In order for this to make any sense, you have to know that one of our old inside jokes has to do with cheesy romance novels, and the quest to come up with the horriblest euphemism for sex that has ever been uttered. The winner in our little contest has been, "He thrust his purple-headed warrior into her quivering mound of love pudding."

Go ahead, say it out loud. Lower your voice and hold your chest while you say it. Try not to die of snorting and giggling.

Okay.

So, I took the kids to the beach today. We live in New Hampshire, an area of the world not widely renowned for its balmy and comforting ocean currents. The sign at the entrance to the state park advertised an air temperature of 74 and water temperature of 59. Um, brrr.

Emily, being a child between the ages of 3-12, has no nerves, and didn't notice the icebergs floating by until it was time to get out of the water and head toward the car. Jacob, being a few weeks shy of three, still has a natural avoidance of things cold enough to stop your heart, plus this whole Really Big Body of Water with Living Creatures and Boats thing kind of freaks him out. He spent a while prancing back and forth like those shore birds you see just beyond the water's edge, only cuter. But then the jealousy of elder sister's frolics outweighed the fear of Big Loud Waves, and he asked me to carry him into the water.

And being a sucker, I did. Stayed in long enough to spin him and splash him and generally freeze his little legs a bit.

And as for me? There was decided quivering, though in a far less romantic way. And not a warrior in sight.