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Breaking Dad

April 28, 2014

Writing is agony. No seriously, it physically hurts. Hopefully this will pass quickly, but once again I have pulled some small insignificant muscle in my lower back. So now it hurts to stand, sit, and lay down. Kneeling isn’t so bad. So I’ve arranged a little make shift desk so that I can work on my knees.

Let’s try not to extend that metaphor.

I can’t type for that long, so today’s post will be on the short side, but I wanted to share the story of how I wound up in this predicament. Naturally, it has something to do with food. It also has something to do with my kids, who have no idea how good they’ve got it.

Perhaps it’s also interesting to note that the very first time I threw my back out also had to do with food. The original strain came from my first act of household maintenance as a first time homeowner. I decided to sand the back deck and restain it all by myself, but knowing nothing I used a belt sander instead of a standing sander.

Anyhow, I was sore, but uninjured. Until later in the week a sack of sweet potatoes fell on the ground, that is. As I bent to pick them up, something in my back went pop, and the next thing I knew I was on the ground.

That was years ago. Today, I thought I had this thing pretty much under control with stretches, exercises, and such. But I guess what I just learned is that I need to be more consistent with my regimen and always be vigilant about the strain I put on my body.

So Sunday morning I was doing a good thing. I was making a special brunch for the kids.

One of our neighbors had baked us a challah for Friday night dinner and it was delivered when it was still warm. By the time it had arrived, we had already picked up our weekly Zomick’s loaf. Two challot is a problem everyone should have.

Anyhow, there was a lot of the Zomick challah left over, so I decided to make thick cut French toast. Young Master Fussy was a little dismayed that he wasn’t getting challah French toast pancakes, but that soon went away when he saw the gorgeously golden slab of butter fried egg-dipped bread in the cast iron skillet.

I really wish I had taken a picture of that post-flip. It was one of my finest efforts.

My kids eat slowly, and I thought I would go the extra mile to make their brunch even a bit more special (even if they would probably never notice the difference). I decided to warm their plates in the oven so that their French toast would stay warmer longer.

Turns out, that was the straw that broke the Profussor’s back. Sigh. Two large dinner plates, being awkwardly put into an open oven, while slightly overextending my reach.

It wasn’t a pull or a pop, but just a twinge. I wasn’t knocked to the floor. But it was one of those small injuries that is like a crack in the dike. Fortunately, by now I know what to do. Hot baths, muscle relaxants, stretches and rest go a long way.

Maybe spending some time off my feet will give me a chance to catch up a bit on my cookbook reading. There are some new ones that have come into my life which may be worth sharing. But now it’s back to taking care of my back.

Freaking kids and their warmed plates.

One Comment leave one →
  1. April 28, 2014 10:37 am

    Aw, feel better. Don’t worry, you can guilt them about this in a few decades.

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