republic

This ice cream shop (with locations in Scottsdale, Phoenix and the airport — you can also find it at Whole Foods) is exactly what you’re going to need in Phoenix in June. Helen Yung is one of the most creative chefs I’ve encountered — she often mixes it with mash-ups with local restaurants and even a local beer, recently. And you should watch her order dim sum. Both my girls are in total awe of Helen.

Shopping

Frances, MADE and Bunky Boutique, all in Central Phoenix, are amazing little indie shops. Our beloved bookstore, Changing Hands in Tempe, recently opened a second location in Phoenix — with a coffee/wine/beer bar. Sophie pretty much runs the joint (the book part, anyway) when we visit. She wishes there was a children’s drama section but otherwise it’s pretty much her favorite place in town.

Desert Ridge is the closest mall to the convention site — it’s okay but typical and big box-y and chain-y, and, be warned, outdoors. Even in the hottest months, they tend to keep large fires roaring outside; it’s a little disturbing. Kierland Commons is a better bet, though a little snooty and still outdoors. Scottsdale Fashion Square is giant and INDOORS. Score. (In Phoenix in the summer, one must learn to embrace the mall.)

Stuff to Do

There’s a children’s museum in downtown Phoenix, as well as the Arizona Science Center, Phoenix Art Museum (sorry, you just missed the Warhol show) and the Heard Museum (largest Native American art collection in the world). If I was going to choose one museum to go to, it would be the Musical Instrument Museum, which (bonus!) is actually close to the convention site.  We took Sophie several year ago and she loved it.

You’ll have a giant pool at the Marriott, so I won’t give you specifics about other pools in the area — but there are several, including water parks like the old school Big Surf in Scottsdale.

If you’re into Paolo Soleri, go to the late architect’s bell factory, Cosanti, in Paradise Valley. And of course there’s Taliesin West, Frank Lloyd Wright’s winter HQ. Or go hang out at the Arizona Biltmore hotel, built by Wright disciples. (And there’s a nice bar in the lobby!)

If you get desperate, you can always Google “ice skating” and “Phoenix.”

You also might want to get out of the heat entirely. The beach is six hours, so Flagstaff’s the best bet for that (two hours north on I-17) and when you’re there, be sure to go to Macy’s for coffee. Black Bart’s is super kitschy and silly, with waiters singing show tunes. Awesome. The Monte Vista is a cute, vintage hotel in the heart of downtown Flagstaff.

Hope that helps! Don’t forget sunscreen! 

Remember when you were a kid and you had a friend over and you begged your mom for an overnight? Then more play the next day? And then for the friend to stay for dinner again? For some reason, those memories for me are always accompanied by the memory of being sunburned — probably because so many vacations and weekends were spent in the pool.

It was the best, those endless hours that melted into days and nights, with your BFF by your side. That was Sophie’s spring break last week. Annabelle’s, too — she had plenty of play dates with good friends — but particularly for Sophie, who had her “B,” Sarah.

Last week, Sophie had her very first overnight ever — at Sarah’s house. Two nights later, Sarah spent the night at our house, then stayed through the day, and Ray and I took the girls to dinner while Annabelle spent the night at another friend’s house (like I said, it was that kind of vacation). We went to Joe’s Crab Shack, which grossed me out but the girls and Ray were thrilled — and I got a big margarita. Side by side in their bibs, the girls practically melted into each other, sipping lemonade and picking at their seafood baskets. So happy.

After dinner, the girls begged for another overnight, but Sarah’s mom and I decided we better quit while we were ahead.  I’m sure Sarah and Sophie will hold us to our promise of a sleepover soon.

I can’t wait.

The whole trip did. That’s not to say we didn’t all do our fair share of whining — and that after countless turns on the carousel, my world’s not still spinning just a bit, as I sit still to type this — but it was certainly our best trip to Disneyland yet.

And that’s saying a lot. We’ve gone every year since Annabelle turned 3, and were in danger of missing a year when I hatched a plan to spend New Year’s in Anaheim — never guessing what a popular NYE destination Disneyland is. Never mind. We saw both 2010 and 2011 in the Magic Kingdom.

