Living in Northern California, we are rarely subjected to hot, muggy days. While I'd hardly call 80 degrees hot, the humidity has been very high, resulting in wild hair for me, and cranky attitudes for everyone around me. Since I am a sainted mother, I was not the least bit cranky, not me. No way. Never.

Despite the heat and the damp, for some reason all three kids made their way into our king-sized bed last night. I clung to the outer 12 inches on one side, my husband claimed his 18 inches, and in between, we had a mass of squirming kids. I woke at 5 am to a chorus of snores. Aside from the occasional kick to the kidneys, or my three-year-old's determination to suck her thumb and hold onto my ear, it was a fine night of sleep. Really, it was. And I wasn't the least bit cranky. Stop laughing.

We've always welcomed the kids to our bed, for the most part. As nursing babes, it was easier. As we added kids to our family, the babies often slept in a bassinette right next to my pillow, but it has never been uncommon for the kids to appear in the wee hours of the night for a snuggle. Since my husband sleeps as though he's been clubbed unconcious, it is usually up to me to see the kids back to bed. When I'm on my A-game, everyone goes back. But often, like last night, I don't even notice when they arrive, and I wake up surprised by the sheer number of critters in my bed.

Now that my kids are seven, five (almost six) and three, their soft baby limbs have been replaced by rock hard muscles and feet almost as large as mine. The crown of my seven-year-old's head rises to my shoulder. It is a far cry from co-sleeping with a mushy, sweet-smelling infant.

And yet...we still enjoy it. Not all the time, of course. There are many nights when our bed remains blissfully empty of stragglers. Sometimes we get a solitary visitor. Sometimes, like last night, we get them all. They sweat, grunt, snore and burrow themselves under the covers. They put their feet on the pillow, and press their faces into my neck, creating a feverish swelter in the room.

I love that they still need snuggles and crave the comfort of our embraces. My dreams are peaceful when my children are kicking and drooling all over each other like a pack of puppies in my bed. As the morning light creeps into my bedroom, I can count my blessings and admire their softly rounded cheeks and splayed limbs without hearing "Moooooom! Stop looking at me!" I know that someday, this too will fade, like the breastfeeding years, like the desire to hear Backyard Bedtime and Goodnight Moon, over and over and over again.

My husband feels the same way. In the daylight hours, it seems that we are always on guard, always teaching and correcting. At night, it is effortless to pull them close and hold them like the babies they once were. The frustrations we struggle with during the day melt away, and all is forgiven.