“Why are we even together anymore?” asks my six-year-old son.
“Yeah, why don’t you just run off with a male prostitute,” chimes in his twin sister.
We are in the cereal aisle of a supermarket and I am fielding some concerned looks from the other shoppers.
“They’ve memorised lines from my play,” I state loudly. No one looks convinced. This is just one of the bizarre situations I’ve found myself in recently as I attempt to produce the first full-length play I’ve written in eight years. Last time I did this I had a full-time job, husband and a very needy dog – (I still have all of these) – but now I also have three kids in tow.
Writing a play is fairly solitary, self-sufficient activity that I did over a whole year whenever I had a spare hour or so, but producing a show is the opposite. It takes a lot of time, energy and resources. It has a deadline – a date when the curtain must come up! Before I decided to do this, I wondered should I even start a creative project? I work full time, have limited time with the kids as it is, shouldn’t I be concentrating on them? Why was I doing this? Was it to prove I could still do something I had done before the kids? Was it to spice up my work day? Was it to have something for myself? I’m no psychologist but I suspect it was D) all of the above.
And with less than three weeks before the show hits the stage, how am I faring? Well, as it turns out, working on a creative project has had some unexpected results in many different spheres of my life.
Firstly, and most importantly, rather than take time away from my children, by including them in the process, it’s brought us closer together. Made us a little production team. Now while my show Woman Implodes is no Reservoir Dogs, it’s not Finding Dory either (as you might have guessed by the lines spouted in the supermarket), but I’ve broadly explained the plot - working mother under pressure loses her cool and alters time and space - to my children and they generally understand what it’s about. Heck they know the lines! My kids love having an aim – whether it’s trawling $2 shops in Northland looking for reindeer ears, trying to explain to the teenage hardware store assistant why we want to buy silver concertinaed air-conditioning ducts (robot arms) or loitering out the back of the loading dock at Harvey Norman’s for the perfect-sized cardboard box - our weekends have become scavenger hunts of the most imaginative and odd proportions.