I’m leaving. For Paris. And I’m not taking my kids.

It’s crazy, I know. But somehow I managed to pull it off. I’m flying to France with my husband for five days to celebrate our anniversary. Ten years. We’ve been together for fifteen, married ten, and that’s worth a trip I think.

Last year when I could see the decade marker on the horizon I said I bore him two children, and he needed to take me to Paris to repay me. I was half kidding, but my husband who is always game for spending our money agreed. But a year is a long time for Kevin who has a very short-term memory, and I never expected the trip to be realized.

Apparently, neither did Kevin. He wanted to go to Paris; he just never thought we would last. He can’t believe we’re actually still together.

I’m in it not so much for the anniversary but mostly to get away from my kids. Taking them was never an option. I might as well flush our money down the toilet. Why would I spend a couple grand just to listen to my kids complain at the top of the Eiffel Tower, down the Champs-Elysees, and alongside the Seine when I could listen to them complain right here at home for free?

Don’t get me wrong. I like my kids, but they have a way of wrenching all of the fun out of a family vacation. Before a trip I typically can’t wait to get away, but during it I can’t wait to get back. At least at home between the hours of eight and two I am unencumbered by little people making demands of me. And I don’t have to stay locked in one room with my entire family as the Disney Channel relentlessly spews inane chatter at me. When I’m not on vacation I don’t have an 8:00 bedtime, and I can stay up late, maybe even until 10:30. When I’m on vacation, I have trouble remembering why I came.

Whenever my husband and I escape together, though, which we attempt at every opportunity, it’s almost as if the past ten years never happened. The minute we climb into the car and head to Newark Airport the time melts away, and we are left with the person we met years ago. The 26-year-old boy who made me laugh, the 22-year-old girl who was feisty and adventurous. And we remember what it was like to be giddy and in love.

All of us need to be reminded of that every once in a while.

If you’ve been to Paris or anywhere else fun and not kid-friendly, share some of your memories. I could use the tips. Au revoir for now.

(Photo: Flickr: Vincent Montibus)