I Love my Kids

I started this blog as a place to vent my frustration over the constant struggle between being a mother and being a filmmaker and never feeling like I do either very well. Sometimes I feel like there's a constant complaint running in my through my head - if only I had time I could make more films; if only I didn't have kids I'd have more time for me. But what I sometimes forget is to reflect on how much richer my life is with kids and how much I actually like my own. Not when they're complaining about homework, or recounting for the umpteenth time that embarrassing story of a temper tantrum I had when they were three, or when they're telling me how they wish Dad was their full-time caregiver because he never yells. It's the other times. Like when my daughter decided she didn't like the play her class was performing about the French Revolution, so she wrote her own, got all of her friends to take parts, rehearse every day at recess and then they performed it for the rest of the class. Or when she sees I'm particularly stressed and gives me a hug and a kiss, saying "I just decided to do that randomly." Or when my son stopped talking about his day in school to ask how the work on my film was going and confirmed that my new editor was working out well. They look up to me (they are only 9 after all) and I don't want to let them down. They inspire me to keep going and to be the best I can be. And they love me even when I'm not. It's that and much more that makes it all worthwhile. Until the next meltdown, anyway.

Bones and Sex

This week I have two things going through my head: getting my kids through their science test on bones and how am I going to shoot the sex scenes on "In Montauk."

I greenlit my project last week. (Can you say that about yourself?) I'm officially in pre-production, with the first part of the shoot planned for mid-December. Last night I had to write up a description of the exact amount of nudity I plan to have in the film for SAG (the Screen Actors Guild). The sing-song voice in my head: "Femur, patella, tibia and fibula. King Julien the lemur, comes up to your femur." I went over and over it again with the kids. It runs through my head as I'm trying to think about the sex. Breast in profile, legs up to mid-thigh. The thigh bone's connected to the hip bone. Wait, no, bones interrupting again. Bare butt but no crack. For the male, full butt, but no hanging parts. Sing-song voice again: "clavicle, humerus, radius and ulna." My daughter has taken up a phrase of her friend's: "What the phalanges is going on?" (Phalanges are the bones in the fingers and toes, for those of you who may not remember 3rd grade science. Or any science.) Fingers and hands running over bare stomach. No bush. Oops! Did I say that out loud? It's not always easy keeping everything separate. I can't wait until they want to watch the film. Perhaps I'll take 10 years to finish.

Apple Pie

Since this blog is called "Filmmaking, Motherhood and Apple Pie," I thought I'd better do a post on Apple Pie, since this is the time of year when I usually attempt one. I say "attempt" because I've probably made a dozen apple pies in my life, with varying degrees of success. Our family goes apple picking almost every year, a ritual that I love. We always seem to end up going Columbus Day weekend, even though our friend whose family owns the farm, Applewood Orchards in Warwick, NY, tells us that it's too late and too crowded. Nevertheless, he always steers us to the best area with the perfect apples that always taste a thousand times better than what we get at the store. And so we invariably come home with 2 bushels of apples and I'm left figuring out what to do with all of them. It's unavoidable with two young children who love to pick them and have a daddy who's willing to carry them.

So, we decided to make an apple pie. And when I say "we", I mean the kids decided and I acquiesed. Because like most things I commit to in life, I always forget how much time it takes and blissfully dive in, realizing at the halfway mark that I'm finished, want to be done, and still have much more to do. Take the dough, for instance. Even with a food processor and three pairs of helping hands (we added a friend to the mix this year), it still takes a while to get it right. And I refuse to buy prepared pie shells. So we made the dough, I flattened them into 2 disks and dutifully refrigerated them. The kids got bored, the friend went home and I sat down for a few minutes. I thought to myself, "Now I just have to peel and cut the apples. Shouldn't be too bad." After my daughter took 10 minutes to peel one apple, my son the same, I decided I'd better do most of that myself. An hour later I finished peeling and cutting and the kids came back to help me measure the spices for the mix. Then we rolled out the dough. I never get it right the first time and always over process the dough and it never seems to stretch out as much as they say it should. But finally, we got it all put together, albeit imperfectly, and put it in the oven. The hardest part was waiting until the next day to eat it, since it needed to rest for four hours and we all went to bed before it was ready. It didn't look beautiful, but tasted great and I derived great satisfaction from doing it with the kids.

And I find myself thinking how much making a pie is like writing, or filmmaking, or editing. If I really thought about how much work I was getting myself into, I might never get started. But every script starts out a perfect film in my head. Then comes getting it onto paper. Then there's the first time you read it out loud and realize you've got so much further to go. But when it's done, it's a great feeling. And the process starts all over once you go into production and again, when you're editing. Yet each time, I dive in with the same enthusiasm that I started the pie, certain that this time, it will all come out exactly like the beautful picture in my head.