while my daughter gently sleeps

today, eve decided that napping in the late morning to early afternoon was supremely overrated. after twenty minutes, she was raring to go. at a loss, we went with it, hung out around the apartment, had a nice relaxing day. ted even found a few moments to start sprinkling guitars around our place like sprinkles on ice cream, or powdered sugar on waffles, or whatever confectionary analogy you find apt.

so thrilled to see guitars again, eve tested out all of them and even got to try a violin and a flute. phenomenal. all this potential music making in the apartment must have made her antsy, ready to head out and start her own post-punk band, because she found her backpack, demanded that i put her baby in it and help her into it, and (without pants, a jacket, socks, or shoes) told us that she was going shopping to buy apples, avocados, bananas, milk, and one cookie.

i thought we might try going to the playground instead. here's eve, checking for airplanes along the way. note that she's still wearing the backpack, but is also more appropriately clothed for the out of doors:
getting to the park takes some time when you're legs are short, you're wearing pants that snap for the first time in about 18 months, and you're trying to keep your pigtails looking sharp:
sometimes you have to check out giant light posts:
and other times you just need to set out across a baseball diamond, headed for that sandbox in the beyond, like a little hobbit on a great adventure, though without nasty rings or dragons or golem:
once we arrived at the park, and mind you it's pretty chilly today, eve decided the baby wanted to play in the water. poor, wet, cold baby:
luckily, the baby got to dry out, eve got to pee under a tree, and everyone got to play in the exalted sandbox. once we were home, ted set up evesie on the couch to watch a little 'wall-e,' and this is what almost immediately happened:
i guess naps aren't entirely overrated after all.

baby all grows up

i really love vince vaughn. he's not intimidated by obama's six-pack, or anyone else's for that matter, and he pulls his slightly pudgy weight around a film scene like he's an excessively verbal, sprite who has the on-screen mass of a mid-career marlon brando, but without imminent bloating, the dark moods, or the tendency to mumble. this is a man who seems unable to stop himself from talking. i live with a man like that. and also a daughter like that.

which brings me to eve. the evester has settled into 'evesie's new home' splendidly. she's become a green space and playground addict, so much so that we're often the last people to head inside for the evening. she also relishes the acoustics of our new digs, with its high ceilings and hardwood floors, perfect for rowdy renditions of 'night night baby,' 'itsy bitsy spider,' and other songs to which i can't yet make out the words. she's finally gotten to claim full use of her very own speakers, a wonderful shower gift from my mom. we've figured out that she can use the volume knob, that she likes her tunes loud, that she can recognize 'the beatles' by ear, and that she seems to understand how to use my ipod. sort of. to the ipod selecting process, to eating her corn on the cob, or to putting on her panties, she is constantly saying, 'i do it, mama. it's mine.'

which brings me to the connection between eve and vince vaughn. all right, you see the body type connection, and the way both of them physically command a room through humor. but there's one more link i'd like to draw on as the proud mama that i am. the only scene i remember from 'swingers,' a vaughn vehicle we rented during our salad days, when we were glutting ourselves on all things vince (we still do this. we saw 'fred claus' for goodness' sake.), is the one when the guys are sitting in the coffee shop, and the n'ere-do-well slouchy character finally scores a girl's phone number. vince vaughn's character, in all his exuberance and pride, stands on the table in the seedy cafe/diner and announces to his fellow late-night diners, 'our little baby's all grows up.' yes, that's exactly how he says it. he repeats it several times in his own kind of incantatory way, and you really start to believe that not only is he some kind of strange surrogate father-figure to his friend, but that this is indeed the defining watershed experience that makes him 'all grows up.'

my friends, i feel like we've been having many such watershed moments lately--whether it's eating corn on the cob, saying 'i,' helping mama with the laundry, or approaching the gigantic fountain in millennium square all by herself. and just when i get all choked up while shouting 'our little baby's all grows up' in my head, evester goes and does a babyish thing, like walking around in her bear towel, or lying on the kitchen floor with her dogs as though there was nothing better to do in this whole apartment, not an entire room of toys and books waiting to entertain her. it's so nice of her to let me remember that she's my baby, even if she can 'do it myself.'