Traveling with small children

I know there are people out there who do things like fly with young kids; we're not in that league. We travel via family assault vehicle: the minivan. To each their own, eh?

So we got underway on Saturday afternoon after a late lunch involving leftovers. That way, we wouldn't come back to sentient residents of the fridge tapping to get out. Daddy, however, wasn't able to eat because he was doing the manual labor of loading suitcases into the rooftop carrier.
We stopped and dropped off our (overdue) books at the library and hit a drive through. The kids got snacks of fries or onion rings; I nixed drinks in the vain effort to delay potty stops. Lou was asleep and stopping forward motion would wake him, and I was sure he would emphatically not be happy. But I'd forgotten the effect fried food has on our beloved son.
Half an hour on the road and we hear, "I need to go poop. Badly."

The first gas station had a sign: NO PUBLIC RESTROOMS. The second was good. While we were waiting for Dale to finish his business, Madeleine asked me, "Why do boys take so long to poop?"
I wish I knew.

Back on the road we went. An hour later, we were ready for another stop. This time, it involved a potty adventure for Princess Rachel. She's... particular (or is it peculiar?) about her bathroom standards. She does not care for toilets that flush themselves, nor the noise of any normal flush in the enclosed, tiled environment. It's too "noisy" for her delicate ears.
We found that one of the stalls flushed itself, but not the others. Then she wanted the staff (me) to flush for her. When I refused, much shrieking ensued as I escorted her back to do the job herself. Now, she was louder than the flush itself, but that seemed to escape her notice.

Well, she did it anyway. But that was the last stop until the wind off the lake and in the pines greeted us. Lou didn't have a fit, by the way. Ah...

Friday, it's to the farm. We're on vacation.