In 2011, I resolved to get more organized. I spent the week between Christmas and New Year's madly purging every drawer, cabinet and closet in my house. It was a thing of beauty. By this time last year, I'd largely given up on this enterprise (with the cabinet beneath the bathroom sink being the lone, organized hold-out. Thank you child-safety locks!). This year, in lieu of resolving to be better myself, I'm fantasizing about who I'd hire to make my life better for me, if only I had a million dollars...
Personal Trainer. And not just the kind you hire at the local gym for an hour every week. No, I'm talking to the kind of personal trainer who comes to your house, drags your sorry, sleep-deprived, butt out of bed five mornings a week and gets that sorry butt looking as good as Pippa Middleton's, with Jennifer Aniston's arms, and Heidi Klum's post-pregnancy stomach (which would also, miraculously, cure that belly of stretch marks, while we're at it).
Dietician/Chef/Grocery Shopper. It used to be that when I thought of eating "healthy" I just thought about consuming few enough calories to guarantee weight loss. If it was low-fat, it was healthy. Now, we have to think about grass-fed beef, organic, locally-grown, in-season, leafy greens and milk that comes from your own cow. Last summer, Mrs. Lampshade participated in a 30-Day No Grocery Store Challenge. I have friends who participate in local pea patches, growing their own veggies. Others can their own tomatoes and fruit... I love the thought of this kind of healthy, farm-girl living -- in an abstract sense. In reality, I've get easily overwhelmed by all of the considerations and then just shut down completely and then order a chocolate doughnut in the Starbucks drive-thru. I'd love someone to help me figure out how to go about healthy, sustainable eating (and shopping) practices, in a way that's realistic for a busy, suburban, mother of two. Someone to walk with me through the grocery store and say, this is worth spending extra on for organic, while this isn't. Here are easy-to-fix, healthy menus that your family won't gag over...
Personal Stylist. Now that I've lost all that weight thanks to my trainer and personal dietician, I'll need a stylist to help me with my wardrobe (Man, I love my fantasy life...). I want someone to come through objectively and tell me which sweater is heinous and unflattering and just needs to go. They will also help me pair things I'd never thought of, instantly creating several fresh, new outfits out of my existing wardrobe. Then, we'll shop. This savvy stylist will take me to both Anthropologie and Target, vintage stores and hipster boutiques that I'd never enter on my own. They'd help me find a mix of clothes both spendy and cheap, and help me cultivate my own personal style. I'll be Jackie Kennedy, Audrey Hepburn and Kate Middleton, all rolled into one.
Interior Decorator. I'm obsessed with Canadian interior designer, Sarah Richardson. I live for Sarah's House and when hate that we don't get her show until at least six months after it airs up North. As an aside, her newest season redoes a standard, suburban house. I got to watch the first two episodes when I was visiting a friend in Canada a few months ago-- ooh, I can't wait!!! So, if I had a million dollars, adorable Sarah, and her hilarious sidekick, Tommy, would come and personally decorate my home.
Thomas-the-Train Set Engineer/Track-Rebuilder. Three times a day, this engineer/wooden train track specialist, would come to my house and laboriously rebuild the tracks my two -year-old son had destroyed during his last play session. He just got that train set for Christmas and I'm already so over studying the instruction sheet, searching for part A, and rebuilding those tracks for him. If I had a million dollars, someone else would do that for me.
Toy Picker-Upper. Twice a day (or more, if we had guests coming over), this person would come over, re-stack the bookshelves, and sort the miniscule Strawberry Shortcake pieces from the miniscule princess pieces (and dress those tiny princess dolls in those impossible rubber princess dresses, while she's at it). Our house would no longer look burglarized, but would be tidy -- all without me either yelling at the kids to pick up or grumpily doing it all myself...
Gas Attendant/Car de-Goldfisher. I hate going to the gas station. With a passion. Someone would be in charge of checking my gas levels. I never notice that I'm low on gas until the light comes on and it dings at me. Inevitably, this happens when I'm running late for some event. They'd keep my tank full and clean out my car while they're at it. No longer could a family of five survive for a week by eating the Goldfish crumbs in my car.
Battery Replacer. I'd hire someone who would have a bevy of miniscule screwdrivers and an endless supply of AA and AAA batteries on hand. They'd fill their days unscrewing each toy's "safety panel," then replacing the dead batteries. I'm pretty sure this would be a full-time job. It sure feels like one.
