Daddy Tree: Tiny Footsteps

She's not crawling yet, but our little girl has become quite the explorer. It's not pretty, but she's learned to scooch and roll all over the living room, and she does it BACKWARD to boot. Yep, she's a backward scoocher. Her backwardness isn't on purpose, though. She has every intention of going forward, but when she lifts her heinie in an attempt to crawl forward, her feet fly backward, which thrusts her body a couple of inches in that direction. But she gets places, even if she can't see where she's going. This morning, she proved the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. She scooched backward until she was at the side of the TV stand. There she discovered the "Sex and the City" series box, knocked it on its side and started gumming on it. She drooled all over that show much like Mommy does. And just like I have to do with Mommy, I had to take the show away when the drooling simply became too much. She then scooched her way around the T...

Our Thanksgiving trip to Henderson, Tenn., is what we live for, for friends and family, for camaraderie and good times, for enjoying life. The trip was wonderful. Che and I had a great time, and Willow absolutely had the time of her life (I know this because our first day back on Daddy and Willow time was, in a word, tough; Willow missed her granddad and his silliness, see photo, and the loving embraces of aunts, uncles, of cousins and grandmothers). As Willow becomes more conscious of her life and the family members who inhabit it, these days are more and more magical. And the traditions we set are more and more meaningful. That goes for Daddy and Mommy too. Life, with Willow in it, has a greater tug on our heart. Our perspective has changed. Our outlook is rosier. The view of our experiences are sharper. Our memories, new and old ones, have a new glow about them. Willow has brought some sort of mystical presence to our lives, and to our holidays and traditions. Take Halloween, f...

We're traveling to Henderson, Tenn., for a long Thanksgiving weekend. That means: Good eating. Football. Hugs. Excitement for Willow. Giving thanks. Games. Family. And lastly, packing and hauling my little family down there. Yes, that last task is an enormous one (it's a big enough burden with just a husband and wife, but when you add a baby ... oh, my!). We leave tonight. So I know what lies ahead for me today. I'm at the keyboard now, steeling myself for the long day ahead. I have work to do. I've downloaded an app to my iPhone to help me pack for the new addition (Willow). The app is quite helpful, but it's overwhelming looking at the list and its 1,036,154 things to do. Do I even have enough time today to go through this list? And the app doesn't even begin to account for the things Mommy wants. If I were to add those requests to the list, we'd be up to ... just a sec ... calculating ... calculating ... here we go ... 3,176,203 things to...

Last night. Ungh. Last night. I don't want to relive too many details, but it involves the words "after midnight." That's all I'll say. She knows what she did.

Storms and overall yuckiness is expected to roll through the area today. You know what that means? Pajama Day! To combat the crumminess outside, Willow and I are sticking to our pajamas, and we're going to play, read and play! (Willow is napping now to gather strength for the pajama-wearing fun). We're putting the work off until tomorrow, when we have to get ready to travel to Henderson for a weekend of Thanksgiving and family fun. That's a lot of fun thrown in there, and a little bit of work (but, hey, when you're a kid, fun is work). Rainy days are gloomy, but I hope I have tons more in my future, because I have no problem hunkering down with Willow and playing the day away. Happy holidays, everyone!

There is nothing, and I mean NOTHING, like a post-wake-up nap!

My loving wife used to have The New York Times delivered to our house on weekends. The delivery was a gift to me. But it was expensive, and we simply couldn't afford it after I gave up my job to become a stay-at-home dad. I've missed the paper (it always helped me slow down and enjoy my weekends just a little more), but I've gotten along just fine without it. Then it popped back into my life recently. On two recent Saturday mornings, The New York Times was waiting at the bottom of our driveway. Then it showed up again this Sunday. I started suspected somebody had renewed our subscription as a Christmas present. But so far, the top suspects for such an act of kindness have said they didn't do it (at least they haven't fessed up). So I've been left wondering why I'm getting the paper again. Could it be a peace offering from the house elf who abandoned me? Or is the missing house elf letting me have a taste of the old life before ripping the paper out f...

