When I came home Monday evening, two children ran from the house dressed to swim screaming, "Papa Dana!" Apparently they had gotten it into their head that I would take them swimming when I got home from the college. And I did do just that.

 Arrival at the beach means a full tilt headlong run for the water.
 Or a more measured short-stepping trot.
The middle one does not call her aquatic activities swimming. She calls them "walunga" which means "drowning." Which she means quite literally. She consumes vast quantities of the Pacific ocean until she reaches the point of "wotlac." This does not seem to bother her. Explaining to her that humans do not breath water makes no perceptible dent in her misconception that water is a source of oxygen.
Happiness is playing in the water until the wind makes one shiver.

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