Three Kid Circus - we put the GLAMOUR back in PARENTING.

Oh, wait. There's no glamour in parenting. Caring for small children can feel like digging ditches. There's the bending and the lifting, and the running, and the repetitive stress injuries. The long days with little rest, and the dubious honor of watching the hole get bigger and bigger around you. This is one of those days, after one of those weeks, when I am just bone tired. I got the baby to sleep, tucked in the two oldest and headed for the door when my daughter said "Mommy, one more book, okay?" I grumbled, but agreed.

As I sat between the warm bodies of my son and daughter, I felt the tension melt away, and found myself lost in the story about fairies and magical lands. Feeling a small hand tense on my arm at the turn of a page, oh! the anticipation, and seeing small feet kicking for joy as the action picked up... it smoothed all the little rough ends that are making me prickly. When I tucked them in again, they both accepted my kisses and wishes for sweet dreams with upturned lips and contented wiggles under their sheets.

I stood in their doorway just now, and listened to them breathing, grateful and humbled. No glamour here. But there is magic in these little critters I'm sharing my life with. They rock my world.

My oldest, at 5 1/2 thankyouverymuch, stands level with my biceps. This is alarming. Where does the child get her height? And where did mine go? After reading the National Geographic article about the Homo floresienses discovery, I learned that I am the size of your average modern Pygmy. From the article: "Modern pygmies are considerably taller at about 1.4 to 1.5 meters (4.6 to nearly 5 feet) tall." I'm 4'11". And THEN. I get my box from Hanna Andersson, with new! petite! pants! because if I wear sweatpants one more day I'm going to be voted out of the Fashion Forward Mom Club and into the Dorito-Butt Drawstring Pant Queens, Mini-Van Chapter(Hah! But still, enough with the sweats!)

I tore open the box, and discovered that petite! is still too long. By two freakin' inches. What next? Will I sprout Hobbit hair on my toes? Again with the alterations. I grow weary of being special. Oh, wait that was all about me.

But anyway, yes, my daughter is freakishly tall, considering her Pygmy mother.

Then there's the four year old boy. And his explaining. So much 'splaining.

"Mommy, nickjr.com loads when the pieces of napkin shoot out of the planet and into the box. And then when it's done shooting into the box out of the planet, it goes to my game. That's how it loads. Isn't that neat? The word load starts with an a, and a b, and a c, and an f and then a z. and an a again. And then another letter appears. A "b" then comes c. C looks like this. Then comes an o. Then an S makes snake motion with arm. And that's how you spell the word "load." Well, gotta get going. Bye."

Laller laller laller *mommy shakes head to clear*

The baby is almost two. Two? How did that happen? She's 22 pounds of feisty. Her new game is saying "How 'bout..." and then doing something like sticking her tongue out and squealing. And then she laughs like a maniac. And then she does it again. And again.

These children, so complex and yet so simple - I spend my days trying to stay one step ahead of them, all the while finding gemstones scattered with the legos. Not glamorous, precisely, but bling bling that adorns my heart.