How To: Determine If You Might Be An Adult

So over the past few months (while I haven't been blogging), I took two summer classes and then made some Big Life Decisions. As I have traversed the rocky and terrifying path of Becoming an Adult, I have come up with this top ten list to help you decide if you too may be on this slippery slope to Grown-up-dom.


You may be an Adult if:

10. Your vacuum breaks so you borrow a friends before having people over for a dinner party.

9. You are someone's Emergency Contact for the hospital and are actually called upon to perform those duties.

8. You and your spouse put together a budget and set aside money for "date nights" and "car expenses".

7. You participate in a community improvement activity and secretly use it to case the neighborhood for long term livability.

6. You sit in class and wonder about the children around you and the wild mess of their college lifestyle and end up discussing your respective spouses with your professor.

5. You wake up every morning to tend your garden and have a cup of tea while reading the news.

4. You and you spouse show up early to a party, help clean up and set up, deliver your gift, and leave by 10:30 PM so you can get home, "before it gets to late".

3. You come to terms with the end of college friendships and find you enjoy having friends with which you are, "in the same place".

2. You start asking God more about the world around you and how you should fit into it, and request the answers ASAP because said world is closing in like a tiger.

1. You read through this list, realized you sound like a ridiculous old person, and then realized that you have absolutely no regrets.


If you have any thoughts get them out there quick, the BBC News Hour is about to be on NPR and I don't want to miss it.

The Do's and Don'ts of Brunch

After enjoying a lovely and rousing brunch this past weekend at Tiny Boxwoods (apparently a Houston brunch institution) with our dear friends TM & JM, I am honored to offer the following tips and tricks for navigating swanky garden themed brunches. These are for you, sweet heathens. Fake it 'til you make it.

DO wear fashionable clothes in spring time colors. This indicates that you understand and appreciate the brunching pleasure.

DO NOT go for athletic gear, unless of course you have just completed a 10 K, "for the children", in which case color coordinating sports wear is acceptable.

DO check online for driving and parking directions. There is no need to annoy fellow brunchers by driving up and down the street trying to figure out how to park for 20 min. It's rude.

DO NOT turn your back for one second while trying to discretely hold a table for your party before it has been cleared. There is always someone older and more pretentious ready to prey on the younger and less socialized. Get it in your head: This Brunch is Sparta.

DO assert your position in the ordering counter line. This sets a precedence for your commitment and determines your position in the brunch hierarchy. Trust me, you don't want to be at the bottom of the brunch totem pole.

DO NOT ask for prices on menu items before ordering. It may say "moderately priced" online, but that does not mean that this is not a classy institution which holds itself above petty dollar signs in presentation. It also does not mean that they are above charging you your first born for mimosas, but you can't really know that, since there are no prices.

DO enjoy the people watching. This is a dynamic and exciting locale which integrates young professionals, college students, young families, southern belles, city folk, old money, and naturalists. Oh, and don't forget the puppies. It is not to be missed.

DO NOT make jokes about not having to worry about how much bacon you can eat because you plan to have a DNR in your old age when the table next to you may be able to hear. They may not share your offbeat sense of humor and may be mildly horrified.

DO enjoy the mimosas. Even when the waiter asks in a slightly judgmental way if you really want another one. They are bottomless, they cost me my firstborn, and they are weak, also this is an outdoor venue and I would hate to be parched. Thank you, James. That will be all for now.

DO NOT underestimate how long you can brunch for. Between all the catching up with friends, enjoying treats, taking in the scenery, soaking up the springtime sun, and the bottomless mimosas, this is not an averagely timed food outing.

DO brunch. It's a blast. It's different from the average activity, and it's a great chance to relax with people you care about and have few laughs. We definitely recommend the adventure.

Two Weeks Clean

News for those of you who didn't know: I have Graves Disease!
Even better news: I've been off the drugs for two weeks now!

Yes after two years of attempting to gain the upper hand on my thyroid, I am finally, completely off the meds. So what does this mean? Well, Josh has been extremely kind and helpful in fighting through the nap impulse, listening to my crazy dreams, and tactfully and discreetly handling it if I suddenly feel bad in public. Not gonna lie, the first week was definitely strange, however as week two closes I'm feeling pretty super and surprisingly normal.

So in celebration first, a toast to Josh:

To Josh, who has always been helpful and sweet, but also practical and a bit of a slave driver with the runs and no naps. Cheers to Josh to makes chicken soup, holds hands, and prays. Here's to you love, and many excellent days ahead, now that your wife is no longer a druggie.

Secondly: A look back. This is a three-word-essay I wrote for my senior writing class describing the first year of my diagnosis. Year two was definitely way better.

I am twenty-one. Night touches day. I am running. I am training. This is practice. Soon, I’ll race. I’ve been running. Hours have passed. But I’m running. However, I’m sick. I don’t know. But I’m sick. My heart races. My breath labors. But I run. My thyroid struggles. I don’t worry. I think, “stress”. But I’m sick. I run anyway. Why shouldn’t I? I’m not sick. But I am.

