Be Like Boogie

I woke up this morning at 5:45 to the sound of Boogie’s jurrasic squeals. I hadn’t even opened my eyes before the to-do list started rolling through my brain like a loaded jumbojet. Pook and I leave for her surgery the day after tomorrow. Just me and my two year old, flying as far across the country as one can go, having life-altering surgery in the middle of a global pandemic. No big deal.

I wasn’t supposed to be doing this alone – Mom was going with me. Obviously she’s not up to traveling these days and everyone else in our lives works and can’t take on four kids. Melissa going with me was never really a possibility, no matter what I’d hoped. I realized in March that I’d be doing this alone and promptly resolved to put it out of my mind. Nope, not thinking about that today, that’s too hard. Not thinking about it tomorrow, either. I stalled on travel arrangements. I delayed the forms and paperwork. I made lots of excuses. And then my dear friend who also happens to work for the surgeon in Miami told me to put my big girl pants on and I was forced to look at what I’d been doing. I made myself a list and started working my way through it.

Adulting is seriously overrated.

And then there’s Boogie. Boogie is encapsulated life goals, I’m telling you. He gives zero shits about anything happening around him. He doesn’t care what you say, what you think or what you’re planning on doing. He just wants to empty the cupboards of pots and pans and climb into your lap to snuggle with you and his favorite frying pan. If you’ve never snuggled a frying pan, let me tell you: it is also highly overrated. They never warm up and you’re guaranteed to get bonked in the face by an ice-cold handle at some point. Boogie does not care about your face. He wants what he wants and he’s not afraid to tell you so.

I wonder at what point we stop asking for things we want and start feeling selfish and guilty for having emotional needs. I have been feeling guilty for struggling with everything happening and berating myself for not keeping a better hold on life. The house is a bona fide disaster and the laundry pile is taller than I am. I can find about 150 things with which to make myself feel guilty in a glance around the room. I need to channel some Boogie Energy and give zero shits about any of it. To give myself permission to do whatever it is I need to do in order to survive my life right now. I might not take a frying pan with me, but if I need to hunker down and be comforted, that’s what I’m gonna do. All I need to get through is today, right?

As my mama often says: tomorrow has enough trouble of its own.