This morning I asked Sophie, “What was your favorite part of the trip?” She didn’t hesitate.

“When we split up!” she said with a twinkle in her eye, knowing she was being just a little bit naughty in her admission. But I had to agree.

That’s when Annabelle and Ray hit the scary rides like Space Mountain and the Matterhorn, and Sophie and I rode the carousel or stood in line to meet the characters. If you’ve never had the privilege of watching Sophie make it to the front of the line to see Snow White (or Tigger or Alice in Wonderland or Gepetto or Goofy or Minnie or — you get the picture), you just haven’t lived, my friend.

It really is magic.

My favorite moment was when she motioned to Cinderella and asked Sleeping Beauty, “Hey, who’s that girl with the bangs?” I even got her onto the teacup ride, this time, and she needed no coaxing to run up on “stage” and dance with Mary Poppins.

Both girls cried when we left the park, and we had to promise that this wouldn’t be our only trip to Disneyland in 2011. Except for my feet, I didn’t mind a bit.

I don’t have a lot of romantic notions about camping — except when it comes to Annabelle.

I’d like to think that she’ll look back on our trip last week as part of the Summer She Turned 9 — the summer she danced with her Gaga, performed in a play version of “Diary of A Wimpy Kid” and went to the beach with her cousins for the umpteenth time. The summer she went to Yellowstone.

I imagine her collection of memories: Searching (in vain) out the window of her daddy’s giant truck for grizzly bears, then watching as buffalo practically brushed up against the windows during a late afternoon traffic jam.  The stink and gurgle of those weird “thermal features.” Learning to stoke the campfire and put up the tent. Doubling over in giggles with her mom when her little sister Sophie asked a forest ranger for “extra towels” and pretending to be Olivia the Pig in order to coax that darn Sophie to do everything from get out of the truck to pick up her feet and hike. Freezing in the tent at night, listening to the wind come up and the air come out of her poor dad’s mattress — and to her mom snoring. Looking at the stars, watching movies on the iPhone, making up family versions of the Double Rainbow Song.

And Margaret. I bet she’ll remember Margaret. For all her smarts, up to now Annabelle’s not been a huge reader — not in a can’t-put-that-book-down way. Not until Margaret. I read Judy Blume’s “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret” when I was in fourth grade (or maybe third) but it didn’t occur to me that Annabelle was ready for it until a dear friend warned me her own daughter had just finished it and might start chatting with Annabelle about periods and boys.

I packed a copy of the book in Annabelle’s little pink backpack, along with her Nintendo DS and “Spesh” and “Ella,” her security blanket and stuffed elephant. She devoured it. At one point I had to warn her to slow down, that she’d run out of reading material while we were camping (one of my own personal fears). But as it was, her timing was perfect: Annabelle finished Margaret on the last morning we camped — sunk into a folding camp chair, orange Croc-ed ankles crossed daintily, dangling inches from the ground.

(Ah, the drama of the last pages of a good book. My own favorite memory is from fifth or sixth grade, when my pal Glenna Clark played the theme to the movie “Ice Castles” on her family’s piano for extra tear-jerking effect as I read the final paragraphs of Danielle Steele’s “The Promise”.)

Annabelle turned the last page and heaved one of those great big satisfied sighs you sigh when you’ve finished the greatest book you’ve ever read, and I immediately thought about which Judy Blume to give her next: “Otherwise Known as Shelia the Great” is probably too young. I’m not ready myself for “Then Again, Maybe I Won’t.” Perhaps “Deenie”? It’s a delicious debate. But I’m glad I didn’t have any other books with me; it was nice for Annabelle to spend some time reflecting with Margaret.

“Margaret talks to God,” Annabelle told me one morning as we walked the now well-worn path from our campsite to the (thankfully very clean with flush toilets) bathroom. I know, I answered, waiting, worried — this whole god thing is still a sore spot for me, particularly as the Jewish High Holidays approach this year and I have no better answers as to how proceed with a religious education than I did last year. (We’re still attending the Church of Dance….)

