by Joanna Venditti posted in Life

Last weekend my husband, Mike, threw his back out. We had plans. We were going to garden, or more specifically plant some trees in our backyard for some much needed privacy. But when I got that call from Mike while I was out grocery shopping last Saturday morning, everything changed.
He ended up having to go to the hospital to see if his injury from lifting way too much wood at once without bending his knees did some permanent damage. It didn't, but he was sent home with strict instructions to rest. The gardening would have to wait.
Upon arriving home from the emergency room I jumped into action, making sure Mike was comfortable on the couch, while I did parental double duty. He kept apologizing, and I kept reassuring him that it was no big deal. We would just take it slow and count our blessings. I meant it, too. Later that evening, when the work of parenting our four kids and caring for my husband was taking its toll, I began to think... two years ago I would have been pissed off. I would have been annoyed plans changed and that he hurt himself.
You see, two years ago our marriage was in trouble, and we knew it. We were in the trenches with four young kids and what started as a romance filled with compassion, had rotted away to unfounded anger.

We were exhausted and spread thin, and started blaming each other.
In the midst of the diapers, the cooking, the crying, the bedtimes, the sleepless nights, the mess, and the expense, we forgot h...