Emily worked late last night, which left me scrambling to get both kids to bed before an 8:30 “Jonestown Defense” meeting at my apartment, with our two editors, actor/producer, and sound designer. An important meeting to be sure, as we are facing a March 24 deadline to submit the film the Critics Week at Cannes. I needed to have the kids asleep and out of the way.
Just as the meeting started, Max was up. None of my tricks could keep him in bed. Eventually I surrendered and let him stay up: squished in on my chair beside me, then sitting on my lap with his security cape, then climbing around on the floor beside my feet with a toy. He listened, he tuned us out, he got snacks, he laughed, and by the end of the meeting, he raised his hand and — despite how “loud and fast everyone is talking” — chimed in with his own two-cents about our meeting.
Emily got home just as we were finishing up. It was late — after 10 — but Max was in high spirits and bragging to his mom that he’d held court in his first ever movie meeting. “Me and daddy,” he said, beaming. When Emily asked Max what he’d learned, Max thought, and said, “Well, nothing about movies.” He smiled. Emily laughed. The experience had given him much more, of course.
