105 Ways to Give a Book

A Weekend Memoir

So this weekend my husband was shooting the new Tohubohu Productions film, “Number One With a Bullet,” with a fantastic team of actors and crew. For me this meant that I could finally get rid of the garbage-bag-wrapped pillows/blankets/basketballs that were — for want of a better word — living in my family room. As props they were unceremoniously stuffed into a friend’s car to make their movie debut.
“Well, now we know how many dead bodies fit in a Mini.”
At the same time, I was getting ready to host a slumber party for my now nine-year-old daughter. My eleven-year-old daughter had been invited to stay at her friend’s house that night, but she said that I wouldn’t let her because of the party. I hadn’t forbidden her to go, but was quite relieved that she didn’t — especially when I realized that Bill wasn’t going to make it home for the sleepover. Sure, she could blame me.
“I threw you under the bus.” “Oh, thank God.”
The theme of the party was High School Musical, and three guests were coming. Three silly, giggly, energetic guests. They’d been at the house for less than an hour when I had to get the movie started because they were bouncing off the walls. Of course, that’s when I could neither get the DVD going nor reach my husband in the middle of shooting a scene.
“I couldn’t answer the phone!!!” “I know, but it’s an emergency!!! I can’t get the DVD player to work!!!”
To his credit, he didn’t hang up on me and treated my call like the emergency it was. Because, really, it was. We watched the movie, played the Sing It! game, ate cake, opened presents, played a game, and did manicures/pedicures. As everyone was tucked into their sleeping bags, I read for thirty minutes. It was coming up on midnight and everyone was wide awake. Oh, and one girl was thinking that maybe she wanted to go home. I convinced her to stay by suggesting that I sleep downstairs too, but that meant I had to listen to her and my daughter whispering after I told them over and over again to go to sleep. I finally had to pull the birthday girl aside and gently tell her to settle down.
“Omigod! It’s two o’clock in the morning. You have got to stop talking!
The girls were up at 7:15 a.m. — some more awake than others and all more awake than me. Still in sleeping bags, we watched the second HSM movie and munched on doughnuts. Then it was a quick craft, dressing and packing up, another round of Sing It! and home they went. Except one girl whose mother forgot the official time of departure. I didn’t mind because she and my daughter were playing nicely. Or they were until playing hide-the-Webkins went bad. The party guest hid the toy between the couch and the wall, and my daughter reached way over, fell in headfirst, and couldn’t get out.
Thump. Thump-Thump. “Wahhhhhhhhh! Help! I’m stuck! Wahhhhhhhh!”
After applying ice to her split lip and driving the last friend home, I had to wonder if drinking before noon was terribly wrong or just inappropriate. In any case, I’ve realized that I am much better with fifteen girls for four hours than four girls for fifteen hours. Lesson learned.

4 comments:

Kelly said...

OMG: Better you than me, MR! That sounds like a frightful 24 hours :)

TadMack said...

Oh, EEK. I think I'm with you on this one -- def. fifteen girls for four hours and NOT the other way 'round.

Bill/Cinéaste/FatherReader said...

A little addition to the bodies-in-a-Mini story: The person who was supposed to supply a vehicle for the film never showed up (and never called, didn't respond to repeated messages, etc.), so the Mini ended up getting pressed into service for the actual film.

So our practice in loading the bodies ended up paying off, as our actors had to perform the same task in front of the camera. (And it provided a little bit of added humor to the scene.)

Emy said...

Girl, you know it's always 5 o'clock SOMEWHERE.