Class is brutal. I am struggling. I can’t focus. My mind screeches. But I’m fine. Of course, fine. But I’m sick. Everything is hard. I am worn. The teachers notice. The students notice. My parents notice. My roommate knows. Thyroid levels rise. My hands shake. I am sick. But I’m fine. I’m not fine. I am scared. I can’t know. Knowing means reality. Ignorance is bliss. This isn’t bliss. But I’m afraid. The appointment’s soon. Maybe it’s nothing. I know differently. I hope blindly. Please be nothing. I am twenty-one.

This can’t be. I sit, stunned. “I’m twenty one.” I whisper quietly. “I’m very sorry.” He states calmly. “We’ll run tests.” I hear him. I don’t listen. I am sick. I am sick. I am sick. I begin panicking. I am sick. I am sick. I am sick. My mind shuts. I can’t think. I am sick. I was fine. I was running. I’m a pre-med. What to do? I can’t do. I am terrified. I hear him. “Maybe it’s cancer. Maybe it’s Graves. We’ll run tests. Please don’t panic.” But I am. I am panicking. I am sick. I am twenty-one. 

Graves is hyperthyroidism. It is chronic. It won’t leave. It is treated. It isn’t cured. It is forever. It doesn’t kill. Just sticks around. Cancer is it. It is big. Cancer kills you. Everything shuts down. You have months. Both are bad. I want to live. Please not Cancer. Please not Graves. Be a mistake. I am fine. No, I’m sick. But how sick? I’m twenty one.

It is Graves. I’m not dying. Not anytime soon. Thank you, God. But there’s more. My hands shake. My heart races. My mind whirls. I can’t sleep. The tremors worsen. What to do? They console me. “Medicine should help.” And if not? What to do? I’m a pre-med. That’s my path. I am lost. Doctors don’t shake. But I shake. The sky falls. I am falling. What to do? I am sick. I am twenty-two.

I’m giving up. I can’t go. Maybe that’s best. Doctors don’t shake. I take exams. I apply around. I interview plenty.  I don’t know. I feel lost. I have options. None I want. Mom saves me. “There are reasons. It will work. Please calm down. Let’s make plans.” We make plans. I feel better. Not great, better. The medicine helps. Helps, not cures. I take exams. I do well. I have options. I’m not panicking. I am afraid. But I’m confident. There are reasons. I buy that. I’m twenty two.

Today is beautiful. The sun shines. The clouds flutter. The hammock rocks. I snuggle deeper. I’m day dreaming. Anything is possible. Maybe cures happen. Maybe tremors stop. Maybe they don’t. Maybe it’s alright. I have dreams. They are new. They are exciting. I’m still scared. But I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll be great. There are reasons. I’m discovering them. It’s an adventure. It’s my life. The sun’s bright. The day’s beautiful. I am loved. I need nothing. Maybe I’ll go. Perhaps I’ll recover. But I’m great. The sun is up. My hands shake. My heart races. My mind whirls. But I’m learning. There are reasons. I am twenty-two. 

Update: DEFINITELY applying to Med School. 

The Planting Plot

This weekend, Josh and I basically bopped around on our Saturday, meaning we had plenty to do on Sunday. As we walked into HEB to do our weekly shopping (yes we do have a grocery schedule) we noticed that they were selling small fruit and vegetable plants. In that moment, my horticulture major, love of flowers, and general repressed hippie joy spewed forth in an exclamation of exaltation.

"Josh! We can grow them in pots and eat them!" I cried with wild excited eyes. Since they seemed to bring out unanticipated joy and looked to be pretty inexpensive, Josh consented to look. I think it was mixed bag on whether or not we would be purchasing until I successfully identified a strawberry plant without looking at the tag. Having impressed my husband and acted like an excited child at the grocery store, we left with an heirloom tomato and a strawberry.

This naturally meant that we needed pots to plant them in, soil, and a cage to support the tomato. We headed over to Home Depot and successfully acquired a pot and some dirt. As we were strolling through the store, attempting to determine if they had cages (no dice) we also noticed small cacti with colorful tops.

"Josh, those would be awesome on our porch!"

I got to pick two. As we were looking through the cacti, Josh noticed a hanging basket of succulents.

"Look Heather, we have that one! It would look way better in a hanging basket!"

Never one to turn down a planting opportunity, I agreed and we headed across the street to Lowe's to purchase a cage and a hanging basket. As we drove home sandwiched among our plant purchases I mentioned to Josh, that we really should have gotten some rocks to put in the bottom of our pots for drainage. Josh turned to me with a gleam in his eye and pointed out the window.

"Like those rocks?"

Lo and behold out side the window in an abandoned driveway were hundreds of white rocks.

"I don't know...should we? Is that stealing?"

"I don't think anyone would care if you got a few rocks..."

"PULL THE CAR OVER! LET'S STEAL SOME ROCKS!"

