Here is a lovely photo of the girls, posing at the edge of the Grand Canyon, marred only by the fact that Sophie insisted on clutching a Sesame Street coloring book.

I can relate. At the next lookout point (I lost count, not sure which that was) yesterday, she initially refused to get out of the car, and so I read “Junie B. Jones, Graduation Girl” while Ray and Annabelle oohed and ahhed. Eventually, Sophie did agree to get out, so I joined her. We walked to the edge of that lookout, and she was suitably impressed.

Ray was pleased, which pleased me. Despite the fact that he accused me of a sullen expression most of the trip (I swear, I felt like crap, I have a sinus infection, and even tried showing him a Kleenexful of green snot to prove it) I actually enjoyed myself. Ray made great efforts were made to assure that — we stayed in a nice hotel (not El Tovar, but still, it was very clean and spacious) and I was not forced to attempt any hikes that scared me. (Which, to be honest, is most any hike, particularly one that involves standing near a precipice, which is pretty much what the Grand Canyon is all about, hence the name.)

Sophie’s a great equalizer in the equation of our family, I have to admit. She and I attempt the more modest physical endeavors in life (she’ll tip the balance and surpass me, I know, it’s just a matter of time), while Ray nudges Annabelle to join him. She had whined for weeks, anytime he suggested a hike, so I was worried and I know he was, too. But she performed admirably, this trip. They made it almost to the first rest house, which I’m told is a heck of a hike for an almost 8 year old.

Ray adores the Grand Canyon. It’s one of his favorite places. He first traveled there with his parents when he was young, recently transplanted from New York. He’s stayed in Bucky O’Neil’s cabin (so close to the edge you wouldn’t want to stay there if you sleepwalk), he’s hiked up and down in a day (not recommended) and even rim to rim in a day (definitely not recommended). He’d been there before, but this trip he thoroughly enjoyed every lookout, every peek, every bit of the canyon experience.

I most appreciated the parts that involved people and buildings — I’m fascinated by Mary Colter, who designed many of the buildings at the Grand Canyon’s south rim, long before it was fashionable for a woman to do so. I love the decor in her Bright Angel lodge, down to the whimsical, decrepit, painted window panes near the ceiling of the lodge’s cafe.

The Grand Canyon itself? Eh. To me, it looks like a backdrop for a movie — almost too pretty to look at for too long, and definitely vertigo-inducing for me if I go anywhere close to the edge. I’ll admit that perhaps I lack a full appreciation because I have not ever ventured down into the canyon. And I never will. I walked 13 and a half miles a few months ago, but that was all flat except for a slight incline near the end that nearly killed me. I trip over curbs; no thanks, I’ll skip mile-deep canyons.

Despite the fact (or maybe because of it) that I’m an Arizona native, my first trip to the Grand Canyon didn’t come til I was in my 20s, on assignment for my first newspaper job: A murderer was loose in the Grand Canyon National Park. Now, that was my kind of trip! The guy didn’t hurt anybody (else, that is) and they caught him fairly quickly, but I had fun traisping around the grounds, talking to scared tourists.

I did walk to the edge and looked for a few seconds, National Lampoon’s Vacation-style, then posed and our photographer (handy, to have one of those around; these days I’d be forced to take my own photos) snapped my picture, smiling and waving.

I knew I’d be okay if I never went back. So yeah, to be completely honest, that sullen expression this weekend may have been 90 percent sinus infection and 10 percent Grand Canyon, but I know one thing: I thoroughly enjoyed being with my family for three days straight, even though Sophie pooed her pants (bye bye Elmo panties) and later drew all over herself with markers (where’d she get them?!) and Annabelle got motion sick and threw up in the car, just minutes from home. (My weak stomach — she did inherit something from me.)

I’m looking forward to traveling — even camping, yes, I’ve committed — with the family this summer. Sophie will now sleep in a bed with the rest of us in the room without getting up all night (knock wood), climbs stairs on her own and, generally speaking, doesn’t bolt, which is a very good thing when you’re standing next to, oh, say, the Grand Canyon.

And Sophie’s my kindred spirit — for the moment, at least. I, too, reach for reading materials when I’ve had too much sightseeing (most memorable: me, sitting on a pile of Roman ruins, reading People magazine on my honeymoon, while Ray inspected the nth stone whatever).

I’ll need to stock up on the reading material, because we’re headed to some more national parks. After turning it down at the Petrified Forest  last year, Ray decided we should take the Park Service up on its kind offer, and score Sophie a free lifetime pass to all national parks.

“Anyone in this car have a medical disability that gets them government services?” the ranger asked when we pulled up. I looked at my feet.

Ray pointed toward the back seat.

“Sophie does!” he said.

I couldn’t look, but Ray said said the ranger barely glanced back.

“OK, let’s make this quick,” she said, shoving a clipboard in Ray’s face. He signed for Sophie and handed her the card (she was thrilled), which he later wisely grabbed and hid in his wallet. We saved $25.

The Petrified Forest ranger’s words echoed in my ears as we drove into the park — “You get one of those, you never leave that person home when you go on vacation!”

As if.

