Las Vegas Here We Come

Following the instructions on our Internet processed e-tickets, we arrive at the airport two hours prior to flight time; “we” being me, hubby and 16 month old grandson, JJ. Somehow we manage to juggle two suitcases (one with broken wheels), two shoulder sagging carry-ons, one baby who suffers from lack of sleep and breakfast, and one easy-to-collapse-umbrella stroller unto the shuttle bus, off the shuttle bus, and through the three rope check-in line. So far, so good.

Approaching the security check-point with hastened steps, we screech to an abrupt stop at the end of a 10 rope line. JJ starts to kick the nice young couple in front of us. As we start to offer apologies, a special needs security guard motions for us to come over to his line. We are relieved to discover we are eligible for the express line due to our accompanying infant. Just ahead of us we see our son and his bride are also getting this special express service. We wonder if it’s because they are carrying a wedding gown or because the bride is obviously pregnant. I try to explain to the guard how JJ would be much more at ease through this transition if he could be left in the stroller. No way. So we hold up the line while we unbuckle the baby, remove him from stroller, and juggle our two carry-ons, all while attempting fit the not-so easy-to-collapse-umbrella stroller through the monitoring tunnel. We are thankful that we are not asked to remove our shoes.

By now JJ decides breakfast is long overdue. He kicks and screams while I try to strap him back into the stroller just as the overloaded diaper bag drops off my shoulder and whacks the stroller across the room. Of course hubby is too busy gathering together his carry-on and reclaiming his jacket to notice the stroller working it’s way down the sloped ramp. I scoop up JJ, who has now squirmed his way down to the floor, and catch the runaway stroller just before it slams into a young couple grappling with their own screaming toddler.

Next stop – breakfast. It looks like the easiest and safest bet is the most overpriced item on the menu board, a Frequent Flyer Croissant. I order two croissants, two coffees and orange juice while hubby wrestles baby from stroller to a high chair that he has dragged out from behind a computer geek who is so absorbed in his laptop that he can’t scoot his chair in even an inch to make things easier. Hubby and I exchange places. I try to amuse JJ with cheerios while hubby waits for our order. JJ is throwing cheerios at the computer geek (who still has not budged) by the time we get our food. I pick apart my soggy croissant offering the scrambled egg to JJ. He eats as if he hadn’t been fed in days and grabs the bottle of orange juice, pouring half of it down his new shirt before I get my first bite. Next thing I know, he’s dancing on top of the high chair making raspberry sounds at the computer geek, who still has not moved. I give up, wrap up what’s left of my breakfast, put screaming baby in stroller, and head to the waiting area. Hubby lags behind with both carry-ons.

We have an hour left before flight time. I eat the soggy and cold croissant as I chase JJ around, up and over the seats and tables, apologizing as we stumble over baggage and feet. The announcement for people with small children to board comes 20 minutes before flight time and to me it seems completely inept to load children on early, so I take JJ to the ladies room for a quick diaper change. I return him to hubby and go back to the ladies room wishing I hadn't gulped down all that coffee. Then I realize that I have not washed the sour milk out of JJ’s morning bottle so I head back to the ladies room once again with moments to spare as the final boarding call is announced.

And so we are on the plane. The plane does not move. There is some mumbling going on near the cockpit. A flight attendant picks up the phone, “sorry there will be a slight delay due to a mechanical problem.” JJ is bouncing back and forth across our laps, hubby scrunched in middle seat and me on the aisle, in coach seating. Son and his bride sit in their upgraded first class seats sipping free drinks (next time I’m going to carry on a bridal dress). After a 20 minute struggle, a flight attendant suggests that I run JJ up and down the ramp a few times. We get to run up and down for 40 minutes before it is decided that we can safely take off. JJ is now wound up and it takes half the flight to get him to sleep. He is not happy when we land, place him back in the stroller, and haul him around to collect baggage, get our hotel room keys, and arrange the rental car. He is not happy when we lift him, stroller and all, into the shuttle bus. He is not happy when we release him from the stroller and confine him to a car seat.

We arrive at Caesar’s. We miss the valet sign and end up in the self-parking section. It’s over 100 degrees and we have no luggage cart and must walk a quarter mile around construction zone. Once inside the cool casino, JJ perks up. His eyes widen, his arms swing, and his screams of delight are muted by din of slots, screeching winners and resounding music. He laughs at his image in the elevator mirror. At last we approach our room. We dump our luggage at the door and put the card key in the slot. There seems to be some commotion in the room. “Yikes” a young lady wails. It seems the room is already occupied.

To be continued.