It’s pretty clear from L’s expressions during walks outside that she loves trees.

She stares up at them, mouth slightly open, and watches in amazement as branches and leaves sway in the wind. Occasionally, joy overcomes her, and she lets out a guttural squeal. Other times, she’ll look up at a tree and giggle, glancing back at me as if to say, “Dad, do you see it?”

Naturally, then, L was in her glory tonight when Powergirl and I put up our first Christmas tree as parents. We plopped the baby in her portable crib, lugged the seven-foot noble fir in from the garage and plopped it on the stand. As I screwed it in, L looked on curiously, kicking her feet in approval.

Every now and again, she offered an expression that was somewhere between ecstasy and confusion. She also demanded that we pick her up so she could touch the needles herself.

Her reaction to the tree made it feel new again for me as well.

Every year, the ritual of putting up the tree (we put it up, give it a night to open, then decorate it the following night) has been more of a chore than fun. Powergirl and I usually bicker about whether the tree is straight. And I have an indomitable obsessive-compulsive disorder about vacuuming needles immediately (so we don’t track them around the house).

Tonight, however, my little girl reminded me of just how novel the whole thing really is. A tree! In our house! How crazy! And neat!

Watching her reactions to the tree made everything else seem relatively inconsequential. With a few simple gestures, she transported me back to my first Christmas as a kid, and helped me relive the wonder of the holiday all over again.

Of all the benefits of fatherhood, this notion of seeing everyday experiences through my daughter’s eyes is perhaps my favorite. She makes it all new again. She eliminates monotony. In short, she forces me to appreciate life the way it’s meant to be appreciated. I hope all of you parents are as lucky.