Gone are the days of checking the clock for bedtime. Bedtime smacks me in the face every night. The bath, the jammies, the lotion. A whirlwind that leaves me with a damp shirt and sopping wet pants. I chase a naked 3 year old down two hallways and sometimes, half a flight of stairs... He thinks this is fun. Then comes the stories, the snuggles, the songs. Those leave me with a full heart. It's short lived. But good enough. The wiggly toes and the flopping, rolling motion of an over tied toddler. Strong, quick kicks to the lower back while the baby has a death grip on my shirt. Twirling my hair... twirling her hair... all while doing a complete spoon. 'Right here Mommy, eye contact, and can you have your boob out just for good measure? Thanks. Also, we need to be closer.' The older two are upstairs. Fighting. It's been Minecraft wars since after dinner. I hear the muffled screams and things being thrown. I can't yell at them to shut it off. Too risky. One by one I'll carry the sleeping "angels" upstairs. Give the big ones my evil mom eyes. Watch them brush their teeth. Tuck them in. Say a prayer. Or 30. And pass out. I'm tired. But I think it's the love that keeps me going. The love I give and the love I receive.