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.'