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<h5 style="padding-left: 360px;">Photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/d_lee/">lmnop88a</a></h5>
Yesterday my girls came home after spending four days with their dad. <strong>Sometimes these transitions are seamless, and other times I end up feeling emotionally spent within an hour of their arrival.</strong> Yesterday was one of those exhausting days.

<strong>First, one of my daughters bombarded me with a dozen things she wanted me to help her do.</strong> The list included everything from crafty Christmas projects she needed a hand with and a shelf she wanted installed in her room to ways to soothe her achy tooth. She was back in her other environment, and her mind was racing with possibilities as she readjusted.

<strong>Then my other daughter needed to pour out all the sadness of her heart to me.</strong> ALL of it. It was as if her heart was a cup that she had been slowly filling until it reached the brim. Then she had spent the last couple of days carrying it around <em>very carefully</em>, attentive not to spill a drop. Now that she was home with me, she couldn't bear to carry it another step. Out it poured.

My stepdaughter, who also returned to our house yesterday, is dealing with her own stresses as she wraps up semester projects and prepares for finals at her rigorous school.

The house was emotionally packed.
<h4>What is "x" in those tricky parenting equations?</h4>
Earlier in the day, before all of the drama, we were out for lunch with friends. I told B, who has an 18-month-old son, about our weekend dinner guests, who have twin toddler boys. "Can you imagine having twins?" We began speculating whether twins are twice the work as one child (twice as many diapers), three times the work (they're in cahoots), or maybe 50 percent more work (if you're giving one bath you might as well give two). No one at the table had real experience with twins, so we left it at that.

Last night, though, I had a realization. I had just folded stacks of laundry and then realized at 11 that I still needed to make lunches. When I finally climbed into bed, I recognized that my exhaustion was far more emotional than physical. And this was suddenly very clear: <strong>The work of parenting more than one child (at least once they hit school age) has very little to do with their physical needs.</strong> It's not about "triple the laundry" or "three breakfasts and lunches to make instead of one." Making three sandwiches, after all, is not three times the work of making one.

<strong>No, it's not that we have three extra bodies in the house to care for. We have three additional hearts and minds to care for. And they're each in need of completely different things, at different times.</strong> We can't line them all up and assure them everything will be OK in the same way we can line them up and trim their toenails. Their needs are each so unique—they require specialized, individual attention, and sometimes we even have to try experimental, unproven approaches. What has worked for one daughter won't necessarily work for all.

Sometimes, it almost feels like a full-time-job—one that requires a daily nap (of the parents, not the kids!). But it also feels like the most worthwhile job there is, and it's good to know that others are out there devoting themselves to it, too. Sometimes just acknowledging that something is hard, and knowing you're not alone, makes it all less of a struggle and more of a joy.