I wager a guess every mom at some time or another has done it.
When all grew quiet on the other side of the door I knew it was time to leave my refuge. Quiet could mean either trouble or bliss. Of course, I hoped for the latter which would reaffirm in my mind that my little exit to the bathroom had been sufficient to redirect the girls. More often than not, when I would crack the door and peek out, the girls would flood out of their rooms and surround me with sweet hugs. Mischievous imps in angels’ clothing. I knew this, but the hugs always threw me for a loop and I would succumb to their endearing ways.
I always knew that room of the house was good for more than one thing.