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.