Bonjour!

Bonjour! There you have it. The extent to which I know the French language. How far do you think this will get me? Probably not any further than a few people rolling their eyes or maybe if I am lucky a reluctant smile.

It is 5 am and I cannot sleep. My husband is taking me to France today....Paris to be exact. I laugh as though words roll off my finger tips. It seems like a dream, a fantasy. Something that though the bags are packed, the tickets bought, the grandparents in position for babysitting, that I still do not believe. To fully grasp the ridiculousness of this, you should know that I have never been anywhere like this before. I only recently went to New York City for the first time as a 30 year old woman. I was a fish out of water and certainly the same will hold true for this experience. Only now, I do not speak the language...not that I really spoke the language of the New Yorkers.

I slipped on over to the world of chatting at the sky this morning and she got me thinking. My new normal has been normal for 7 years now. My "fuzzy remember whens" are time alone with my husband. It doesn't happen often with three kids around the house and we both like it that way. They are our normal, and that is as it should be. But those "remember whens" were sweet times too, and I am having to tell myself over and over again that it is okay to be leaving. It is okay to be taking a vacation with just my husband that does not involve 6 days of pre-packing for 5 people and a dog. It is okay to remember when, to spend time alone, to jump back in time and pretend it is just the two of us for a few days. The icing on the cake is that we get to do it strolling the streets in Paris.

So now that I have convinced myself of this, I intend to continue pretending until I return home. I intend on pretending that I am much more fashionable than I really am, and wear clothes that I would never wear while in the United States. I intend on wearing my lipstick a little brighter. I plan on eating meals intended for people much classier than me. My idea of sophisticated food is buying the Hebrew National hot dogs rather than the Ballpark; seriously, I do not do fancy food...but on this occasion I will pretend. I intend on walking through museums and pretending that I know the artists whose work is hanging on the wall. I intend on getting dressed up and having dinner on the champs de elysees and pretending as if I know what that is. My sister the photographer will be there too, and I intend on treating her like my own paparazzi.

So until I return, how about leaving me a comment that will make me feel better about abandoning my children, but more importantly, bless me by hearing your story of romance away from the kids. I am desperate for someone to relate!