Childish revenge

It occurred to me last night that by today's standards, I had abused my children horribly when they were young. I made them eat salads prepared on the same wooden cutting board which I had cut up the meat on. I let them crawl on the floors and outside on the ground and never once applied hand sanitizer when they were done. In fact we did not have antibiotic-al soap of any kind anywhere in our house. They cut their teeth on my car keys and though I never did set my purse down on the bathroom floor at the store and then on our kitchen counter, I did set them down on the bathroom stall floor. In my defense: you try to answer natures call with a baby, a toddler, a preschooler, and an angry 10 year old. There were NO baby seats or changing tables in the 1980's. I felt lucky to find a handicapped stall so we would all fit.
Looking back now this may have been the reason my children developed the retaliatory system that has been employed by millions of children ever since. There was some sort of adult proof alarm installed on all bathroom and bedroom doors in my house. I could not hear it, but it is the only answer to how they KNEW.
I would look over the situation in the tv room and think to myself "Ah... The children have been subdued by the Disney movie on the tv. I can retire to the bathroom now."
3 seconds after the bathroom door closed, an alarm not unlike a fire truck klaxon would go off, the tv screen would change to a flashing red light, and a voice would issue from the walls making a "toilet zone" alert announcement which I imagine sounded something like this: "All children get up, go make messes, your mother is in the bathroom. Can't you see that there are possible poisonous combinations available in the kitchen? The lotion is only 36" off the floor on the shelf. Quick, get that drooling sister of yours out of baby jail and point her at the nearest electrical outlet. You there, older child, why are all 3 of your sisters staring blankly at the tv? Do you want them to be happy for this long? Hurry, hit one of them or take her toy away. You, young child with the complete mobility and entertainment unit wrapped around you, can't you get out of that yet? OK then roll it over to that spindly table with the glass stuff on it and ram it. You have between 3 and 15 minutes to destroy this place. MOVE IT".
5 minutes later I would open the door to complete devastation. The baby would be standing up holding onto the lamp cord with her nice drool covered hands. The 2 year old hanging half in and half out of the walker under the table where everything which was on it has fallen is screaming like a banshee. The four year old is trying to get to the lotion bottle with all the cans, pots, pans, and knives from the kitchen she created a ladder out of. Meanwhile the oldest one is using one of the smaller one's dolls to stir whatever horrible concoction he has created in the koolaid pitcher.
About 3 or four years into this drill, I figured out there must be some sort of electronic device I could not see or hear at work since this sequence of events had been repeated with varying degrees of devastation each and every time I left the area where the children were. Later in life they learned to create wide-spread havoc by going to the old create a diversion and let one of the others go do the damage routine.
Now I live for the moment when one of my kids calls and tells me of the latest atomic bomb dropped into their livingroom by the little darlings. It seems when you get older, you can not hear the klaxon anymore but your kids can. Behind those angelic looks and too cute antics are demonic little destroyers just waiting for you to relax your guard. All is right in the universe!
Clean your houses little bunrammits, the children are plotting!!