But I wouldn't want to live there.

Early reports indicate that Steve passed the family test with flying colors. "Charming," "sweet," "completely at ease," and "smokin' hot" "adorable" were among the reviews. Could he formulate sentences beyond "baw!" (ball) and "mo' eeee!" (more please), Nathan would have pronounced Steve his favorite uncle-to-be, although he might have prescribed a few remedial peek-a-boo training sessions with hilarious Great Uncle Mark. Steve even survived his first foray into the family roasting tradition, belting out our bastardized version of Copacabana without (much of) a trace of embarrassment (Her name was Flora/she was from Brooklyn/She was the youngest girl of nine/she grew up mighty fine).

When we were not eating and schmoozing with the fam-bly, Steve and I had a little time to explore the City on our own. One night, we started in a creperie, moved to an Irish pub, and wrapped up the evening with fresh, hot doughnuts and coffee at 2:30 a.m. The next, after a bit of quality tickle time with His Nathanness, we headed out to see a fantastic band at an intimate little venue in the Village, then scarfed up real New York pizza as a late-night snack. And on Sunday, after a hearty diner breakfast in Chelsea, we took the subway uptown, then savored the spectacular late-fall weather by walking clear across Central Park, luggage and all.

As happy as we were to return home to our mountain views and quieter streets (and to a house with more than one bathroom), we both felt invigorated by New York's hustle and bustle. It's a great place to visit . . .