Choices

Next week is a busy one. I have my writing workshop on Tuesday night, at which I'm reading as many pages as I can finish from my noir re-write of "In Montauk." A screening of shorts on Wednesday night that I was invited to gratis because I shared festival advice with one of the filmmakers. On Sunday, a tentative screening of "Weeki Wachee Girls" and a rough-cut screening of a friend's documentary that he's been working on for two years.

With two young children, I can't possibly pursue all of the networking opportunities or attend all of my friends' shows, but sometimes it feels impossible to attend even one. Every time I go out at night I hear the inevitable question "Why do you have to go?" And if I'm out more than usual, it's followed by "But you go out all the time. I never see you any more." And more often then not, I hear, "I need more Mommy time," which means alone time with that particular child. And usually, they are both saying it at the same time.

I try to reason with them. I try to explain that because I don't go to a job every day, they actually see me a lot more than other kids see their mommies. I'm the one that takes them to school, picks them up, makes sure homework is done, takes care of them when they're sick and most of the time, gets up in the middle of the night with them. It doesn't matter. It never seems to be enough. My sister, who has a 21-year-old son, tells me to appreciate it while it lasts. Before long, they won't want to be with me at all. And maybe she's right. Last week, my daughter's Friday After-School class was canceled, so I picked her up early to spend time with her while her brother was in his class. What did she want to do? Go to the park and play with her friends. Afterward, she and I came home together and played cards. It was lovely, stress-free and enjoyable for both of us. And those are the moments that make it hard to make the choice to go out. So I try to keep the going out to a minimum and carve out a little extra time for the kids when I do. And I try to remember that they won't be seven forever.

Vacationing without children

I'm in London in the worst snowfall in 18 years. Without my snow boots. My husband is working and this is supposed to be my time for me, away from the kids, having fun and doing some writing. So here I am at 4:00 in the afternoon, working on my blog. I'd imagined sitting in some cute cafe, being hip and urbane, writing on my laptop or in a notebook, sipping tea (I don't do coffee) and generally being carefree. A few things happened to foil my perfect plan. First of all, there was the snow. Lots of it, for London anyway. Everything is shut down, including many tube lines. Secondly, the Starbucks virus has invaded London almost as thoroughly as it has New York. If I'd wanted to sit in a Starbucks looking cool, I could have stayed at home. Third, as I mentioned, I don't have the right shoes. We're staying in Canary Wharf, which is sort of a cross between the World Financial Center and South Street Seaport - a former fishing area on the water that has been turned into a cute shopping area, with a large business center and lots of hotels. So, I think, great, I'll buy snow boots, have lunch, then head into the center of London. Oh, and while I'm at it, I'll refill the minutes on my cell phone so that I can call the kids later.

Needless to say, that plan didn't work out all that well, either. It turns out that the network I'm on isn't widely available so "topping up" my card isn't that easy. The store where I bought the phone (cheaper than using the hotel phone) isn't open due to the weather. In fact, half the stores in the mall are closed. It isn't until 3:00 that I find an open shoe store that carries boots that would be appropriate in the snow and don't cost an arm and a leg. I try them on even thought technically, they should be too small. They fit. I decide to go back to my room, top up my phone via internet (which you can only do if you use a UK address) and then head out. When I leave the mall and see how gray and miserable it is outside, I'm no longer sure that I want to brave going into central London. Then I watch the news, which continues to send out dire warnings about staying home unless you absolutely have to get out. And I find that while I don't mind walking around in the snow (in my new snow boots), I can't bear the thought of being stuck inside a tube station waiting for a train that may never come.

I start wondering what to do. I could write some more, but my sterile hotel room feels a bit stifling and jet lag is starting to set in. I could go to the movies, but "Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist" is the only thing playing locally within the hour. Mostly, I realize, I miss the hectic nature of my life, and if I'm truthful, I miss my kids. While I'm with them, I'm dreaming of time to myself. Now that I've got it, and no responsibilities other than to maybe be back in time for dinner, I find that I'm at a loss. It's as if I'm missing a limb and haven't quite figured out how to manage without it. I'm thinking about what they're doing in school, whether or not they'll be able to concentrate or finish homework or sleep when I'm not there. So far, it hasn't been a problem for either of them. Perhaps I should take a cue from them - their life goes on when I'm not there, as it should. Maybe I will go see "Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist" and pretend for a while that I'm carefree and a teenager. And enjoy this time I have, since it's unlikely to happen again soon.

