Yesterday marked my 6th wedding anniversary with Nipper Knapp. We've been completely consumed by our filming projects, and Jack being possessed by the devil, (more on that later), so we agreed that we weren't going to do anything special this year. No dinner, no date night, no surprise presents. Just a "happy anniversary", and back the grindstone. I was able to sneak out for a much needed manicure/pedicure yesterday afternoon. I've been going to the same place for 9 years. Totally unsolicited, and not knowing it was my anniversary, my manicurist said "Marija remember how nice your nails were before you got married?" WHA?! First of all, I think she might have esp, because they are cash only, and in 9 years, I have never uttered my name to them, one day they just started calling me by it. She goes on to say " You remember, how you used to have such nice nails? Now you have husband and a baby, and now your nails are terrible. Your cuticles are so dry. They are a mess". I laughed and said, we are thinking of having another one this year. To which she said "Ugh, then you'll just come in here and say 'pedicure only please' what's the point". Was that true? Did she really remember a time when I had nice nails? I don't.
We started shooting the pilot that Nipper and and his writing partners wrote this week. Besides directing it, and shooting it ourselves, we are also acting in it, dressing all the sets, finding the locations, scheduling the actors, and feeding everyone. We have 13 actors, 2 toddlers, a sound guy, and a partridge in a pear tree. Our sound guy got some kind of barfing thing after our 1st day of shooting, so we've had to postpone the rest of our shoot until the middle of next week. Needless to say, it's a been cuckoo. Nipper caught some kind of hacking cough thing from Jack, that Jack caught from Cleo. We're getting about 5 1/2 hours of sleep a night, and are constantly asking each other questions that neither of us can answer.
Nipper Knapp at a cafe in Paris 9 months before Jack was born
Add to all of this our toddler being taken over by some kind of nails on a chalkboard disorder. At 4:50 every morning, for no reason other than his mind has clearly been taken over by evil gnomes, Jack commences whining in the loudest voice he can manage "NOOOOOOOOOOO Daaaadeeeeee! Don't go back to SLEEEEEEEEEEEEP!" Over and over and over, until our ears bleed and we commit our morning ritual of sepuku. There we lay disemboweled, in a pool of our own blood. The continued whining falling on deaf ears is my own private little waking up fantasy. Mother of the year.
"What's that sweet pea? Oh I'm sorry mommy can't hear you, because Daddy and I got out our samurai swords and killed ourselves while you were carrying on, in there. Now why don't you go make yourself a bowl of cheerios and watch some Curious George while I get this all cleaned up".
He's also taking to throwing things at our faces, and hitting and kicking us for no particular reason other than apparently to see what we will do, and then no matter how we react; calm reasonable modern parent; exasperated frazzled retro parent, he just laughs at us like we are fools. Then he does something so sweet and adorable that it's reboots our brains, and we forget that he just tried to murder us. Does anyone know an exorcist? Or somewhere else Jack can live until he's 4?
In the pink elevator at Fauchon Paris
Where was I? Oh yeah, working with Nipper Knapp. So far it's been awesome. SO unlike any other "working with a partner" experience I've ever had. He knows exactly what he needs from each scene, but doesn't resort to any sort of Stalinesque tactics to get there. Something I myself am totally guilty of. But I shouldn't be surprised. That's why we got hitched. Because in the midst of everything that is rotten, and hard, and unfair about life, Nipper Knapp is the thing that makes it all worthwhile. My friend Shaboom who has the dreamiest single girl life in Paris ever, wrote me a funny note on FB this morning, saying Happy Anniversary, and did I want to trade lives for a little bit. My hair has gotten weird, and much less girlish, my cuticles are a mess, I can't remember anything from one day to the next, I don't even want to talk about my boobs. But Nipper Knapp acts like I'm the only girl in the world for him. So as much as I daydream of walking along the Seine, drinking wine, carefree and happy, I wouldn't trade the mess that we call Mr and Mrs Nipper Knapp for anything in the world. I live you, you ate my wife... (Nipper's most romantic smart type corrected text to me ever)