I've always wished I lived in the kind of house where there would be a perfect door frame on which to etch the growth of my family from month to month, year to year.  The kind of door you'd find in a family farmhouse that's been around for generations - one that practically cue's Amy Grant's "If These Walls Could Speak". But alas, I'm one of the modern families of nomads who commit to address nor decorating long enough to make generational graffiti on my walls.

This past spring break, as my daughter was running down the boardwalk to the ocean ahead, I had a flashback to the year before and the year before that one.  As it turns out, I have roughly the same image of her, year upon year.  I have my own photo milestones...

Here she is at one - waiting for Daddy to come and take her hand and help her pull her wagon.

Again at two - skipping merrily towards the sand.