So here we are again.
On Sunday, my house was inundated with student filmmakers. We knew the daughter's production schedule would ratchet up this year--the conservatory director gives everyone a rundown of what the whole four years looks like so we know the commitment. For this class, as her screenplay was chosen for a group filming project, she's director.
And her film requires a residential interior scene.
(Does this remind anyone else of the time I had a thousand people looking in my refrigerator for the son's male refrigerator blindness project? Yeah, me too.)
I'll give the kids a great deal of credit: they were organized and they knew what they wanted and needed to accomplish. They had the room dressed, lit and ready to go. Of course, we were having a mini-heatwave, so I kept turning the air conditioning down to account for the heat generated by the lights.
Nothing caught fire.
The parent who owned the big lights was here supervising as well, so I just kept out of the way, listening to the daughter call, "Action!" Which made me smile.
And all went well until I suddenly heard cries of, "Mrs. S.!" "MOMMY!" "L.'s mom!"
I have not been called "L.'s mom" since the daughter was in fifth grade.
I went to investigate the problem.
"We need to make CH cry," the daughter told me. Their actress, one of the daughter's closest friends, sat amidst the blankets on the son's former bed looking at me expectantly. As was the rest of the film crew.
"Okay...?" I asked, slightly puzzled.
"So...!" the daughter said impatiently, gesturing emphatically with both hands.
Clearly, I was meant to make some sort of magic. I thought for a moment.
Within minutes, CH had tears streaming decoratively down her face.
Later, the other parent emerged to get a bottle of water. We chatted for a few moments about how well the our filmmaking team was doing in getting their scene down and how wonderfully motivated everyone was.
"We all have our jobs, and they are getting done," he said serenely.
"Even when we have to make them cry," I said with a small smile.
"And you do it well!" he laughed.
Saline solution is a wonderful thing.
Go listen to some good music: "God Put a Smile Upon Your Face" from the album A Rush of Blood to the Head by Coldplay. Yeah, ok, maybe not the most entertaining post in the universe. But this is my life at the moment. And I could have done the heart attack version of my drive home tonight. THAT would be entertaining.