“And now,” she continued, “when I’m worried about something, like where I’m going to school next year or stuff going on with friends, I have someone to talk to. I can talk to Margaret.”

Frankly, I can’t think of a better confidant.

Safe and sound.

No bears — not even a sighting, to the dismay of three members of our little foursome.

And my histrionics? Totally justified, in my sick little mind. In fact, I’m already getting worked up for next year’s camping trip — there is sure to be one next summer, if not before. And I will go, and I’ll try to be happy about it, but the truth is that I am simply not a camper.

Empty spaces make me claustrophobic. Our camp site was perfectly lovely, as such things go, and as far as I was concerned, could have been located in Flagstaff, two hours north of home, rather than two days north (and east). Lots of pine trees. A few squirrels. Noisy generators. And Old Faithful? Um, yawn. Maybe I just didn’t have a great view.

We did have a lot of family togetherness — mostly in a good way, particularly yesterday afternoon in the final hours of the trip, when we were all punchy, making up our own Double Rainbow songs (which is more obvious a sign of our society’s decline, that Double Rainbow video or Annoying Orange?) and suffering Ray’s Czech death metal.

I gathered a few epiphanies and some funny stories I’ll share when I’m done unpacking, but to be honest, none had to do with the purity (or lack thereof) of the camping experience.

Hey, big cities aren’t for everyone, either.

We ate s’mores.

We filled the bucket with sand castle water (again and again and again).

We got really sad when it was time to leave.

Like a lot of kids, Sophie doesn’t do so well with transitions. And she had a great time in First Grade. But I’m not worried about summer. Not this one, anyway.

This is the Summer of Courtney.

Of  “Courtney Love,” I’m calling it. Look at the two of them on their first morning together. Sophie is in heaven and I’m betting (with a few exceptions during some trying transition times) that Courtney will be, too. (Oy. Here I’m knocking wood like crazy! This post is way too optimistic for me!)

We’ve found a promising swim teacher, lined up almost all the therapists and Sophie’s even in dance camp at my mom’s studio this week. And best of all, she’s with Courtney, who’s putting a new degree in special education, more than a year of caring for Sophie and a big heart to work this summer.

Now if I only had things worked out for Fall.

I think I’ll celebrate summer — for a few days, anyway. We’re still recovering from the Last Day of School. I have to admit that I sobbed so hard into Ms. Y’s shoulder I couldn’t breath for a while.

But I can’t get too upset. Guess who Sophie’s math tutor is, starting Thursday? The amazing Ms. Y — pictured, true to a Last Day tradition started with Ms. X, here for the first time, below.

After our myriad summer travels, I can’t take a week off work. Yet I’m not willing to not spend time with the girls. And so I’m cobbling together a schedule that will leave everyone lacking and me up all night, trying to catch up on work.

That said, I am determined to steal some good time with my girls. Friday, I took off and Annabelle and I had a “special day” — we met one of our favorite mother/daughter duos for pedicures and Pei Wei, then went shopping for fall clothes at Target, and when Annabelle whined that she didn’t want to try them on I said OK and got her the DS game she wanted. (I think a little retail therapy is just fine for the kid — within reason.)

Tonight I’ll sneak her off to my parents’ house for an overnight, and Sophie and I will have some alone time tomorrow — all day.

It was going to be all-play all-day, ’til Sophie failed her vision test. Now we’ll start the day with a trip to the eye doctor, but even that will likely be fun, given Sophie’s love of all things medical. We’ll try to squeeze in a play date with another mother/daugther duo we love and beyond that I think I’ll let her choose whatever else we do.

This is very exciting to Sophie. Only recently has she started asking for one-on-ones with Ray and me.

“Just me and you, Mommy?” she asks, poking herself in the chest, then me. Her eyes light up when she gets the answer; she practically makes a buzzing noise.

We’ll both miss Annabelle tomorrow, I’m sure, but we’ll have her back in the fold by late afternoon — and we’ll do something special tomorrow night, because the following day, Ray’s the one on Fall Break Duty, and I, sadly, will be back at work.

You know those friends — friends you can go years without seeing, but when you do see them, it’s like no time has passed?

