I don't know what a sojourn is, ma'am.

The smell of humidity that hit me as I stepped off the plane and the familiar "buh-dunk, buh-dunk, buh-dunk" sound of Interstate 20 was almost as comforting as that first hug from my little brother.

The Missus (and Chapin) and I flew to Louisiana (by way of Dallas) on a "Babies and Dogs" tour. All the folks we were visiting either had new babies or new (to us) dogs. Most had both.

We spent the first night in Dallas where we visited with my oldest friend, Nikki, whom I met in fifth grade. Erin doesn't get to count as being my oldest friend, even if we did meet in second grade, on account of HER NOT REMEMBERING ME. Where Erin lacks in this department, Nikki picks up the slack. 

This stop was the first instance of me not having my camera out for the important stuff. Enter: Davy. Nikki's adorable four month old son. Not pictured. Ever.

We did manage to take a few pictures at St. Pete's Dancing Marlin. So I have documentation of the night where we drank real sugar water margaritas and Nikki cracked me up while playing the "Reasons I Should Have Known Katie Was Gay" game, but no proof of the child she bore and then expelled from her vagina without so much as a Tylenol.

I make it a point to only know hardcore people.

Also not pictured: Chapin with Nikki's dogs, Rocky and Blueberry. Or Chapin with any of the dogs on the trip. Because they were all blurs. Sorry, Attackicus, Margot Tenenbaum, and Penny Can. Chapin (Costco) loves y'all.

Despite the lack of photographic evidence, not only did we see my dear friend Jordan and her respective Aaron, but we stayed with them, we Sriracha sauced with them, we heartily debated the brilliance of Friday Night Lights with one-half of them, watched the Emmy's with the other half of them, and recorded an auto-tuned quadruple platinum Top 40 hit titled, "People With No Legs (Mermaids)" on Aaron's techno-fangled button machine ... with them.

But the main event was meeting Whittington Riggs Lary, the nephew.

Or Mt. Ting-ton, as he is (better?) known.

That kid stole our hearts from the moment we laid eyes on him. And then Erin stole his. Because she's the freaking baby whisperer. And that's just what she does. Also, hats. Babies love hats.

Here's the thing about this baby: He. Is. Magnificent. He smiles like it's what he was born to do, his laughter is addicting, and he has a patent on this move where he buries his head in your chest for a second or two and then looks up at you and rewards you with five minutes of uninterrupted eye contact. While smiling. Watching him do it with Erin set the blazes to my uterus.

And wouldn't you know, there's no photographic proof of that, either. No, not my detonated womb. The thing before that. With Erin and Whit and ... ugh, I can't think about it.

I'm not really in a place to process the fact that my baby brother is a Papa. That he and Whitney MADE THAT. That they're parents. But that's probably because nearly two years in, I still think the same thing about myself. And probably always will.

Hey! Look! Someone on the trip remembered to take pictures! By now you've figured out that it wasn't me. Erin - 1, Me - nothing.

Erin also managed to capture what was probably the stupidest event of the trip.

Sadly, it wasn't this game of Trivial Pursuit.

There are no excuses for some of the answers given.

Except:
Sleep Deprivation
Beer
Margaritas
Super Cute Baby Distracting Me
Chapin Humping Atticus
General Ignorance
Flat-Out Stupidity
Most Specific Question Ever Asked In A Game Of Trivial Pursuit
&
There's No Way Anyone In The World Knows This Answer, Not Even The Makers Of This Game Which Is Why There's Probably A Question Mark On The Back Of This Card Where The Answer Should Be

No. The stupidest event of the trip was when I suggested we try the "Cinnamon Challenge," and then we actually tried the "Cinnamon Challenge." It's simple, really. Just swallow a tablespoon of dry cinnamon without vomiting or inhaling the powder. Except we accomplished neither.

Before:

I need to point out that John, upon "toasting" our cinnamon spoonfuls, completed what (without our knowledge) would be his portion of the challenge. I lie. He was truly finished just milliseconds after Whitney and I delivered the cinnamon to our mouths when he said, "Idiots," and set down his spoon. To that I say, "You are correct, sir."

I have no idea where this next picture falls in, except to call it an "After." It definitely followed some choking and crying ... but was maybe before the vomiting?

We probably spent fifteen minutes hacking and crying and barfing and bargaining with god in the backyard before we realized that 1. Whit's cries over the monitor had been lost beneath our own wails, and 2. frozen yogurt was probably the only thing that could make this all better.

And it did.

Plus that baby.

And not watching the video Erin took of the challenge. Or ever smelling cinnamon again.



... but that baby, y'all. We sure do love him.

And his parents don't suck, either. At all.