I returned to the doctor today for a follow-up on my newly diagnosed asthma. The meds are doing they're job, so I get to carry on (and start doing my little running thing three days a week). But here's the really good news, or the news I'm most excited about anyway. My blood pressure had been "elevated" the first time I visited the doctor (142/86). He even discussed blood pressure medicine with me. But today my blood pressure came in at normal (120/80). He attributed the initial high blood pressure reading to "white-coat hypertension," or elevated blood pressure because of a nervousness about being at the doctor's office. The news made my day. Even though I don't have to take blood pressure pills, I am not a model of good health, but I fully intend to get healthy, for me, my wife and Willow. And that is what I'll do. My goal is to run at least a mile on the beach next summer. I hope you'll cheer me on my way to reaching that goal.

Che and I spotted him cleaning the restrooms at Bass Pro Shops.

It happens before you know it. You can't stop it. Preventive measures are futile. Willow has a gift. She's quick as a ninja. Sly as a fox. Keen as an eagle. And she puts these skills to good use. Willow is a spectacular thief. That is, she is a world-class spectacle stealer. That is, she snatches eye glasses off people's heads. I realize Willow isn't alone in this regard; the skill is common among babies. But I've been studying my little thief, and this is how she does it: She wobbles and falls throughout the day, and she grabs at and misses items she wants. This is meant to lure the target into a false sense of security about their glasses. She fusses and cries at times, sometimes feigning a fall and bump on the head. This is meant to lure the target into picking her up. She either continues to fuss or she unexpectedly smiles or laughs. This is meant to lure the target into a kiss on the cheek. Then ... SNATCH!!! She has them. The spectacles are hers, ...

Willow loves the camera (and Daddy when he's being extra goofy)!

Willow loves her daddy!

I have a problem: Moms don't like me. Actually, they are downright petrified of me. Let me set a scene, from today no less: Willow and I were at Kroger. Willow was snug in her car seat in the grocery cart. We were in the produce section looking for peppers when I encountered a young woman. I nodded in greeting then pushed my cart around her and headed toward the back of the store. The woman zipped past me and ran to the cart that carried her two young daughters, an infant and a 3-year-old. She then looked back at me and pushed the cart hurriedly away. I'm used to this, having women scurry away or rein in their children whenever I approach. It's happened for years, and I acknowledge their fear in this dangerous world. Strange men are not to be trusted. But I certainly didn't expect this to continue after Willow arrived. I figured a father and his infant daughter might be less threatening. Nope. More examples: A mother walking at the park in front of me with her tw...

Willow and I went to the bank today to deposit my first pension check from Gannett. (Yes, I'm getting a meager pension.) When I quit my job, I also closed my bank account and joined my wife's account; it's a joint account, but the checks and deposit slips say only "Cherish Matthews." The teller made the usual greeting eye contact, saying "Good morning, how are you?" As usual, I blurted out my typical "I'm fine." She then processed the deposit then printed out and gave me the receipt through that drawer thingy. She looked at me through the glass divide. And said ... "Have a good day, Miss Matthews."

Picking baby boogies is Mommy's thing, not mine. She also does the Mommy spit-and-clean thing and other monkey-picking-and-preening things. I don't. I'm sure mommies across the world will side with Willow's Mommy, claiming her hygienic ways are much more suitable than mine, with the baby wipes and tissues. I'm not a believer, though I'm sure I'll sprint to Mommy when a "kiss-my-booboo-better emergency" arises. And yet, here I find myself hours after my most recent fall into mommydom. Yes, I picked a nose this morning, and it wasn't mine. The disgrace. But here's the thing I'm most disgraced about: I don't know where the boogie went. It vanished. I checked my hands then the area in close proximity to Willow's face at the time. No boogies. So I carried on with my day. Hours passed. Et voila. The boogie appeared me. And he taunted me. "Nanny, nanny, boo, boo, I'm a boogie-boo-boo, and I'm still on your finger...

Willow's prunes sure do look like chocolate, but believe me, they don't taste like chocolate.

Willow had a fitful night of sleep last night, staying up WAY past her bedtime (until 11:30 p.m.!). Her sleep has been off since Friday, but she seems to be catching up today, logging 2 1/2 hours of napping so far. Mommy and I will be working hard to get her back on schedule tonight. We can't blame her much; she had a few painful shots yesterday morning, and that followed an exciting weekend of guests and Christmastime (yeah, we're early) fun. It's a lot for a little girl to handle, so we're slowing down today and during the next few days.