That’s my friend Heather. Love her. Loveherloveherloveher. We met as undergrads and somehow 20-plus years passed and here we are. After college she went to law school and met a cute boy and and suddenly we’re all old married people with kids. We wedged in a visit for a couple hours when Ray and the girls and I made our way through Los Angeles at the end of our epic road trip earlier this month.

As Heather put it, the hurried lunch at the old farmer’s market near the CBS studios (oh my gosh, I love going to that farmer’s market — it’s pretty much as it has been for decades, I imagine, even with Donna Parker visited in “Donna Parker Goes to Hollywood,” one of my all-time favorite books; Donna was a Nancy Drew wanna be and a reporter for her high school newspaper — major nerd alert) was a tease — it only made us both want a proper visit — but “dessert” was very satisfying: a trip to the American Girl store.

I’m so old, I missed the first round of American Girl action. (That, or they just weren’t big in Phoenix in the 70s.) Our babysitters all had them. My first introduction to the concept actually came at Heather’s house, years ago. Her daughter Ava, who’s about a year and a half older than Annabelle (funny, at the time Annabelle was born it felt like Heather had a teenager, that’s how skewed your perspective of time gets as a new parent) has more than one doll, and a trunk of clothing and accessories. Heather highly recommended AG as a nice alternative to Barbies and the big-lipped Bratz dolls that freak me out. (Actually, I don’t know anyone who’s not freaked out by them.)

Some of the toy options for little kids are downright scary. I recall vividly that on her second birthday, Annabelle received Rio de Janeiro Barbie as a gift, and since the gift came from one of our sitters, I couldn’t do what I normally do with a gift I don’t approve of and stick it straight into the giveaway bag. The sitter would have noticed. So I gave Annabelle the Barbie, which she promptly stripped to her birthday suit and turquoise blue pumps.

Barbie is always standing on her tip toes, ready for heels. I don’t believe they make anything but flats for the American Girl. Not that I’m worried my kid will become a slut because she likes to play with naked dolls in f***-me pumps, but still, it just seems a little unsavory once you’ve been introduced to the world of the American Girl.

And what a world it is. Last holiday season, we finally brought Mia (Girl of the Year, an ice skater with beautiful blonde hair) into the family. She was followed this summer by Chrissa for Sophie (another Girl of the Year, she’s a swimmer who gets bullied at school) and Rebecca (I wasn’t going to get Annabelle another doll, but then they introduced a Jewish American Girl  — so what was I supposed to do when she asked for it?!)

The dolls aren’t cheap, and the clothes are downright outrageous. I devoted a Rubbermaid to them in a recent fit of organizing, and plan to hold onto the loot and oversee all play sessions involving American Girl accessories, in order to protect my investment from drifting to the bottom of various toy baskets, never to be seen whole — or clean — again.

Catalogue and online shopping don’t compare, I realized, as I passed through the doors of the Los Angeles American Girl store that Saturday afternoon. I’d been to the store in New York this summer, but alone, and only for five minutes to grab the latest dolls. This time we went all the way to the back — to the hair salon.

Yes, the hair salon. You can see it in the photo at the top of this post — a row of teeny tiny chairs, with full-sized women busily combing out the mess your kid has made of her doll’s hair. I got out of the hair part cheap, for $15, since Annabelle didn’t desire an updo for Rebecca. I’d already heard about the cafe where your AG doll sits next to you in a chair made just for her (I don’t know if they serve the dolls fake food, we didn’t eat there) but I hadn’t heard about the doll holders in the ladies room.

Yes, the doll holders. You can use the toilet without worrying about where to put your doll.

At least they didn’t have doll-sized toilets. In fact, despite the fact that the shopping trip cost me a small fortune, nothing about the American Girl experience was really so outrageous.

Or maybe it’s just that I bowed to oh-so-gentle peer pressure from Heather and Ava. That’s okay. I’ll take all the influence I can, from that family. I only wish we lived closer. But with that American Girl store just minutes from Heather’s house, I’m sure we’ll be back soon. I’ll start saving now.