Disney or Bust

Its 8pm in Phoenix.  We just picked up the kid's from their cousins house.  Every square inch of the inside of Cora's belly is packed with pizza.  Our parent's hope is that baby Sam will fall asleep.  He's already fussing.  Every alarm bell is going off in my brain.  Can he do it?  Will his little chin settle sweetly on his chest?  Will his eyes bed down behind cozy lids?  Its a straight shot to Palm Springs.  We're not stopping for anything.
"I have to poop really bad!  Right now" 
It's Cora.
Zander and I give a "What do we do?" look towards each other. 
"Are you sure?"
Yes!
"Can you hold it for four hours?"
No!
"Just wait to see if it goes away."
I gotta go now!!!
Zander, "poop your diaper"
No! I'm not a baby!

Well, seeing how it was bedtime on the road the car soon hushed.  The baby fell asleep.
The I-10 stretched out before us, hopelessly straight, terribly dull pavement, a badly healed scar.
The western horizon was like fresh laid pitch.  Meteorite debris flicked across the sky like a discarded cigarette butt.  My hands clenched the wheel stopping the clock at ten and two. 
Outside the car, though, time and wheels continued to speed on till we crested the hill of Coachella Valley.  A glittering valley of orange electricity.

We stopped at our hotel.  The kids stirred awake.  I went to unclick our princess from her car seat.  A ghastly smell smacked me in the face.
"Gah!  What is that smell?!"
Cora sleepily said, "Me.  I pooped"
"Cora!"
"You told me to!  You said "Poop your diaper"  She pouts innocently. 

The windows were slightly cracked during the drive to give Sam some white noise, simultaneously shielding us from four hours of marinating fecal matter.  Thus, we were unaware that she did what she had to do.  She's apart of the team.  We love her for it.