Vegas, Baby

You know you're a parent, really, really a parent, when the first stop on your three-day Vegas get-away is FAO Schwartz, where you and the husband take pains to pick out just the right coming home presents for the kids. This is also a sign that you really, really need to get away.

But I lied, our very first stop was lunch at Wolfgang Puck's Chinois, a favorite from my years in L.A., where I downed a flight of sake and oozed into the fleshy stew that is Vegas. We had a very nice couple of nights at the Bellagio where our big excitement consisted of nice dinners, a little luck at the blackjack tables and time to enjoy the awesome fitness center and spa (oh right, and sleeping in). Ahhhh. But man, did we ever miss the kids. It was really hard at moments (sober ones) to have fun (is that possible?). I knew the kids were in good hands (their grandparents'), but Harry is old enough that I knew he'd notice we were gone and I just missed those baby hugs and smooches.

Meanwhile, the kids were having a ball, sans fretting parents. Zaza and Paba were the perfect playthings. Eliza is one of those women who just rolls with the punches. Can't find the bathtub stopper? No worries. She stripped Harry down, plunked him in the backyard with a bar of soap and sprayed him with the garden hose. This conversation, as it was relayed to me over the phone in Bellagio casino, took a minute to properly digest. As my friend Cathy observed "She's clearly spent a lot of time in the African bush"....but of course Harry loved it.

I love Vegas. But the best part was coming home.