I’d never heard of a fairy ring til last week. As we were driving north, Ray gave his sales pitch for what a great trip it would be. “We’re going to a place called the Crystal Forest,” he said, “And we’re going to look for fairy rings! But the fairy rings won’t be in the crystal forest — they’ll be in the real forest.”

“Huh?” I thought. (I was sort of napping at the time.) At that point I hadn’t been enlightened to the wonders (not so much) of the Crystal Forest, at the Petrified Forest. And I’d certainly never heard of a fairy ring. I have no idea where Ray picked that one up — he’s the keeper of all sorts of knowledge, useful and not, the kind of guy who reads about the ancient Romans for fun. Handy to have around, for sure.

And the fairy ring was the ticket. Along with fashion design, Annabelle’s been into the whole fairy thing. When we go to the bookstore, she grabs those enormous (expensive!) fairy books with the pop-ups and the cut outs and the little envelopes you can open and take stuff out of — all about fairies. She most definitely wanted to see a fairy ring. The stakes were high.

Ray explained that a fairy ring is a circle of mushrooms. I know about mushrooms; we used to find them on the lawn, as kids. I don’t know why we don’t get them at our house now. Maybe because of irrigation. All I recall was my mother warning us that they might be poisonous (as if I was going to put THAT in my mouth) and worrying about the dog getting into them. No rings.

In the end, we found two fairy rings on our trip. None in the petrified forest (of course) and none in the real forest (not that we looked so hard, or really spent much time in any real forest) — instead, one was in the yard at La Posada in Winslow and the other in my parents’ yard in Flagstaff.

Wow. It really was a little circle (a clumpy little circle but still) of mushrooms, growing right there next to a tree on the lush green lawn that backs up to a very loud train. “Where are the fairies?” Annabelle asked Ray, who assured her that they only come out at night and promised to bring her back, flashlight in hand.

She did her own little fairy dance on the lawn.

I had an idea. As we were packing to leave on our trip, there was some consternation over the fact that Annabelle was about to lose a tooth. She never did, that thing was still hanging there last night when I put her to bed. Ray started calling her Snaggletooth, and it’s true, the thing is looking pretty gross. (The tooth, not the kid.)

So I ran to the bank and got some more silver dollars and packed some Tabitha Fairchild stationary, as well as my favorite pink glitter, “Cheeky,” which I’ve been sprinkling on the tooth fairy letter each time. More than the stationary or the money or the small gift I include (indeed, I go way overboard, shoot me) Annabelle’s taken with the “fairy dust”, which she saves in a small box in her room. (And here, big thanks to Mrs. M., for the idea!)

My idea was to run outside when no one was looking, and dump some glitter on the mushrooms, so Annabelle would see them sparkle when she and Ray headed out that night.

I felt like a criminal, creeping out the back door and crouching to sprinkle the pink stuff, but no one was around. I even made it back up to the room, sparkle free, with no questions from the kids. And that night, the plan worked! Sophie skipped the trip into the cold (wise girl) but Annabelle headed out and back in to report on the discovery.

The next morning, Annabelle told me she’d had a dream about a fairy, describing her in beautiful detail.

“I don’t know, I think she’s getting a little too obsessed with fairies,” Ray said later.

I bit my tongue to keep from pointing out his role in this obsession. Anyhow, a little magic is not a bad thing. Right?

The second fairy ring was dead, so we skipped the glitter, though AB insisted on going out at night to check, just in case.

Of course, before I wrote this, I googled “fairy ring”. I found several web sites for lawn care, and a great picture of a gigantic fairy ring. (Apparently they can be quite a problem.)

And naturally, there’s a Wikipedia entry for fairy rings. Now, maybe it’s just because of my profession (as a journalist, it’s all about getting the info before you write the story) but I’m constantly struck with how scarily easy it is, these days, to get ahold of information. I’m not saying it’s always accurate — you’ve got to fact check — but it’s darn good stuff, I realize, now that I’ve given into the wiki thing a little.

Too good to be true, if you ask me, which is the same thing I think when I use my iPhone or drive through Starbucks. Or take my Netflix movie out of the mailbox. Or find out they serve brown rice at my favorite Thai restaurant. And then there’s etsy.com.

Sorry for the digression, but really, these things tell me that the end of civilization is nearing. It’s all too easy. I listen to the financial news and I don’t understand any of it except the part about how we’re probably really, really screwed. I think it’s because I love my iPhone too much.

So yeah, give me some magic. It’s nice to think about fairy rings, and even learn everything you could imagine (and then some) about them with a few keystrokes. But don’t read too much. As my own luck would have it, fairy rings are considered incredibly bad luck by a variety of cultures! They portend an early death and French lore warns that bug-eyed toads guard them, putting a curse on anyone who comes near. You must touch iron or sprinkle marjoram and thyme to ward off the evil.

The good news is that you pretty much have to step inside the fairy ring for anything really crappy to happen, and our rings were way too small for that. And there was mention of the belief that the fairies use the mushrooms for parasols and tables. I prefer to imagine that. Shakespeare alluded beautifully though scarily to them, in The Tempest:

I also found this traditional Scottish rhyme:

And what of she who sprinkles pink glitter on the fairy ring?

Yeah, I’m screwed.

I just hope my Netflix movies still come.