Desert Arrival, Toddler Edition

There is a very specific developmental window in toddlerhood that everyone warns you about but you never believe. It’s the phase where your child is not yet hypnotized by screens… but also has the subtly of a caffeinated squirrel. Joni has officially entered this era. We boarded our first flight armed like seasoned expedition travelers, one entire backpack dedicated solely for activities. Stickers. Snacks. Books. A mysterious assortment of plastic animals. And yet somehow, the most thrilling activity remained repeatedly standing on our laps and attempting to “explore” everywhere BUT where we were sitting. 

To her credit, she did reasonably well. Two flights. Five total hours. Only moderate acrobatics. A few aisle stroll negotiations. Minimal public apologies required. I’d call that a win. 

We landed in Phoenix to a shocking, glorious 80° day, perfect for escaping Alaska’s recent cold snap. From there we made our way to the absolutely bougie oasis that is Royal Palms Resort and Spa. Think: terracotta walls glowing at sunset, the smell of citrus trees in the air, fountains bubbling in a multitude of courtyards, and the faint sense that you should probably be wearing better attire at all times. The pathways wind through manicured gardens with views of Camelback Mountain, and every corner feels like a movie set where someone dramatically sips a cocktail at golden hour. We, however, dramatically collapsed into bed at 8:47 p.m.

The next morning we leaned fully into desert chic and visited the Desert Botanical Garden. Towering saguaros and spiky little oddballs that look like they evolved purely out of spite.  Gardens that seem unfairly delicate for something surviving in that kind of heat. Joni took it all in at top toddler speed, which is to say she alternated between wonder and nonchalance. 

The afternoon was spent poolside, which for Joni translates to “aquatic maniac.” She swam. She splashed. She attempted independence. She demonstrated a concerning willingness to launch herself toward water at any moment. We rotated between lifeguard mode and lounging, which feels like parenting in a nutshell; 40% vigilance, 40% snacks, 20% pretending this counts as relaxation.

 Dinner that night was at a charming canal-side restaurant, the kind with twinkly lights and enough ambient magic to keep even Joni transfixed. Something about water, ducks, and soft breezes turned Joni into a model dining companion. She sat. She observed. She occasionally waved at strangers. We ate an actual meal while it was still warm. I cannot overstate the luxury of this experience.

Back at the hotel, we let her crawl laps around the room to burn off the last of the jet-lagged wiggles before a slip-tub bath with Momma, which mostly involved splashing and delighted squealing, and then finally, blissfully, bedtime.

Desert sun, warm evenings, one adventurous toddler, and parents who are cautiously optimistic about the upcoming days.