Leaving Las Vegas, Part III

The sun was peeking through the thick hotel blinds. I turned over and looked at the clock. 6:09. I’d been asleep for about six hours. We didn’t need to check out until noon, but there was no getting back to sleep now; my mind was already too pre-occupied with what lay ahead of us today: getting out of Las Vegas.

I hefted myself out of the bed, careful not to disturb Trinity, next to whom I had slept last night because David insisted on having mommy sleep with him. Her breathing was slow, deep, and steady, as was David’s in the other bed. Nancy had buried her face under the covers. I assumed she was still breathing, too.

I padded slowly and quietly around the dark room looking for my pants, socks, and sweater. I got dressed in the bathroom. When I came out, Trinity was starting to wake-up. She stretched, rolled over, looked over to where I was standing and said, “I want some juice.” I told her that I would go get some if she would just lay quietly in bed until I got back. “I will,” she said. So I found my wallet, checked for the room key, slipped on my shoes, and made my way down to the lobby.

When I returned, the room was a little brighter than it had been when I left and I could see what there was of our stuff – strewn about like it belonged to a 70s metal band on a one-night stand. I half expected Robert Plant to come swaggering out of the bathroom, but the hot pink glare of Trin’s Hello Kitty backpack snapped me back to reality. Trinity was lying in bed, just as I’d asked her to do. Nancy was waking up, too. David was still out cold.

We took showers, the kids watched cartoons, we re-packed our things and headed down to the café for breakfast. We ordered up some scrambled eggs, toast, hash browns, and bacon for the lot of us, with two healthy cups of coffee for me and Nancy. The scrambled eggs achieved a quality I didn’t know existed in nature: both powdery and wet. I have no idea how they accomplished this, but it was truly stomach turning (and I’m not too picky when it comes to things like that). Trin, of course, loved them; she devoured her share and part of David’s. For his part, Dave stuck to bacon and toast, as they were easier to manipulate with his one good hand.

Between sips of coffee and pleas for David to get back to his seat, Nancy informed me that one of her shoes had blown out last night while we were in the clinic. The stitching on the side had completely given way rendering the already open, clog-like structure to become completely untenable. It was basically a flip-flop without the handy toe thing. I suggested that we call a cab and go to the mall that I had seen on the way in last night. She refused, saying that a trip to the mall in a cab with the two chunchkins (part chump, part munchkin) was more than she could bear. Plus, it would be a waste of money. She just wanted to get home. I bussed the table while Nancy took the kids over to “look at” a model train that encircled the Christmas tree in the lobby. Despite explicit instructions to “look with their eyes,” by the time I got there, they had managed to tag-team Nancy and bring all railway operations to a complete halt. In the words of Sir Topham Hat, they had “caused confusion and delay.”

We ushered them back onto the elevator, went up to our room, gathered up our things, and then headed back down to the lobby to await the shuttle to the airport. It was only 11:00, and our flight wasn’t until 3:35, but we had decided to just get to the airport, find a locker for our stuff, and try to relax. We waited for the shuttle outside on a bench next to a little structure that housed a trashcan. David and Trinity decided that it was a perfect replica of a coffee shop and proceeded to be our baristas. The trashcan itself served as the espresso machine. We were too tired to care what they were touching.

On the way to the airport, I suggested that there had to be a place in the airport where Nancy could buy a cheap pair of replacement shoes, just to get her through the flight. I was both right and wrong. There was one. They sold two kinds of clothing: Harley Davidson gear, and mid-to-high-end Ladies Night Out in Vegas gear. Because the airport only has lockers by the gates, not in the main shopping/ticketing/food-court area, we had to get a Smart Cart for all our carry-on items and Dave while Nancy weaved through the store with Trin. She found a pair of shoes she liked – a pair of black Harley Davidson sneakers with only a very subtle HD insignia. Nothing in her size. She found another pair, slightly more garish, but still acceptable for a 3-hour flight. Nothing. Meanshile, I’m running out of ways to keep David happy and aboard the Smart Cart. There’s only so fast you can run yelling “Wheeee!” and “KACHOW!” in a crowded airport without calling negative attention to yourself.

Nancy worked her worked her way down to a cheap pair of light brown moccasin-like shoes that matched her black outfit not at all, and made me ask her where the next Mahjong game was. She scowled. She threw her old shoes in a trashcan outside the store and off we went to security so that we could get to our gate and finally stow our increasingly cumbersome load.