New Year's Resolutions

It is December 28 and I am desperately trying not to make New Year's resolutions. I find that every year I set up impossible goals for myself and end up disappointed when I don't reach them. And how could I? They are goals that assume that each day contains 48 hours, most of them dedicated solely to me. As a mother of 7-year-old twins, it's obviously not realistic. Yet I find myself wondering, once again, what I should be planning for the next year. I am lucky that I have choices - I don't have to work for pay (much), my husband still has his job, my kids go to school and are in an AfterSchool enrichment program leaving most of my week-days free. Still they are full when you consider that I am writing, fund-raising, filmmaking, volunteering at school, managing homework, networking, managing the household and more.

I spend many hours volunteering at the kids' school. It is my way of being involved and making sure that they are getting the best I can give them. Although sometimes I wonder if some of it isn't a way of avoiding my art. Or if it puts me in a comfort zone of saying "I never have time for what I want to do!" Because sometimes, thinking about being successful at what I want to do is depressing. I want to (and do) write plays and movies. I want to direct my own scripts. I want to see my movies get made well. I want to write what I'm interested in (small, indie dramas centered around women's lives). And the odds are not good. Not if I want to be successful. And by successful, I mean have the movies pay for themselves and get distribution. Okay, I'd be happy with not having to put all of my own money into my films to get them made. And I just read a depressing statistic that said that dramas only comprise 7% of Hollywood films being made today. There are even fewer films starring women. I have a better chance of being elected to Congress than of being a working female director. Where does all of this leave me?

I suppose I'll have to make resolutions after all. That are do-able. Here goes:
1. Be the best mother I can be without trying to do everything.
2. Stop focusing on the statistics of why I can't make films and figure out how to just do it.
3. Concentrate on what I want to do and not what I should do.

That's it. If I can remember those three things, the year will be a success.

Sick Days and Holidays

I never knew how many days off my kids would have, both planned and unplanned. When I first got pregnant, I naively assumed that I would work in the kids around my schedule, with minor adjustments. Little did I know. In the last three weeks the twins have been home six out of fifteen days. Two of them were holidays, one was a protest day (mine) and the rest they were sick.

At first I'm relieved. They're too sick to go to school. I don't have to get out of bed. I don't have to go anywhere. We can just hang out and be together. Then after two hours of hearing "I'm bored" while I try to answer e-mail, update the website or whatever minor task I've set for myself (because there's no way I can write or make phone calls or edit with all of the interruptions) I give in and play Princess Monopoly. Twice. Then the paints come out. Then the Legos. Then the pillows and blankets. By lunchtime it looks like a tornado swept through my living room leaving it filled with the entire contents of our local Toys R Us. And I realize that I it's time to be "Mommy" with a capital M. There's school work to do. Piano to practice. A valuable lesson in cleaning up after oneself to be learned. All of which takes about an hour. By 2:30 I give in to their pleas to watch TV so I can lie down for a few minutes. By 4:00 they're bored again and I'm watching the clock trying really hard to restrain myself from calling my husband and screaming "COME HOME NOW!"

Planned days off are better, especially when I actually make a plan. On Veteran's Day we went into the Central Park Zoo with some classmates, another Mom and a babysitter. We ate pizza at a local restaurant. We ran up and down the big rocks in Central park and played on the cool rock-like playground attached to it. We ride the subway home tired and satisfied at a day well spent. And I think to myself how wonderful it is to spend time with two terrific seven-year-olds who will throw their arms around me on a whim. I wonder why do I have this need to write, to film, to tell stories? Why can't I be content just to be? Perhaps, I think, I can give it up.

They go back to school. I go back to writing. I write a scene that moves me to tears. And I know that this is something that I have to do. There is no choice. And so, I continue to pursue my dream between sick days and holidays and hope that in both pursuits, I am making the world a slightly better place.