We have a great family. My mountain boy and I didn't even meet until we were both OLD. We met at work when I was 32. He was a flight paramedic and I was a new flight nurse. He cut a pretty handsome figure in his navy, blue Nomex flight suit with the-glow-in-the-dark-stripe down the leg (In other words-- he was HOT! He was as hot then as he is now! Don't tell him I said that.) It was a whirlwind relationship (get it.....helicopter, whirlwind......) We married on October 9, 1993 at 11:00 in the morning after dating for two years. And nine months and 45 minutes later our first born arrived. A son. He was, ummm, a challenging baby to say the least. There were many times I was ready to give him back. But we kept him and have never been sorry. Well. almost never.

Our oldest son is a normal kid. He was born in Texas, was verbal pretty early (he could talk in complete sentences at 20 months but he could not run or climb....weird) and he was a big kid. He still is a big kid. He is the oldest of four; one sister and three brothers. He takes his big brother duties pretty seriously.

He is 15 years old now (is that possible?) and a freshman in high school. He's 6'4" and one of his life goals is to be taller than his dad (hasn't met that goal yet!)

He hunts-

and fishes (or is it "fishs"?)

and plays in the snow.

(Montana is kind of like a big play ground for boys.)

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But his heart is baseball. He lives and breathes baseball. He watches baseball on TV when he's not at the field. He constantly is reading about how he can improve his game. He's pretty good too. He would like to play ball in college and maybe further. He dreams about professional ball.

Which is why my heart sank when he called from the gym the first week in Janurary where he was playing basketball for the high school to tell me that he had hurt his right knee........again. He had dislocated his patella (knee cap) three times over the last 2 years, each time the damage was extended a little more. This time the damage was too great. His orthopedic surgeon (pretty bad to have your own surgeon at the ripe old age of 15) scheduled him for surgery on Janurary 26th. After 6 weeks on crutches and 6 weeks of physical therapy he will be able to run in a straight line; no cutting or twisting or deep bending of his knee. Then after 6 more weeks of a slow quiet jog and more PT he will maybe be able play a little sports........that puts the date at July 26th......6 months post surgery and one week after the baseball season has ended.

He might be able to play next year if he takes care of himself.....that means no horse play with the possiblity of re-injuring his knee. That means no cheating and pushing his knee to perform before complete healing has really taken place. That means wearing his brace and doing his excersizes and NOT running or jumping before it's time.

He's been on crutches for ever. It's been a hard winter for him. He missed the rest of the basketball season, he missed the bulk of ski season. My mother's heart has bled all over him in the form of overprotectivness and food.

We've all been holding our collective breath while he heals. It has nothing to do with his ablility to play baseball. We've really been holding our breath because he is our son. He has been hurt. And because we are a family, we've all been hurt. We are all waiting to heal.

So it is wonderful when I see him beginning to show signs of normalicy. And in this case, normalicy means...........being a goof-ball.

He said the skipping "hurt" but it felt good too. It felt good to be a goof-ball again.

I'm so glad he's feeling better. I really love him and if it feels good to skip then that's alright with me.