With two boys, the amount of peace in my house is scarce. Between the constant clacking of Nerf guns, shouting as a form of normal communication and the consistent attempts to use my name in record breaking numbers before lunch, no one wonders why I hide out in the bathroom.

So this morning when I peeked in on them to see what all the quiet was about and found them happily sorting pull tabs, I was more than happy to leave them be. Yes, I said pull tabs.

Their grandpa has brought zip lock bags full of pull tabs to them for years after learning they were trying to fill up one of those five gallon water jugs (which they found by a dumpster. I say yes to the weirdest things). He also furnished them with a can crusher for the pull tab-less cans he brings as well. I think it’s such a grandparent thing to do– pulling all the tabs off and bagging them up separately just because some crazy kid likes it.

Anyway, to see them actually working together instead of the usual battle royale was too good to be true. It really was. I forgot that when they aren’t toy snatching or tattling or purposely trying to out-annoy one another, they are a force to be reckoned with.

Like the time they were busy painting pictures on the patio. I thought it would be a great time to quickly fold a couple loads of laundry. About five minutes later my oldest ran through the house and into the restroom leaving a trail of purple hobbit tracks across the carpet. I yelled in panic, of course, so he high tailed his painted feet a second time across the carpet to the patio. Both boys stood proudly in the yard, blank paper nearby, beautifully painted head to toe.

Once I took a shower in the middle of the day. It was a quick one. I thought they were watching a show. I guess it was a boring one. When I came downstairs, they had every game and puzzle in the house dumped and mixed in a hurricane of glory.

Another time, recently actually, my internal alarm started sounding as I realized I’d gotten a lot done without interruption. When I found them, they had used an entire Costco-sized bag of baking soda and two large jugs of vinegar to make explosions around the entire perimeter of the house.

I don’t seem to learn my lesson.

So today when they began dumping the thousands of tiny tabs to sort them by color I didn’t think to stop them. They were sitting close together. They were smiling. They were playing together. There was no pushing or fighting or tattling. I was lured by the presence of peace. It reeled me in hook, line and sinker. But peace seems to come with a price, doesn’t it?

Maybe fifteen minutes later, the team of tyranny came and fetched me, “Mom! You gotta come see what we made! We kind of spilled them all over!” They sounded a little too giggly and goofy so I thought they were doing a bait and switch– hoping I’d assume there was a mess when actually they’d cleaned up without being asked. They led me, eyes closed, to their bedroom, opened the door and said, “Surprise!! We made pull-tab land!”

Oh, silly me.

It was much, much more than I could have guessed. They had spread the pull-tabs across every inch of their just-cleaned floor, like well-buttered toast.

“Look at my pull-tab angel, Mom!!”

“Bury me, Evan!”

Oh, boy.

They’re cleaning up now. I gave them high fives and ten more minutes before it was time to say goodbye to the indoor amusement park. But not before saying no to bringing in the garden shovels and the boogie boards (I say no to the weirdest things). It’s actually pretty quiet. And peaceful.

I’d better go check on them.