I failed to take any pictures at our birthday celebration for Emma yesterday. During the singing of Happy Birthday, I took a Marco Polo because we had people singing in Cantonese, Russian, French, Finnish, Spanish and English.
Before they left, I realized I hadn't taken a solitary picture so Emma said, "Come outside and take one."
It was lightly snowing and fully cold but I did it because I love my girl.
There's a lot to love about Emma.
At Mark's show the other night, I dropped a mint on the floor of the theater. "It's OK," Emma said, "some mouse will find it and be minty fresh."
She called me the other day to read a poem she wrote.
She sends texts like this one:
Her creative mind is always buzzing.
She helped Mark get a job. (Which is a Big Deal around here. He'll work as an usher at the theater.)
She will discuss (kind of at length) which word means exactly what you're trying to communicate.
She is a master of portmanteau which never ceases to delight me.
She has always terrified me a little but mostly thrilled me at the same time.
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