What is it about kids and public restrooms?

My four-year-old ought to get a punch card for every time he visits one. Maybe every 12th punch his dessert is free. I’d take that.

Some nights, it seems as though we see more of the restroom than the table where we are eating. I’ve spent more time checking out the blue-colored foam soap in the dispenser than I have eating my meal. I’ve told my youngest “don’t touch anything” countless times, and watched him use eight towels too many from the automated towel machine.

Hayden also turns into Mr. Obvious when other ladies enter the stalls next to us, and will say, “Who’s that, Mom? What are THEY doing?” Same thing you are, I’m always thinking.

Last night, we dined at a restaurant where they offered face-painting for the kids, which gave Hayden another reason to run to the restroom. He said he had to go BAD, turns out he wanted to admire his tiger face and practice his “Grrrrr” in the mirror. Quite impressive, however, my food was getting cold.

Greg and I often take turns during bathroom duty, but I still manage to make 2-3 trips at a time. Bathroom monitor, that’s me.

If you see me, be sure to say hi.

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