Today as I worked my way through the house, I noticed a clean spot here and there. There were things I didn't need to do, sure signs of the presence of a house elf. As I've noted before, our house elf has been missing, leaving me more to do around the house, including (gasp) dusting. As I've also noted before, I've seen signs of a house elf here and there, but I didn't think it was necessarily our house elf, just a nearby house elf helping out. But the more I think of it, and with today's evidence in hand, I think that maybe our house elf is back, or at least dropping by to help here and there. Whatever elf helped today, this is what he did: He tidied the living room a bit and folded the blankets there. He also dressed Willow, which might have been a bit too much for a house elf to do. But the house elf DID NOT do anything about the dishes piling up in the kitchen sink, so yes, I had to take care of them. Harumph, I say. Harumph. Here are the latest clues i...

We didn't even put a Christmas tree up last year. Our house was on the market, and we didn't want the living room to appear smaller to prospective buyers (of which there were none, it turns out). As it turns out, we're quite happy to be in this house, even if Che's commute is ridiculous. The house is a good size for our family to grow, and we feel comfortable and safe in it. And it has become our home. So this year, we're putting the tree up, and we're even having family come for Christmas weekend. We're even putting up lights. Actually, we were excited about having Willow's first Christmas at our home, we've succumbed to the excitement. We had to see the look on her face when she saw the tree and the bright lights. Yes, we've put out our decorations, put up our tree and strung the lights out front. We couldn't help ourselves. Christmas is here at our house. And it's going to be a long and memorable celebration. Merry Christmas!

Our little Amazon baby is slowing down! She was off-the-charts big, and growing. Now she's on the charts. During today's doctor's visit, she weighed in at 18 pounds, 1 ounce and 27 1/4 inches long. Those measurements are merely "big," about 90 percent on the growth charts. But even if she's probably not going to be a center in the WNBA, she checked out at the doctor, and we count our blessings for that. She's our healthy, and still big, little girl.

One of life's greatest treasures is waking up to your baby's gentle "Da-Das" then watching her read a book with Mommy.

Willow had tons of fun with her grandmother and great-grandmother, so much so that she was wired throughout the night. It took every ounce of energy Mommy and Daddy had to get her to sleep, then it was restless after that, requiring frequent visits to her cribside. Yawn.

Few times in the course of stay-at-home daddyhood does an event like this happen. This, indeed, is historic. I get to take my tail out of this house and go do whatever I want (within legal, moral and ethical bounds, of course). By myself. Alone. Indeed, I say ... indeed. Cherish's mother and grandmother are coming to take care of Willow for the afternoon, giving me a much-earned afternoon to myself. And this is what I'm going to do: I'm going to find the manliest, biggest-waste-of-time, money-wasting, violent movie I can, and I'm going to lay down my wife's hard-earned dime, and I'm going to watch that movie. My pick: "Immortals." I read in the local paper this morning that "Immortals" was rated at only 1 1/2 stars. It's supposed to be a horrible movie. Good. I'm going to bask in the crappy escape from baby poo. I'm going to inhale the smell of stale popcorn and that what-the-heck-is-that?-pee? odor. And I'm going to ...

The thought has kept me restless for two days now. I can't sleep. I can hardly eat. My mind wanders because the thought is always there, poking into my consciousness, and into my unconsciousness. I must solve the mystery if I want to regain my normalcy: Why has our house elf forsaken me? I've never met nor seen the little guy, but I know he graced our lives for several years. I know he was around when I was a kid. He kept our house on Headquarters Road nice and tidy. I know he was around in college. My roommates liked to point out to me how the sink stayed clear and the living room was relatively in order. Then he vanished when I graduated. He was gone for years. I like to think he was traveling the world, getting to know himself. He returned when Cherish and I started living together, and he stuck around, keeping the apartment, then the house and yard, clean. Then this summer came, Aug. 1 to be exact, and he vanished. I've been left with most of the cleaning (I ...

Could this be Willow's true enemy, the one Wocket answers to? I snapped this picture as he flashed through Willow's room.

This is Willow's enemy in the Kingdom of Rosedom. He casts spells and uses evil lab potions to attack Willow and her friends. But he might answer to a more evil boss.

GrinchDog, aka Max, has been on every adventure with Willow. He even saved the Legion of Zoo Animals in the last tale.