Now, the security thing is bad enough on your own, but with two kids and backpacks that they cannot carry added on it’s less than efficient. But we were getting pretty good at it. This time, though, the gods decided to increase the level of difficulty. “Let’s have them all get flagged for the full pat down/bag check!” “Yes, let’s!” I hope the gods peed their pants watching David and Trinity get frisked. To their credit, the security guards were as perplexed as we were. For their part, Dave and Trin thought it tickled – and, quite frankly, it does…a little anyway.

We finally found a locker, stuffed our bags in there and went to get some food. We still had a little more than three hours to go before our flight. After a quick Sbarro lunch we settled down near our gate and began the process of entertaining our kids for three hours. Of course, the most entertaining looking thing in the Las Vegas airport is slot machines. And did you know that people under 21 are not allowed within 10 feet of the slot machines? This means that anyone with kids pretty much has to sit against the windows and not move. To be honest, they’re not too strict about it, but I did make the mistake of stopping to look at a machine for a little too long. I had asked Trin which one I should play. She picked the one with lots and lots of purple lights. (I never did play, by the way).

And so we waited while, little by little, the kids broke down to whining, crying, whirling lumps of napless flesh. A few people smiled in our direction. One couple even sat near us. Most people just cast suspicious glances our way. And we kept both kids away form those blasted poles. I think we actually confused some folks with our militant stance about touching the damn things. I’m convinced that there are people, regular Southwest fliers, who are now afraid to touch the poles.

They made the announcement that the plane would be delayed about 20 minutes before we were supposed to be taking off.

We finally did get on the plane. I followed Trinity down the aisle, keeping her headed toward the back. She stopped and talked to most people. I kept having to stop, bend down a little, and tell her to keep going. David, who was right behind me, announced during one of these stops: “Yuck! Daddy smells like pee-pee.” Thank you, son. Right back at you.

We found a row that we could have to ourselves: Trin and I on one side of the aisle, David and Nancy on the other. In front of me and Trin was a young couple with a girl about Trin’s age. We took off and everything was fine. Nancy and David were busy with a puzzle and Trin was playing with Play-Doh. Trin’s Play-Doh method involves a lot of banging on the table – in this case, the try table. Apparently, this was disturbing the woman in front of her who was holding her angelic sleeping child. This made total sense – I had been hoping it wasn’t the case, but it was – and I asked Trin to stop. “NO!” she yelled when I took the lump of Play-Doh from her hand. “NO!” she yelled louder when I put the cap back on. “SHHHHH!” I scolded, and chucked the yellow plastic container over to Nancy. “Take it. Hide it.”

Trinity was now kicking and yelling, tears streaming down her face. The nice woman behind us reached over and handed me a package of crackers. “Here, this might help. I’ve got five, I know what it’s like. She’s beautiful.” I took the crackers and gave them to Trin who said “Thank you” as sweetly as any two-year old could. “Do you want to sit on my lap?” I asked. “Yeah.” So, she climbed up on my lap, put her left arm on my right shoulder, and laid her head on my left shoulder. “It’s OK, Trin,” I said, patting her on the back.

And then I felt something I hadn’t felt since I was in second grade. A sudden warm sensation.

“Ah, damnit!” I said way too loud.

“What?” said Nancy.

“She just peed on me!” I hissed.

Over the course of the next couple of minutes, I somewhat angrily changed Trin out of her busted pull-up and wet pants and into a fresh pull-up and the pants she had wet the day before. Of course, then I had to go throw the damn thing away in the lavatory which required that I walk to the back of the plane, passing by dozens of crotch-level faces all getting a up-close and personal look at my urine soaked pants. The flight attendants were at the back of the plane and so I felt compelled to explain the situation to them, lest they too think that I was the incontinent one. Frankly, the soaking wet, bowling-ball heavy pull-up in my hand should have been a sure give-away, but when your crotch is covered with urine that is not your own, you just want the world to know the truth.

I walked gingerly back to me seat and decided that it was time to try and get Trin to sleep. By this time, though, she was beyond tired, and had entered that phase where anger and resentment trump sleep. I picked her up and tried to walk the aisle with her, but she fussed and kicked so much that I gave up. Nancy decided she’d give it a try since she was much calmer than I was. I sat down next to David who seemed content to have me help him with the puzzle that he was working on. Nancy went to the back of the plane and I played with David.

