“They Played Nicely… For THREE Hours”

Last night… something happened in my house. And I’m still not fully convinced it was real.

My eight-year-old and five-year-old played together. Nicely. No fighting. No arguing. No “Mooooom he’s touching me.” For three hours.

Three. Hours.

I don’t even know who those children were.

They got home from school in great moods (already suspicious), and then just… started playing. Tag turned into basketball, which somehow turned into a water fight — contained to the bathroom, thankfully — which then turned back into basketball, and then art projects while they ate supper.

The whole time, I kept looking at my husband like, “What is happening right now?”

At one point I actually said, “They haven’t asked me for anything in an hour.”
Then later, “It’s been two hours…”
And then, slightly concerned, “It’s been THREE HOURS. Should we check on them??”

We should’ve taken advantage of it. We should’ve turned on our show, relaxed, soaked in the rare silence of not being needed every 30 seconds.

But instead… I just sat there.

Scrolling on my phone, kind of… but mostly just listening.

Listening to them laugh. Hearing them get along. No refereeing, no negotiating, no stepping in to solve a crisis over a basketball call. Just two kids being best buddies.

And honestly? It made me so happy.

I kept thinking I should be doing something productive, but I didn’t want to miss it. Because let’s be real — this does not happen often.

I have no idea what got into them, or if I’ll ever see it again… but if it does happen?

I’ll be ready.

Or at the very least, I’ll be less confused.

Christmas miracle in March? Honestly… I’m not ruling it out. 🎄