Welcome to Three Kid Circus. Our creed: Quit picking your nose, and go put some pants on. And turn the water off.

My children are wild about the feel of fresh air on their heinies. My son, in particular, has a houdini-like ability to wiggle out of any pair of pants and underpants in three seconds and a hundred times a day, you'll find me standing with my fists on my hips, hollering "Get your pants on! Where are your pants?" He has a microchip in his cyborg-pea-brain that prohibits locations of certain objects from being revealed to authority figures.

Even more infuriating is his flight instinct. It goes a little something like this:

I open with: "Hey! Get back in here and get your pants on!"

The boy responds: "Laller laller laller *flap flap flap* laller laller etc" as he climbs to the top of the play structure.

"You're going to get splinters in your butt! Come down!"

*Waggles butt and giggles*

"Now, mister!" I then forcibly remove pantless wonder from slide platform and carry him into the house like a sack of potatoes. "Pants, and then a time-out. You have to wear pants. All the time."

A common variation on the pantless theme is the pantless with garden hose. It can be 50 degrees, and my kids are still wanting to play with icy water from the hose. Crazy. Apparently, this is a very attractive option if I am attempting to use the telephone.

Me: "Um, excuse me for a minute...(holding hand over phone) Turn off the water, please! Turn off the water! Hey! Where's your pants? Get in here and put on some pants! Water! Off! Pants! On!"

The Boy: "Laller laller" etc and butt waggling, and if feeling super lucky, a few squirts in Mommy's direction.

Me: "I'll have to call you back, I'm sorry... GET! YOUR! NAKED! BUTT! IN! HERE! TIMEOUT! PANTS! NOW! AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGH!"

Before the kids go out the door to play, I give them the POWO talk - Pants? On. Water? Off. Right? Right. And within fifteen minutes, I'm ranting and raving about missing pants.

I figured I'd get tough today, and in addition to the timeouts, took away his favorite toys. He was momentarily broken. He agreed that pants were a crucial part of a big boy's ensemble. The foundation, if you will. I left him to his devices so that I could change the baby's oil and rotate her tires. Once she was happy again, I began to make lunch.

I didn't hear the door open, but I heard it shut. I took a peek out the window, and there was my Nudito Bandito, in a sweatshirt, socks and shoes, and a fine head dress of Bob the Builder underpants. He was standing on top of the play structure, mouth working feverishly. I opened the window to hear him serenading the neighborhood with "Baa Baa Black Sheep" at top volume.

Aaaaaaargh! *Mentally polishing the Academy Award*