I thought things were going well enough, and then David announced that he wanted mommy. I told him that mommy was with Trin right now but that she would be back. I was here though. “MOMMY!!!”

He didn’t just yell it. He screeched it. At the top of his little lungs. It was piercing, alarming, upsetting. I picked him up and scolded him (my anger having worked its way to the very surface of my being). Nancy came back with Trin still kicking and fussing. We exchanged utterly defeated looks, and exchanged kids, too. I walked angrily to the back of the plane with Trin, while Nancy sat next to David who proceeded to throw a tantrum fit for a tiny, maniacal badger. It was epic. The flight attendant gave me one look and said, “You guys need a drink.” “Something,” I said. “I’ll be fine,” I added, suddenly feeling as though I might actually cry. “She looks tired,” said the attendant. “Yeah, I hope so,” I replied.

Within a couple of minutes, Trin was sound asleep. Nancy and I traded places at the back of the plane. She had David down within another few minutes.

Exhaustion had taken its toll on everybody.

The flight attendant came by our seats and asked what we wanted to drink. We ordered up two gin and tonics. She brought them over to us within a few minutes and said they were on her. I think she may have waved the cap of the tonic bottle over the cup of gin, but not much more. Five minutes later, a familiar calm had settled over me. Nancy looked over at me, opened her eyes wide, titled her head back, and sighed.

Two hours later, Dave and Trin still sleeping, each across two seats, covered in thin blue airline blankets, we touched down in Indianapolis. The process of unloading woke them up. Their sleepy faces betrayed no hint of the chaos that had reigned not two hours before. Our luggage awaited us at the Southwest counter by baggage claim.

The kids awoke little by little and talked all through the hour-long drive back to Terre Haute. They were happy and peppy. We walked in the door just after midnight, greeted by Peanut who was SO glad to se us she almost jumped out of her skin.

We didn’t get the kids back to sleep until 2 a.m. But the nap on the plane had cured what ailed them. They were their old charming, mostly agreeable selves.

It was the new year. All was forgiven, if not forgotten.

Leaving Las Vegas, Part II

Previously on “Leaving Las Vegas”: David took a little melon ball out of his finger in the Las Vegas airport, paramedics were called, stitches were required, flights were missed, taxis were taken, people waited, I got frustrated, David was administered to, Nancy almost fainted.

The person at the front desk of the clinic called us a cab to take us to our hotel. The cab arrived within a few minutes and we all climbed in the back seat. Our very well-dressed driver asked where we were going to. I told him, “The Double-Tree Club on Pollack Drive.” He stared at me blankly. “Near the Applebee’s on Warm Springs Road,” I said. More blankness. I called the Double-Tree Club and asked for directions. We barely found the place.

When we were still at the airport, the representative from the airline had given me a number to call, ensuring me that this would lead to a discounted hotel room in the Las Vegas area. I called the number from the waiting room of the clinic and got a quick response, from someone clearly not in Vegas, that the Double-Tree Club could be had for $54 a night. I agreed to the deal. When we got to the Double-Tree Club, however, they had no record of our reservation through the national – perhaps international – service I had called. Apparently, I was supposed to be given a voucher – a blue piece of paper with some special powers – by the airline. But of course! They had a room, but it would be $95 for the night. “Fine,” I said, resolving to deal with the airline when we got home.

We went up to our room and discovered that Trinity had busted out of her pull-up and was in need of new pants. We had a back-up in her backpack, so we quickly changed her into a new pull-up and new pants. It was her last pull-up. Had we been on our scheduled flight back to Indianapolis this would not be a problem. But we were stuck in Vegas until 3:30 p.m. the next day – not back home in Terre haute until midnight. And she’s not fully potty-trained yet. Certain disaster lurked.

Additionally, we had no luggage (it had made the flight to Indy) and thus no toiletries and no fresh clothes for either Nancy or myself. It was shaping up to be quite a fine (meaning uncomfortable, perhaps even sticky/stinky) 28 hours.

