It's amazing what a difference a year makes in the life of a toddler. Last summer we took Bemma to the beach and they plodded along, shoving sand into every orifice they could find, disappearing into the dunes like the sun behind a mountain; the vast breadth of the coastline swallowed them up. Yesterday they returned to the beach with a vendetta, and while the sand still filled their orifices, they explored with the zest of a Conquistador in search of gold.

They shoveled sand, chased seagulls, ran away from the waves (Ben ran away, but I'm pretty sure Emma would be half way to Japan right now if we'd left her to her own devices), threw sand, and destroyed my sand castle towers faster than I could build them. Two hours into it they could hardly walk or stand. They staggered around the beach like Apollo Creed and Rocky Balboa at the end of an epic 15 rounder.

Once back in the car they sucked down their juice, engulfed a cookie and fell into the post-beach coma you see in the pictures. Ben was so tired he even reverted to his favorite newborn sleeping position.

Ben and Emma's enthusiasm and raw wonder at the world is a thrill and inspiration. It's like opening the blinds in a dark room and seeing all the treasures you knew were there but you haven't taken the time to look at lately. That's quite a priceless gift my little ones give me, worth the price of cleaning sand from orifices.