“I’m bleeding mommy”, yelled Brevitt  as I typed away at my computer. “I’ll be there in a second”, I yelled not quite ready to handle yet another injury. I shot up running when Axel came in a few seconds later and accused me of caring more about my computer than I did about Brevitt who was severely injured outside. Indeed, he had sliced a large chunk of skin off on a rock after jumping into the new pond that Wade had built with his pet Skidster.

Having just taken a First Aid class to prepare myself for our Canyonlands backpacking trip, I stood there frozen. I learned how to dress an open wound but not how to care for an open wound that had occurred in bacteria laden creek water.

I ran for Wade, who luckily was home, and hovered over his shoulder as he took control. “Everybody remain calm”, he shouted as I annoyingly read the first aid book to him. I was not calm. I was angry with myself for not knowing what to do and didn’t trust that Wade did either. We have had friends who have just recently gotten very bad infections from wounds and I wanted to make sure that this did not happen to our Brevitt.

Wade scrubbed and dressed the wound but I saw that there was still a tiny particle of dirt  lodged in the center and called the doctor for a follow up visit. Wade was offended but I could not risk infection.

One week later I am taking Brevitt to the desert on our school outdoor ed trip and I have no doubt that he and his other two energetic friends will be performing tricks off of every rock that they find. It worries me that I will not be able to dress his wound carefully enough as he fills it with dirt.

Wade, who has to work, is the more capable one to go backpacking with three nine year old’s in a hot, dirty, waterless desert with ninety six degree temperatures.  I have always loved the desert but have become quite spoiled and accustomed to the luxuries of sleeping in the camper that has been loaned to us by our friends who store it on our property. Roughing it was never my specialty but I would never miss this opportunity to share this experience with Brevitt. I look forward to reading him stories of the Fremont Indians that lived on the land 400 A.D. to 1350 A.D. as we watch the southwestern colors magically change with the rising and setting of the sun.

Surfing for clever survivor ideas, I came to a video of Bear Grylls urinating on his shirt and wrapping it around his head and mouth to cool down in the hot sun. I was ready to cancel the whole gig immediately. I also can’t stop thinking of Aron Ralston who amputated his arm off with a dull knife to escape from the boulder that had landed on him and trapped him for five days. He was not too far away from where we will be camping.

Things happen in the desert and I can’t help but feel a strong sense of foreboding as I head off with my injured son. I am determined to be sufficiently equipped for snakebites, scorpion stings, infection, more open wounds, heat stroke, dehydration, starvation and mental dementia. I may have to include a hidden flask of forbidden tequila to calm my fears.

I am grateful that my two very efficient friends will be accompanying me on this trip. I know that they are already laughing at my trepidation and think I am over reacting.  Arriving with my fifty pound bulging backpack filled with all the necessary tools to assuage my fears will most definitely open the door to a barrage of well intentioned pokes as we trek the well trodden trails.

Today, we woke up to rain. Determined to enjoy our weekly date together on our favorite mountain, Aspen Highlands we tried to be optimistic and not comment on the fact that Global Warming is putting a real damper on our skiing.

We had pancakes, talked softly so as not to wake up Tucker who was staying home with his grandparents, and took off for skiing.

We dropped off our older boys with their ski instructors and watched as they lunged their hellos into their unsuspecting friends  knocking them to the ground in all of their excitement, get wet early is their motto.

The drop off location for ski school was a sea of color as the kids showed up in their latest super cool, bright, zany ski clothes. We watched appalled, from the distance, as Brevitt called his teacher a fart face and got his ski pole chucked way off into the distant powder. His instructor, has had Brevitt for three years and knows exactly how to handle him.

We left the boys excited for their day, chomping at the bit to  land 360’s and explore more secret stashes in the trees to proudly show to us later. This was our third Saturday, out of eight, where we could hike and ski the bowl without even looking at a terrain park.

No, I do not like hanging out in terrain parks nervously watching our children catch more and more air. They should have a sign on the parks, “Not suited for mothers who are not taking Valium”.

“Wow”, they ask excitedly, “did you see the big air I got?” I neglect to tell them that my eyes were actually closed as they jumped.

Occasionally, when I get the urge to attempt a rail, the boys sweetly plead with me feigning that they are concerned for my safety when I know that their real motive is to save themselves from being hugely embarrassed in front of their fellow sagging homies.

Wade and I floated through the quiet powder catching face shots in the trees and finally they opened the gate to the bowl where  we joined the frothing masses to climb to the superior powder.

