I’m not a juggler, but I play one in life. My titles include: photographer, writer, blogger, artist, board member, educator, problem solver, social networker, and guide, to name a few. They entail various challenges and responsibilities and somehow I manage to keep everything flowing in a controlled chaos. Or rather, before we had Reina, I use to be able to juggle all those items. At some point in my life, Reina became the bowling ball in the juggling act. Sometimes, it’s more like a flaming bowling ball. Not in a life-or-death kind of way, but in a “Dear Lord, I’ve got to deal with this flaming bowling ball right now!” kind of way. Let’s face it, when you’re juggling tennis balls and someone tosses in a flaming bowling ball, you can’t just drop the thing – it would break your floor and then set your house on fire.
Metaphors aside, today, I was actually managing to juggle fairly well when I set out in the afternoon to photograph an event at the Red Gate Gallery (fabulous place if you’ve never been) and uncharacteristically forgot that my presence was requested at the homestead by 9.30pm. Seems someone had a conference call to run and I was needed in my principal role as Baba to ensure our little bowling ball was asleep. Oops. Realizing the error of my ways (after a reminder text message from my beloved) I set out to return home with time to spare. My intentions were good, but my taxi karma was not and I had to walk some distance to flag down a cab and get on my way.
When I arrived home late and opened the door, Reina shouted from her room, “Baba, I’m not sleeping.” She has a knack for the obvious. As I entered her room, she smiled at me and informed me that Mama told her she did not have to go to sleep. I did not confer with Savvy, but I was confident that this was not the case, especially since it was well over an hour past our little bowling ball’s bedtime. I offered to read a story to her before turning out the lights. She brought me four books, told me she did not want me to put her to sleep and that she wanted mama to do it. Then she stuck out her lower lip and made her sad face; something I have watched her practice in the mirror a hundred times.
In the end, I managed to get Reina to go to sleep without too much trouble, but in the morning, she’s going to be one tired and highly flammable bowling ball.
Now where did I put those oven mitts?
