Author: Karen Mickley-Gomez

Shove your f***ing orange socks!

It started out innocently enough.  We had a playdate with a few kids and moms I’d been wanting to see at the trampoline park Lili had been aching to go to. Almost two months to the day of her liver surgery, she’d just gotten full clearance to return to normal activity, so after eight weeks of cautioning her against doing almost everything, I was determined to let her have a little fun.  I bent the rules and let the kids watch cartoons and eat egg and cheese sandwiches in my bed, so I could keep an eye on them while I packed up the 108493 things needed to leave the house with small children.  Once on the road, we promptly got stuck in traffic.  I tried not to stress about being late.  It wasn’t the end of the world, I thought, until Lili advised me that little T was “looking weak.” This was Bad News.  T is phasing out naps, and not necessarily with my blessing.  He’s happier for more of the day if he sleeps for an hour or so around lunchtime, but despite my best efforts, he seems to be settling into a pattern of forgoing naptime in lieu of earlier eventual bedtime, and waking up later in the morning. Sounds blissful, right?  Not so much. Two unpleasant realities of his new routine: 1. T gets more exhausted...

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Crazy grateful

Each Thanksgiving, I take inventory of the things I am grateful for.   While I am never more or less appreciative, one year to the next, there are times where events like births or deaths act as glowing reminders of all that we are blessed with (and, more soberingly, how quickly those things may be lost). This is one of those epically humbling years. My daily life is rich with moments to savor.  Every morning, I am reminded by my beaming, footie pajama-clad alarm clock how very lucky I am to be the mommy of a darling little boy.  Every opportunity...

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Eviction Notice

Removal of object unknown from privately owned liver. NOTICE TO QUIT Under instructions from the owner, Lilia Gomez, the mass situated at the left lower lobe of her liver (Tumor Unknown) is hereby given notice to vacate and NOT TO RETURN. The period of that notice being 6-7 hours from the service of this document. Date: October 28, 2016 —————————————————————————————————————————————————— Our 9 year old is losing a lobe of her liver this morning, the pinnacle of a terrifying sequence of events that began last Friday. Both Jeff and I were working from home.  Usually, on days like this, I am simultaneously rassling...

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Where does the time go?!

  I never wanted to help raise someone else’s kid.  Quite the opposite, really.  Although I’ve always been fond of children, and have the most awesome nieces ever, I confess that for most of my adult life, I was perfectly content to enjoy the company of other people’s kids in small doses and a nicely controlled setting.  When I ran into my now-husband 15 years after we were high school friends, he was a new dad and pretty excited about it.  I thought it was cute, but not necessarily come-hither cute.  More like, enjoy that at a safe distance from me, and show me some photos which I’m likely to find sweet but not nearly as appealing as dog pictures. A few years later, we ran into each other again, commiserated about being single, and then promptly commenced dating. Funny how that works.  Although I met Lilia early on, it took a while before she and I had any alone time.  The first solo day I spent with her, I discovered that I had absolutely no idea what to do with someone else’s toddler.  My nieces and I had done plenty of hanging out when they were Lili’s age, even a good deal by ourselves.  But I’d known them from birth, and was familiar with their preferences, so it was pretty straightforward.  Trying to entertain someone else’s two-year-old (who was still eyeing me somewhat suspiciously) was a different ballgame. During our first visit, we mostly...

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I could get used to this

  If someone told me 20 years ago that in 2016 I’d be working as a nurse and happily living 25 miles from the town where I grew up, I probably would have socked them.  In June of 1993, I graduated from high school and hustled out of Connecticut with no plans to come back. Acutely aware of – but grateful for – the amenities provided to me by both my parents and the community we were raised in, I was determined to find a place I felt I belonged. My childhood had no shortage of friends or fun, it was nothing if not idyllic.  However, the...

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