I'm only a novice father, but I'm an expert storyteller. Heck, I made a living of it there for a while. So Willow gets some pretty elaborate fairy tales (and they're simple at the same time). The simple part lies with the story structure: Cast Willow as the heroine, have a bad guy do something bad then have Willow save the day. The elaborate part comes with the characters. Now, these characters haven't evolved quite yet, but there are a bevy of them, and I'm sure they'll grown along with Willow. And now, I take you into the world of Willow's fairy tales. Place Rosedom, the Kingdom of Roses - the kingdom of King Daddy and Queen Mommy Heroes Willow, the Knight of Roses and Princess of Rosedom Grinchdog, Willow's trusty and most loyal squire (Grinchdog, aka Max, is a trouble magnet) Queen Mommy King Daddy, the Storyteller King Villains Wocket in my Pocket, Rosedom's mad scientist and evil sorcerer WristMonkey, a troublesome nuisance alway...

I thought you'd enjoy this video of Willow swinging in the park earlier this week. Even though it's cooler today, it's still a pretty day, so Willow and I are going to take a walk in the neighborhood. We keep getting blessed by pretty days, so we better take advantage of them.

I cleaned and I cleaned and I cleaned on Wednesday. But the house elf never came. I did get some assistance from my helper, Willow. She graciously took longer naps than usual (probably because Daddy was being super-boring), and that helped me get the job done. It took all day, but I finished. The house is clean. No thanks to the house elf. Today, I recuperate. Willow is getting lots of Daddy Time.

The Beautiful Mommy got to stay home a little later than usual today, and she spent her time wisely, playing with and "reading" to Willow. Times like these are the essences of life.

I thought I was a pro. I mean I'm six months into this thing. But I've never experienced what just came out if Willow's bottom. I'm dizzy. I need to lie down.

Argh, it's one of THOSE days. I saw this day coming. It wasn't sneaky. This day wanted me to know it was coming. This day wanted to see the sourness creep across my face. My distaste for this day simply provided fuel for it, causing it to grow, become monstrous. I didn't sign up for this day (actually, it was in the fine print), and yet here it is, a day all stay-at-home parents must face. This day is Clean-the-house Day. And I hate it. ___ Let me list all the reasons why I hate this day (as if I need to because I know you hate this day too): Dusting. Sweeping. Mopping. Dusting. Toilet cleaning. Tub cleaning. Dusting. It's hard to keep Willow entertained (she hates dusting too). Sink scrubbing. Dusting. Dusting. Dusting. I think I've delivered a solid argument to why I hate Clean-the-house Day. And I hate the day even more because it was forced onto me (by big corporations, I'm sure of it). You see, back in the day when I was a normal every...

I treasure when Willow wakes from a nap. She's all smiles, and I'm the most important person in the universe. She's playful. Full of energy. She's happy, and so am I.

My wife always wanted a wife. She shared that little tidbit with me several times. Sometimes she'd spurt it out if she was exasperated, usually about something I did or didn't do. And sometimes she'd smirk and say it, jokingly: "I want a wife!" When she'd wish for a wife in an exasperated state, I'd clam up. Zip my lips. When she'd joke about it, I'd say something stupid and continue whatever manly inactivity I was up to (and she'd continue making supper). Then things changed when we started this stay-at-home-daddy adventure. I did most the laundry. I made the bed. Did the dishes. Cooked (gasp!). I cleaned the house. Dusted (gasp! gasp!). I was househusband extraordinaire! I felt so good about myself, about my new efforts toward the family good, I even told my wife, "Now you have a wife." Friends, I have to level with you ... THAT was a stupid thing to say. Of course I didn't realize the stupidity of the comment at the ti...

I'm definitely healthier as a SAHD. Staying home with Willow has helped me pursue, and so far keep, a healthier lifestyle. I'm no Lance Armstrong. Far from it, but I am shedding weight a feeling better. I walk frequently, am eating better and am feeling less stress. I'm also reading and writing more and am generally more active. It's not that I have more time to do these things. Actually, as I've shared with my wife repeatedly, I feel like I have less down time than I used to when I was commuting to my second-shift job. But the mindset is different. And the change in routine (hours) is definitely different. Having long commutes and a stressful job seemed to overwhelm any attempts I had at being healthy and fit. And the commutes and the stress made wonderful excuses to just take it easy. And the hours (and the hard hours at work) wreaked havoc on my diet. I usually ate lunch, supper and a before-bed meal back then. Now I get a normal day's meals. But it...