Y’all, I apologize. It’s been forever since I started this series; specifically, I began writing about last summer’s road trip last summer, and here I am finishing it up this summer. That was certainly not my intent, but my workload during the last year-and-a-half was intense, so I’m just beginning to get back on my feet again. At any rate, here is the first of the two last installments of Girl Meets West.
We had reserved two nights at Bishop’s Lodge, located just outside the city. What we didn’t know was that the better part of the lodge was closed for renovations. (In fact, the entire lodge is now closed with plans to reopen next year.) On the upside, there were only a handful of guests, so we had the run of the place.
The kids took full advantage of the grounds, and spent hours exploring the Southwestern terrain and the creek that ran just below our patio and throughout the property.
LCB and I spent the afternoon working out on the patio, our thoughts broken only by the occasional bursts of conversation as the kids traveled through the creek below us. It was full-on free range parenting.
And let me just tell you, those children were nothing short of filthy when they returned at dinnertime, dragging sticks and various findings behind them. We ended up pitching several pairs of socks that refused, despite heavy doses of detergent, to lose their newly acquired deep brown hue.
The kids opted to spend most of their second day exploring as well. We did manage to pry them from the dirt late that afternoon with the promise of food, and headed into town for dinner and shopping.
We stopped in Albuquerque the next day on our way back to Phoenix. Baby-Girl decided to fork over three of her dollars to buy a mood ring as a token of her trip. You know, because few things are more reminiscent of the character of Albuquerque than a three dollar mood ring just like the ones at Claire’s Boutique. She put it on in the store and walked with us through several more streets, uncharacteristically quiet. Then, she stopped, stomped one foot, and said, “This mood ring totally doesn’t work.”
Naturally, we never saw this coming, but I refrained from commentary and asked why she thought it didn’t work.
“I just made myself fake cry and it still says I’m happy,” she replied, sounding ticked.
My first instinct was to ask her to check to see if there was a color for indignation, but I sensed that this was not what the girl needed from her mother at this juncture.
Dusk found us back in Phoenix again, where we’d started almost two weeks earlier,