Ridin' along in this big ol' jet plane, I've been thinkin' about my home

Our flight landed in Phoenix. We were in row 18 out of 25. At 6 seats per row, we knew right off that it was going to take awhile before we would be able to exit the plane.

The girls had both been really good, but we were nearing the last leg of a long day trip, and we still had at least two hours on the road to get to our house. We were fearing the furnace-like blast of hot air that accompanies most passengers when arriving Sky Harbor Airport. The heat always brings out the best in all of us. The anxiety was beginning to ferment deep inside my chest.

Ellie smiled at me and was dancing to the hip-hop music that mysteriously seeped from the overhead speakers as we waited. I held my breathe.

Row by row, overhead storage bins slowly emptied as the temperature slowly rose. Truthfully, it could of been my imagination fueled with anticipation to get home. Abbie asked me if I could carry Ellie out. I agreed, and was happy to see the two seats in front of us clear out.

I reached down and raised Ellie up into my arms. I grunted. She immediately began loudly chatting to me with a twinkle of laughter burning in her smile, "Daddy farted!" she hollered.

The remaining passengers fell silent in anticipation for an encore of toilet talk from my two-year old as she quickly restated her previous two words. This time it was delivered as a question, that she immediately answered for me, "Daddy farted? Nooooo, Daddy NO farted!"

She ran on, "Ellie farted? Noooo, Ellie NO farted too!"

The airplane audience erupted in laughter as she basked in her comedic glory. She paused one moment, a pregnant pause of sorts before she peeked over my shoulder to see the entertained crowd.