Tragedy has struck the Burch home.  My tall, strong (and handsome) husband has thrown out his back.  A lesser, weaker wife would be all I told you to lift with your legs and I knew we should have been doing Pilates together when the kids went to bed (instead of eating popcorn)....but not me.  I'm happily serving the invalid man, stepping over his camp-out on the living room floor, while doing everything that involves lifting anything heavier than a glass.  Oh, also, the driving.  I'm doing the driving because his doctor has him on a little cocktail of prescriptions that made me hide his keys.  Because the only thing that would make me more irritated than an injured husband is a dead one.  Talk about no help.

As it turns out, every single household and child rearing task requires the use of your back, did you know that? Luckily we only have two children that are totally helpless in every way, and Garrett is such a joy in terms of helpfulness and positive attitude, that he makes up for it.

Now we know that Paul has 2 bulging disks and I really do feel sorry for him.  Sorry for him and totally panicked for myself because he and I are 'in this' together and a big part of 'this' is lifting our 35 lb darling many times a day...which, unconincidently  is the cause of this excruciating pain.  I counted 30+ lifts of Lilah the other day, just for necessities (in/out of car, highchair, bed, etc) and she's only going to get bigger.  So, Paul and I are getting our acts together and starting some core training...he's thinking CrossFit and I'm thinking one of those electronic belts from the 80s that stimulate your muscles while you watch TV.  Kidding, I've started running again--which is maybe not that good for my core, but awesome for my attitude....which might be weaker than my core:).