We've spent a lot of time on this trip discussing "what our children will remember." Goldie - well, nothing, obviously, but I still like to imagine that the things she's seeing and learning and doing during these weeks will ripple into her future.

The question of Indy's memories is a more complicated one. He's three and a half, almost four - I remember parts of my life from that period, but they're flashes: letting an ice pop drip into a garbage can in the playground, peeling sunburned skin from my babysitter's arm, a skinned knee, seeing my nursery school teacher walking down the street one day.

So I wonder: what will he remember? Will he remember getting to eat Cheetos? Only being allowed to buy one toy in the souvenir shop? Will he remember feeling nervous about not knowing what the place we're going to sleep in tonight looks like yet, or will he remember feeling excited about that not-knowing?

I'm anxious about writing this post about the couple of days we spent in Hot Springs, Arkansas. I'm anxious because I can imagine how infuriating it must be to hear a liberal resident of a coastal state (who is likely reacting at least in part to the fact that she feels incredibly out-of-place in a state with such a dramatically different culture) making anything even approaching a judgment.

But I'm a writer, and part of what I write about is my experiences and adventures - and the fact is that this was not an entirely positive one. I want to be clear: there are great things about the area. It is beautiful out there in the country. The food is incredible (oh my goodness, the peel-and-eat shrimp). There is a Star Wars Museum with a full-size replica of Han Solo in carbonite. And. And! We found Zoltar.

Most importantly: we had wonderful conversations with wonderful, kind people who practically treated us and our children like family.