We were hungry. We went to the Applebee’s across the parking lot from the hotel and our waitress, Monica, a woman with long press-on French tip nails, innocently asked how we were. We told her the truth. She brought us milk for the kids and two giant beers for the grown-ups. We ate a large, if not particularly good, meal while Trin and Dave flirted with the couples on either side our booth. Dave told everyone about his “boo-boo” wielding his metal-splinted middle finger like something out of “Phantom of the Paradise.” I asked Monica where we might find a pharmacy nearby – say, within walking distance. She said that there wasn’t anything that close, but there was a CVS down the road. She offered to bring us some pull-ups when she got off work at 11:30. For some reason I declined.

We paid for dinner, gave Monica a healthy tip, and walked back to our room. I told Nancy I was going out to find pull-ups and toothbrushes/toothpaste. In her exhaustion she let me go.

My first stop was the front desk to see if they knew of anything close by. They suggested the “Rebel” station about 500 yards away. Apparently, they carry baby formula, so pull-ups were a possibility. And so I walked over there. It was chilly out – about 50 – and my coat was in our luggage, by this time safe and warm in the Indianapolis airport. When I got to the Rebel station it became immediately clear that I was going to be out of luck. If I wanted a package of Beef Jerky or one of any number of energy drinks or a lighter, I’d have been fine. But pull-ups were out of the question. Strangely, Depends were stocked heavily. I’m still not totally sure what this says about Las Vegas, but I think I can guess.

Feeling defeated and desperate, and imagining a scenario in which I am covered in Trinity urine for the rest of the trip, I ask the fellow behind the counter where I might find a pharmacy. I had already asked this question of 2 people and gotten the same answer. I don’t know what I was expecting this time. But, to my exhausted delight, he said, “Just down at the next light.”

“That doesn’t seem so bad,” I thought to myself. And off I went.

Being the West, of course, the next light is not merely a block away. I could see it, but it was a hike. Nothing I couldn’t deal with though, especially to keep everyone safe and dry. And so I started to walk in my thin sweater and my uncomfortable, somewhat stylish, but just-for-getting-through-security, slip-on loafers. As I got closer to the light, I could tell that I’d been misled. This light was merely for the on-ramp to the highway. The next light was at least another mile away. Plus, the 5-lane road that I was walking on, was suddenly without a sidewalk – just a small patch of grass bordering a curb. I was starting to feel truly abject and not just a little vulnerable.

But I trudged on, the lights of CVS, with its promises of dry sheets and minty-fresh breath, like a beacon in the distance, urging me forward.

And I walked….and I walked.

I called my parents on the way, just to let them know where we were. We talked for a while. I called Nancy, just to let he know what was going on. We talked for a while. I continued to walk.

Eventually, I got to CVS, bought my stuff (declining the generous offer of a CVS card), and made the long trek back, wondering all the while why we hadn’t just taken Monica up on her offer.

When I got back to the room, Trin was asleep in one bed, wearing a t-shirt and nothing else. David was still up with Nancy. I wrangled Trin into a new pull-up without waking her and settled in the bathroom with my laptop – checking email – while Nancy got Dave to sleep.

We brushed our teeth, Nancy took a bath, and we went to bed, dog tired. This was the worst of it, we assured ourselves. We’d survived. Tomorrow would be better…

Except for having to wear the same underwear.

To be continued…

This is 40

Today is Nancy's birthday.

She's 40.

Dave, Trin, Peanut, and I decided to put together a little montage. We thought we'd try something in the spirit of Jimi Hendrix's version of "The Star Spangled Banner" - you know...the melody is there, but the real sentiment is in between the notes. Anyhow, enjoy. And PLEASE join us in the comments section to wish Nancy a sweet farewell to her 30s.

Leaving Las Vegas, Part I

They say that whatever happens in Las Vegas stays in Las Vegas. For David this means part of the middle finger on his right hand.

We left San Diego fully intact. We were fine when we landed in Las Vegas. And then all Hell broke loose.

We had promised the kids that they could each get a toy once we got to Las Vegas – something that would keep them occupied in the airport and, hopefully, during at least part of the 3-plus hour flight back to Indianapolis. We got to our gate and settled in amongst our too-many, too-heavy carry-on bags. We were flying Southwest and the kids started playing with one of those poles they use to demarcate the boarding order. This particular pole was the one that has the sign on top with three sides: A, B, and C. It spun around another pole inside of it. “Guys, stop playing with that,” I must have said at least 25 times.

