Everything is bigger in Texas...including Texas.

We're putting lots of miles behind us today. Miles full of bridges, bayoues, and flat Texas landscape.

We made it late last night to Bay St. Louis, Mississippi and the old Lagniappe Church building, where we promptly crashed (ourselves into bed, not the car into other objects). We had been told that breakfast would take place from 6-7 a.m., then with every good and noble intention in the world, we ignored our alarm and slept like the dead until 8.

It was great being back where we had spent such great summers and were thrilled to find the Potomac Hills sign we made from construction scraps on the second trip we took to Bay St. Louis.

We headed on our way and made a pit stop in New Orleans for Beignets, coffee, and a gluten-free Saints Super Bowl Champions t-shirt. But headed on our way to make it in time for dinner with the Crosbys.

We're about an hour away from Houston now and Erin is driving stick-shift fabulously, contending with rude old men tailgaters. The clouds are crazy low and look like they've been fluffed and hung by the best of interior decorators for a Toy Story themed children's bedroom.

Earlier we passed a sign for Iowa, Texas. Was that really necessary, United States? You needed to name a city after a state that is a completely different state than the state in which said city resides?

Also, the fact that we are passing mile marker 807 is somewhat unnerving. That's a lot of Texas...

Shout outs:

David Robert Dorst, way to know everyone in this United States! Thanks for hooking us up with awesome people. Look for presents in the mail.

Daniel Silvernail, we are obsessed with your CDs.

Sarah Silvernail, we found two guys in New Orleans who knew about an American tradition of throwing money to the bride and groom at their wedding. Weren't you looking for something like that, since you're not marrying a Greek?

Random Facts:

If Erin Rist ever constructs what she calls a hanging art gallery in your car made of ribbon and trash/souvenirs from every place you've been thus far, left in the New Orleans heat, the green crayon will simply melt out of it's wrapper onto the passenger side seat, startling you into thinking that a gorilla may have blown it's nose on your upholstery.

Also, amid the noticably larger pick-up truck population of easter Texas, we just passed a bright yellow mini-cooper, straight out of the Italian Job.