My daughter, Emma turned sweet sixteen yesterday. To commemorate that monumental event I thought I would take look back through the years:
When Emma was three, she thought the cat’s litter box was called a glitter box. I never corrected her because it was just too precious. (I also used ‘the glitter box’ as the name of the strip club in my book, Tats. Thanks, Em!)
When she was 11, Saxon and I took her to the Dallas book club with us. She wrote her name on Sandy Thornton’s sign-in sheet. In the space where she was supposed to put down her sexual orientation, Emma wrote: “I’m only eleven. My mom won’t let me be sexual yet.”
When she was only four years old she called our garden in the backyard the ‘yarden.’ From then on, that’s what I call it, too.
She dressed up as Alice in Wonderland for one Halloween. When I called her Alice, she corrected me, “My name is Alison. I’m Alison Wonderland.”
Speaking of Halloween. . . She once dressed up as Tinkerbell. I got a call from the Principal because she was sent to the office for hitting a boy. She got mad because the boy called her Stinkerbell. It still makes her mad when I tell this story.
That’s not the only time I got a phone call from her school. Once the school nurse called me, saying, “Emma wants to come home. She says she has growing pains in her feet.” I laughed so hard, I almost peed my pants. The nurse ended up giving her an aspirin and watching her limp down the hallway back to class.
Another Halloween Emma dressed up as Spirit the horse from the Disney movie. At this time, Emma had a lisp and couldn’t pronounce “S.” I took her trick or treating and at the first house, a woman asked her “What are you dressed up as?” Emma smiled and said loudly, “I’m a hor.” (pronounced liked whore.)
Emma’s going to kill me for telling this one, but when she was six she had an allergic reaction to orange juice. She broke out in hives all over her body, especially in the most tender parts. I took her to see a play and at one point during the second act she got up and stood in her chair. I whispered, “Emma, sit down.” She said—loudly—“I can’t sit down! I have a pimple on my butt!” She upstaged the play and the actors. The audience laughed. My darling daughter took a bow.
Of course, there’s also the time she took our dog Stanley for a walk. Five minutes later I saw her walking around the block, tapping a cane, and wearing sunglasses with our dog on a leash. I fielded phone calls from neighbors and friends all afternoon wondering why Emma was blind.
But that’s nothing compared to the time she found a wheelchair in the alley and proceeded to wheel herself all over town. You wouldn’t believe the phone calls I got on that one!
Here’s a pic of Emma modeling one of her many wigs. (Yep. She has a wig collection.) She also is wearing cat ears and a fox tail. Because why not?
Yep. Good times, good times.
All in all, I have to say that Emma is my light and joy. For sixteen years she has brought laughter and love into my life. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. And I can’t wait for the next 16 years!