Tomorrow Kenny and I are setting off to Las Vegas! Ok, we’re tagging along with Casey on a business trip, but as we’ll be on our own for the bulk of our time there, I’m starting to mentally prepare for the adventures of entertaining a 25-pound monkey for three days on the Strip. Ok, we’re not going to be hanging out on the Strip. We’re staying in the lap of luxury at the Four Seasons at Mandalay Bay. So we’ll be eating $18 hamburgers and splashing our toes in the pool and trying to finagle Frosted Mini Wheats out of the Room Service staff while sipping orange juice on our balcony.
Actually, tomorrow is our anniversary (!), and our original intent was to arrive one day before Casey’s meetings, get there in time to put Kenny to bed, hire a babysitter while he was sleeping, and go out on the town. Today I contacted the Four Seasons to reserve a babysitter and found out all the “details.” Details like, their in-house babysitting is $45 per hour, with a four hour minimum. Yeah. Right. Needless to say, we’re not getting a babysitter, because it would cost more than our night on the town to have some middle-aged nanny sit in our delux (albeit, dark) room while Kenny snoozes. So it looks like Kenny is coming with us for our romantic evening. I somehow think that we’ll skip the ultra-trendy spots and stick to a noisy place that has high chairs and a free kids’ menu.
Kenny, by the way, is becoming ever-more the character these days. He will now officially repeat everything I say all day long. Here’s an example: on Friday, I took Kenny to the outdoor shopping mall to look for a pair of shorts. He asked to “WALK!” so I left the stroller in the car, and he was on his best behavior, holding tightly to my hand on the sidewalk, and letting me hold him in the stores. In Ann Taylor, while I had a few items in my hand to try on, he started getting squirmy, so I said, “Kenny, Mommy needs to try these things on, so we need to go to the dressing room. Let’s find someone to help us.” To which Kenny started shouting, “HELP US! HELP US!” At least twenty heads turned in alarm, as I, blushing, asked a sales lady to show me where the dressing rooms were. As soon as we got in there, Kenny started spinning around, calling, “Dressing Room! Help! Help, Mama! New pants. Mama, new pants! Dizzy! Nooooooo dizzy, Kenny!”
At least he helps me get in and out of a store quickly…