The Simple Life…or something like it

To be an heiress can’t be all that bad. I mean your days are cake while personal assistants do everything for you. Shop, dine, socialize, entertain, workout with a personal trainer for six hours a day…oh wait…I’m getting off track. You’ve got to admit, the lack of responsibility and overload of pleasure sounds nice.

In fact, I’m living the life right now. Kind of like a low-class Paris Hilton.

Well, economical shall we say. Right now I live in a hotel. From what I know she grew up in a fancy schmancy hotel in New York. So what if hers was several thousand square feet and opulently decorated. I have personal maid service and she has personal maid service. So what if mine only comes once a week to change the cigarette-hole-burned bed sheets. We both get fresh towels. She has nothing to do with her days but shop and play. I have nothing to do with my days except (window) shop and (watch my kids) play.

She has a personal chef. . . well, this is where the comparison begins to break down. Whatever. You get the idea.

I’m leading a dichotometic life right now. Or whatever the adjective form of dichotomy is. I’m living in the lap of luxury (and we’ve established what kind of lap that is) yet I’m also living The Simple Life. Oh how my literary genius is rockin’ tonight. Get it? Her “reality” show “The Simple Life”? Let’s move on. mmk?

I have about seven shirts hanging in the closet, four skirts, two capris, two jeans and four shorts. How am I surviving? I DON’T KNOW. AND to add insult to injury I only have six pairs of shoes, of which I only wear two regularly. I packed light for the six weeks that I’d be living out of a suitcase. After typing it all out it kinda sounds like a lot, but believe me, it all (even the unmentionables) fits into one suitcase. That I can pick up. For two seconds. And it’s not even the largest suitcase that we own. I’ll let you figure out just who took that one. Ahem.

I’m cooking in a kitchen, well, really a corner of the hotel room, with a stove and a microwave. Two burners on the stove, no oven. One pot and one skillet. One colander. Oh, and a toaster. That is it. Oh, and I’ve run out of olive oil, so until I get to the store I’m cooking with butter, which I’m learning has a lower smoking point than even olive oil does. I may have to switch to vegetable oil while I’m in a kitchen that has the smoke detector located within five feet of the stove. (Humming and shuffling feet here…)

We’re all sleeping within the confines of a smallish living room. This poses several issues…like how can Du escape out the door in the morning without waking up the girls? Like, how do we stay asleep when nocturnal cats are using our pillows and heads as spring boards while they get all the energy out that they stored up all day sleeping? Like, how do we stay up late blogging and internetting without keeping the younger generation awake. And on and on…

We’re living in a room with walls cardboard thin. In fact, I believe we’ve alienated both sides with all the noise we make. I’m pretty sure the hotel is going to charge us for two extra rooms since those are unrentable once people hear the racket going on in here. Wait, we should be using those.

I’m actually beginning to appreciate the simpler life though. Simpler is better (especially if you don’t live like a rich heiress). Less things to focus on equals more ability to focus on what matters. Less material and more meaningful. I don’t have to worry about cleaning a big house, cooking a big, fancy meal (although my cooking has been pretty good I must say. I know. It’s shocking) or washing loads and loads of laundry. Tending a garden, cleaning windows, scrubbing sinks and vacuuming. I’ve been able to focus more on the family and making sure that we enjoy our first month in a new city. We’re getting out, exploring, going places and seeing things we never would have had I been cooped up with the responsibilities that more brings.

I’m sure I’ll be reminding myself of all this when we do move into our house. Although, it’s not going to be much bigger than what we’re living in right now. 1500 square feet can be considered small. But I’m going to consider it just right for the priorities that I want to have during this season in life. Now all I need is a tiny chihuahua and a tiny Chanel bag and everything will be fine. Paris says so.