I was still elated by the two laps I had done in the Bowl last Saturday and was ready to attempt the same today but I underestimated the complexities of nature. A 40 degree bluebird day does not offer the same challenges as a wet and snowy 37 degree day with eight inches of new snow to fill in the pre-existing boot packed trail.

I implored Wade not to wait for his painfully slow wife as I could tell that today would be another one of those Everest-like days where I begged him to just leave me to the elements.

I have always told him that if ever we should end up in a survivor situation he may as well eat me right away and get it over with. I would be useless to him in any other way. He resisted my pleas for him to abandon me and informed me that he had no desire to leave me, at the moment. The man ahead of us could not help himself and turned back to tell Wade that he was an amazing husband.

The hike was as painful as I had imagined and we cut in early, instead of continuing the painful hike to the top. I watched as he skied gracefully down. Thankfully, nobody was there to watch me as I stumbled over the dynamite blasted snow. Skiing is the one place where I am not afraid but today was different. We have lost to many friends to avalanches to ignore that there are real dangers out there.

The wet snow and the hike chilled me to the bone and I left Wade, full of adrenaline, to take his second lap. I skied down No Name Bowl and encountered ski patrollers taking down an injured person in a sled. I marveled at their passion and bravado as they efficiently struggled through the steep terrain and deep powder to bring this person to safety.

Feeling dry and happy in the warm restaurant, my bliss was aborted when I received the dreaded call from Wade. He had hit a rock skiing and had fallen badly on his shoulder. I was to meet him at the bottom and take him to ER.

At the hospital, Wade was given morphine as they examined his cracked scapula. The doctors listened incredulously, as he told them that he had refused to be taken down in a sled and had skied down on his own. He is such a badass just like his father.

Everybody asks me if I was nervous when I got the call from Wade that he was hurt. I realize that I have toughened up in the past nine years. As long as there is a conscious voice on the other line and I get confirmation that all limbs are still moving, than I am not so worried

Wade and I got robbed of our intimate dates in the Bowl. I suppose there are other things we can do on the Saturdays when the boys are in ski-school. I could go hot tubbing with him with a picnic lunch and perhaps some champagne. I will do what it takes to make him happy, unless it is a powder day or a perfect blue-bird day, that is common law in our neck of the woods. Of course, I’ll feed Wade a good breakfast, give him a big kiss goodbye and give him an IOU for intimacy later.

It has been almost three weeks and Wade is finally out of bed. Adding an injured or sick husband to a mother’s already frantic life will push mommy to the edge of the edge. Once again my placement as the youngest girl in my family comes into play. I was not raised to take care of people. I was raised to be the cutest and most adorable charmer and to be taken care of.

I have come to terms with that since I have started my own family. I will break from my past and become a more nurturing person. When Wade and I were first married, he was the most nurturing man. When I was sick he would sit by my side filled with concern and give me massages. When he got sick I put by his bed a glass of water, a magazine and a thermometer and fluttered off for the day. After all, we all know that men either go down harder than woman or were so pampered by their mothers when they were little that they think a sniffle is the end of the world. Either way, I wasn’t buying in to it. I had been sicker than that and still had to cope with my life, out of bed.

He soon hardened to my aches and pains. I realized I had to change and be more loving. My first introduction as a caring nurse was when he fell off of the cliff we lived on while gardening. We kept the truth quiet for as long as possible. He came home with staples in his knee and plunged into deep depression. I wasn’t even feigning concern as I tried to move him outside for some fresh air. After 10 blankets later and many complaints of being to cold, I moved him back inside. Caring was stressful!

This round, my first thought when I was informed that I had to take him to ER was, oh shit here we go! I had just started my web-site and was in the throws of an obsessive state. I did not have time to tend to anybody’s needs at the moment. But I was no longer Nurse Ratched. I massaged his back all night long and slept in a cramped position to keep my “healing hands” on his wound while he slept. I would go to sleep or wake up at 4am. The stairs were my energy release. Up for water and ice pack, down for kids meals, up for pain killers, down to scream at the boys to stop playing football in the house, up to lather on my progesterine cream and say a little prayer to whomever was listening – HELP ME GET THROUGH THIS!!!

Wade improved only to push himself to far and down he went again with muscle spasms in his chest for 48 hours. Not wanting to feel useless he would emerge into the boys room bent over in pain as I was putting them to sleep. I can reeeaaaddd to them (muscle spasm). I would yell at him to take the rest he needed to get better.

It is so good to have him back and laughing at me again without pain expressed all over his face. I am begging him to take it easy and get strong again. Mommy needs a huge break so that I may refuel before the next injury occurs in the family. I don’t think my family agrees with me.