Like birthday balloons in the fog.

They're like multi-colored balloons loosely tied together coming in and out of focus through the coastal morning fog...

Bea's words. We're almost to her second birthday as the fog lifts from those balloons a little more each day. It's clear we're on the cusp of bunches floating around her as she rips around the living room.

Crystal clear.

Today we were all down walking along the ocean, pushing Bryce in the stroller, when Bea tripped and fell, hitting her knee. She cried for a few and favored it, and when we asked where the "owie" was she pointed and said:

"Knee."

Brilliant. Don't you think?

We do.