14*, 29*, 23*, 31*, 35*

Top of the morning to you.

So I'm not Irish enough and neither is King Ralph to party it up. Last night we had his sister and her family over for dinner--a pre-Pat sort of celebration. Since the weather was fantabulous we sat on the deck munching on appetizers and sipping wine. For dinner we feasted on a St. Louis favorite, pork steaks, with green M & M's for dessert. That's as St. Pat's as we got.

We actually had a little something more exciting to celebrate yesterday than our impending fashion selections from our sparse choices of green.

After years of increasing and decreasing numbers, x-rays enough to make one glow, a marathon of waits in the Spine Center's holding area--which yesterday was so crowded and uncomfortable I could not find it in my body to read more than the forward in my new novel during the three hour wait--along with several parades of the good doctor's entourage... it was determined M's number will hold at 35*.

Okay, so 35* isn't exactly the number you want your kid to have attached as the description of their spine curvature, but she is skeletally mature, so there is goodness in that ugly number. She isn't going to get any worse. Those two years wearing that torture chamber of a hard plastic, sweat producing brace did its job. So for that I am thankful, we are thankful.

M will soon begin therapy for the chronic back pain she has had most of her teen life. She pretty much failed the questionnaire. Which in the end is okay, it means there is a method of relief waiting for her. We have never handed our girls crutches for the imperfections placed upon them and M will tell you she "sucks it up and just goes on". She pains through Color Guard, she pains through our backpacking trips, she pains through her sleep.... God knows she can handle it most of the time with a smile on her face (because she is immune to ibuprofen).

So you wonder what was the more exciting reason to celebrate yesterday? We can officially burn the brace. M has been waiting for the day they would tell her to plan her brace burning party. The plans are in the works. To add to the excitement the doctor told me not to see him for two years. TWO YEARS. You have no idea the joy I find in not having to block off five hours in a day every four months to sit in waiting rooms. M is thrilled not to have sit next to me in those waiting rooms dressed in her hospital frock.

I am going to put all my Girl Scout certified fire starter skills to the test and create one hell of a bon fire-- with a plastic body mold as the center of attention. This one thing is not needed to preserve for posterity!

Hasta la vista back brace!