Building.

Getting covered in sand.

Learning that sand has more friction than pavement.

The kids all wanted to take off their shoes and socks. The air temperature was about 50 degrees; I have no idea what the water was. I warned them that frostbitten toes would require amputation, but they were undeterred. The girls quickly changed their minds about wading in. My boys are not as smart. I let them play ankle deep in the frigid Atlantic for about 10 minutes before ordering them to get out. Later, I took Mary back for a nap, and they returned to their foolishness, this time going even deeper. When Bill finally made them get out to come home, Billy reluctantly complied despite being wet to his waist. Of course, as soon as the cold air hit him, he was moaning. I’d like to think the the half mile walk home cured them all of future polar dips, but I doubt it. Bill called ahead and I had readied a steaming shower for Billy and a hot bath for Jenny who had tripped and fallen in. The fifteen minutes of discomfort were long forgotten by the time lunch was finished.