Eventually, Nancy took Dave to get his promised toy and I stayed with Trin to guard the bags (and harangue her about playing with the pole). Dave got a firefighter set from the Husdon News store. They returned and it was my turn to take Trin. She got a white giraffe with hearts all over it, as well as a magnet and a purple pen for Nancy. Just before we left, she noticed a pink pencil adorned with a heart on top. She wanted it as well, but I vetoed her. When we got back to the gate, Dave was happily playing with his firefighter set, but Trin was still peeved about the lack of pink-pencil-with-heart-on-top. I tried to get her on to something else (like her $10 ugly-ass giraffe) but she wasn’t giving in. And so, like all good fathers, I caved…huffily, but still I caved. We made the long trek back to Hudson News, got pencil (now a magic wand) and hiked back.

When I got in sight of Nancy, I saw that she was holding Dave and was talking to another couple. We had been chatted up by several people already about the kids – were they adopted, were they from a previous marriage (my favorite), where were they from, would we like tips on straightening Trin’s hair (uh, no), etc. – and so I thought we were getting more of the same. Nancy caught my eye and motioned for me to pick up the pace a little. When I got there, I could see (and hear) that Dave was crying and Nancy was holding his hand tightly in order to stop the blood flow. The couple in question had brought ice and paper towels to help out.

Dave, it seems, decided that the pole was still more interesting than a firefighter set and started spinning it around again. Nancy heard him say “Ow!” and looked over to see him pull his finger away and grab it with his other hand. Thinking he’d merely pinched his finger, she walked over…

BLOOD…BLOOD…MORE BLOOD…SCREAMING…TEARS SPRAYING OUT OF DAVE’S EYES

By the time I got there, both the airline and the airport had sent representatives to take names and write reports. Paramedics were called. Five showed up…with a stretcher. Together, they determined that Dave needed stitches and that we would have to go to the emergency room in an ambulance, or an Urgent Care center in a cab. We chose the latter, though I think Dave would have preferred the former. In any case, Nancy and Dave got to ride in a wheelchair while I followed, carrying all the bags and Trinity to the taxi stand.

It turns out that cab drivers in Las Vegas know very little about the city itself. It wasn’t that our man didn’t know where this particular Urgent Care Center was; he didn’t seem to know what we were talking about. Street names, landmarks…nothing. But they are better dressed than any other cab drivers on the planet.

In any case, we did finally arrive at the clinic and checked in. Nancy started the paperwork while I watched the kids. Within a few minutes, a nurse came over and told us that the doctor thought that David should actually go to the pediatric hospital. They would triage him at the clinic, but then send him over to the hospital: no need to finish the paperwork. They called Dave in to triage within a few minutes and determined that they would, in fact, be able to treat him since, well, there was no skin left to actually suture and anything the hospital could do, they could do as well.

And so we sat…and sat…and sat…and watched all sorts of people come in after us and get treated before us. Trin was without nap and was morphing into all of the Flying Wallendas at once – running and hopping and flipping and flopping. We turned passive aggressive, talking about our plight in increasingly loud voices. Finally, I went to the window and asked why we were still sitting there in the waiting room. It turns out that since we hadn’t filled out the paperwork we were, thus, not even in line to be seen.

I stuffed the brains back into my head, asked for the clipboard with the forms on it, and filled out the paperwork. No, Dave does not smoke. No, Dave does not currently have a problem with alcohol or drugs. No, Dave does not have ulcers.

And, like magic, he got in to see the doctor. Mary Lou Retton and I stayed behind in the waiting room. She sprinted from one end to the other while I had a nice long chat with Rudy, the guy next to me who got poked in the finger by a piece of luggage and came to the clinic in a panic about staph infections and – yes, he said it – hepatitis. He made at least four phone calls to loved ones while we were there, just in case he didn’t make it, I assumed. Or maybe he knows something we don’t. Like whatever goes in your finger, stays in your finger.

Nancy and Dave returned after about 30 minutes, Dave looking no worse for wear, and Nancy looking a wee bit wan, having actually nearly fainted when they pulled the bandage off his finger and blood began pouring out again. She described it as the sudden sensational combination of ringing in her ears, cold sweats, and a desire to vomit. She decided to sit down, and recovered quickly, or so I am told. I was too busy spotting Nadia Comaneci on the uneven bars.

To be continued....