On Wednesday afternoon, my husband and I took the kids to the Magic Kingdom. Everything was going great until Splash Mountain broke down...while we were on it.

We were deep inside the fake mountain when it happened. To our left was a large animatronic bear, singing "Zippa-dee-doo-dah." To the right was a rabbit robot wearing overalls and a straw hat.

It could have been worse. I'm not sure how, but it could have been.

After a few seconds, the person sitting next to me tapped my shoulder.

"I have to go to bathroom," he whispered.

The fact that we were floating down a fake river didn't help.

"I've gotta go super bad," he whimpered. He began crossing and uncrossing his legs.

I told him to to close his eyes and not look at the water.

Five minutes later, things began to get desperate. It wasn't a matter of if I was going to be sitting in a puddle of urine (or worse), but when.

By this point, I also wanted to punch the singing bear.

"Hang tight," I told him. "Take deep breaths. You can do this."

After five more minutes had passed, I began to giggle. There was something vaguely amusing about sitting in a hollowed out log next to a child who needed to produce one. There was also something horrifying.
"Please hurry. Please hurry. Please hurry." I hoped that God could hear me over all the singing.

After what seemed like forever, the log jam (pun intended) cleared and we were on our way again. Long story short: he made it. Thankfully.

The young man who helped us off the ride apologized for the technical difficulties. I didn't stop to chat. Instead, I picked up my son and ran.

Looking back, I am filled with sympathy for my son. The experience has left him scarred for life. Or so he claims. I also can't help but feel badly for the ride operator. I was preoccupied, but as I brushed past him, I couldn't help but notice that he was wearing khaki pants and a flannel shirt...that appeared to have been sewn together.