I missed writing a letter to Tricky last month, his 26th. First I felt bad and then I thought how ridiculous that was, with everything that's going on here. I write everyday and somedays that includes blogging but lately it hasn't because there's never enough time to write all the words I want to write.
The tv ep is going ok but slow, and the rewrites required are pretty huge. There are a lot of going back to the beginning moments and revisiting early notes and my desk aint organised at the best of times. But I'm still (mostly) enjoying this and everynow and then I remind myself that this is like my film and tv school and I'm learning an enormous amount... and I'm being paid.
Meanwhile the playreading is going ahead in a week. Even though I swore I wouldn't do this I had a quick look at the rewritten script and immediately cringed and wanted to change stuff. Except I didn't. I held firm. I set aside the time for rewrites, that time came and went and the rewrite was done and any further changes will be made on the actual rehearsal day. I am interested to hear this play in front of an audience for a few reasons but one of the main ones is the subject matter. It's about two infertile couples, one of whom is about to go through IVF, and the effects of this on their relationships, as a couple and as a group of friends. It's also the play I was working on in a week long workshop (that sounds stupid but you know what I mean) where I started crying when I was reading out a monologue because I realised what a complete bitch I had been about my best friend (and flatmate) Michelle when she got naturally pregnant and I didn't. Which all probably sounds a bit dire except there is quite a lot of black humour involved in infertility as bloggers know so hopefully all that will come across too. I am unsure about how the sperm ballet scene will go, so will keep you posted.
But the words that mean the most to me at the moment come from Tricky and now they're flying thick and fast.
Last week, the words my and mine finally made their long awaited appearance as in my milk, my Bobo, my playdough but also as a substitute for I.
One evening he wanted to sit in the hammock on the verandah and when I put him in I said Darling I think you better lie down in the hammock, it's much safer.
No pankyou Mummy, he replied, mine just sitting.
No pankyou is Tricky's general response to everything he doesn't want to eat or do which is polite as well as cute and not entirely unsuccessful as a result...
Will you eat your dinner please?
No pankyou, mine eat bake beans.
Eat these nice carrots, look, yum yum...
No pankyou Daddy...
yum yum, carrots...
NO PANKYOU DADDY! NO PANKYOU! BAKE BEANS!! BAKE BEANS!!
When the fatherperson foolishly persists in spruiking the joys of the carrot, Tricky's bowl suddenly and mysteriously leaps from the table and rolls about the kitchen floor scattering hated orange root vegetables gaily about the floor boards. Now there is no dinner and because the motherperson is terrified that Tricky will starve to death a can of baked beans is hastily produced.
Would you like some baked beans?
No pankyou, mine eat yoghurt.
And so it goes on.
And each day more words, from him and from me, and more and more and more...
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