automated terror

Last night we took our lovely family, charming children, intimidating mob to a bookstore for some free music. While there, I took my children to the bathroom about ten zillion a dozen times.  Amy’s first visit, she shifted her weight slightly and the automatic sensors must have decided she had gotten up since she is so small.  The flushing began and Amy rose up and off the seat and literally flew across the stall to get away from the possessed device.  I joked and talked her down just as we neared the sinks.  Before she even had her hands under the faucet completely, the water clicked on automatically and she retracted her arms until they were tucked under her armpits like coiled slinkies.  I actually had to encourage the little monster to play in the water just to get her hands washed.  Port-a-potties are cool to my children while automated restrooms are frightening.  We really need to get out more often.

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