Recently I was supposed to interview Rebel Wilson, left, about “Bachelorette,” which hits theaters Friday. Our phone chat had to get started by 4:45 because I had to leave work at 5:10 to pick up my son from day care and get him to soccer practice. As 4:45 came and went, I had to decide how long I was willing to wait. Turns out I was willing to wait until 5:10, at which point I gave up on Wilson, got my kid and took him to soccer practice, where I am the only parent who watches from a “Ruby Sparks” promotional chair. (The film was pretty good, but the chair is REALLY comfy.)

Sometimes it becomes clear that an interview is going to start too late, so I cancel it. (The missed connection in this case turned out to be totally my fault: I mistyped my phone number in an email to the PR people.)

Sometimes advance screenings happen at night and I don’t go because I want to have dinner with my family.

Sometimes interviews don’t happen because the subject can only talk when I need to be at practice for my church choir.

And the amount of guilt I feel is somewhere around absolute zero.

Maybe I should want to see every film and take every interview. Maybe one day I will. But for now the only must-see show in town is a cluster of screaming, wildly kicking kids swarming around a ball.