So there we are on the side of the road piling small to medium stones into our new pot as though we were robbing a bank. All shifty eyes and hurry ups. As we jumped back into the car, Josh asked me how I felt.

"I feel like a total BA! We just stole rocks without getting caught!"

So yes, our brand new tomato is planted on stolen property, and I'm sure the fruit will taste all the sweeter for it.

The Business Trip

"I hope you have fun and learn lots on your trip!"

"You'll be fine without me?"

"Well, no. The house is definitely going to descend into anarchy. By the time you get back, it will definitely look like a scene from Wallie, with wreckage and waste everywhere and Casper and I at the center watching old movies and hoarding stuff. But don't worry! I love you!"

With this exchange marking the beginning of Josh's first trip since our wedding, he was a little worried about me. So he left me a couple notes to help me get by. The first was a really sweet love note about how he would miss me:

Love.

The second was slightly more practical:

Excuse me?

What I'm sure was meant as loving advice tipped the scale on to the side of crazy. No one puts baby in a corner and no ones tells me what to do.

So here is the story of my time alone in the apartment as told in pictures, words, and transitions from my spirit animal, Benedict Cumberbatch. It'll be fun:

On the first day of Josh's absence, I slept in way past Josh's usual rising time which allows for breakfast. True story, when left to my own devices, sleep definitely trumps breakfast. After all, I only need to be somewhat awake to drive. After a day of meetings across Texas, I returned back to the apartment and set about the task of making dinner. But wait, No Josh? Looks like I won't be having meat, or a side. Not because I don't like those things, but because on my own, soup only is acceptable. Not a real meal you say? I do what I want! 

Also, while I'm plotting world destruction in my home, I openly refuse to put the roll on the spool. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Honey badger don't care.

On day two, I really became a wild woman. After sleeping in (again), and going to meetings (what is it with politics and meetings?) I got home and decided to have my friend J over for a slumber party. In anticipation of her arrival, I went and shopped for an adventure vest and dinner makings (obviously). As I stood in HEB looking over the array of food stuffs, I realized that the world was my oyster and the pearl calling to me was fresh spicy guacamole: The Food of the Gods.

As I was making Fish Taco Fiesta and waiting for J to arrive, I turned on the TV and realized that the stars had aligned. I quickly text J, "Sweet mother of God, River Dance is on PBS." I think its pretty clear what the rest of the evening was like. Two working women eating fish Tacos and watching the Irish. Out. Of. Control.

The feet!

I don't know what I'm doing anymore!

In conclusion, the apartment may not be a nuclear wasteland, yet, but between now and Josh's return, I guarantee nothing and take no prisoners. 

The Store Speech That Should Have Been

Yesterday, Josh and I hosted our first small dinner party at the apartment. Well, I should say we had a couple from our bible study over for dinner so I used all our new dishes, tablecloth, and stemware with a floral arrangement in the center and three courses of delicious fare. Because I'm a lady, that's why.

After work and before prep, I had stopped by the local HEB to purchase a few small items for the dinner (glazed pecans, champagne, goat cheese, you know, the usual) And decided to pick up a few items for the home too. Namely, bananas. I have been dying to try the dessert recipe in which you basically sautee the delectable yellow fruit in cinnamon and honey. Brilliant, easy, and delicious (hopefully). 

With this end in mind, I strolled through the fruit area and picked up a bunch of bananas. Almost immediately after I had finished the onerous task of wrestling the fruit into a plastic bag and securing the top, I realized I had made a huge mistake. The bananas I had just secured were...organic. 

*cue dramatic music*

I don't buy organic. Why? Because its the biggest rip off in agriculture today. Sorry hippies, but the fact that people want to pay double for fruit that is to weak to survive on its own, causing the producer to loose a significant portion of the crop and therefor jack up the price is ridiculous. Give me strong solid GM fruit, or even a product that has actually been cared for with regular fertilization and pesticides to protect the fruit. That's fine with me. But I digress. 

So there I was standing in the grocery store holding the bag of wasted money, wondering what to do. I could now see the regular bananas (26 cents cheaper/fruit), but in order to buy those, I would have to unpack this fruit and put it back in front of all of HEB and God. I stood paralyzed by indecision and strapped for time, (After all, I had a dinner to prepare) and in the heat of the moment I did something I'm not proud of, I bought the Organic Bananas to avoid scrutiny. 

As I'm sitting here at my desk eating one of these little monsters for snack, it occurs to me in great detail what I should have done. I should have stood on the display, bananas held high and cried out like a voice in the desert of agricultural misinformation:

"People of League City HEB, you are being robbed! You are buying fruit that is ridiculously overpriced. You don't like your food modified? Let me tell you about the banana. The banana naturally has hard black seeds which can crack your teeth, ma'am, do you see any seeds in this banana?" 

*viciously opens fruit* 

"NO! Because the banana has been bred into a sterile triploid which keeps it from having seeds. There are no naturally seeded bananas in this store. They have all been modified by the hand of man in a breeding program."

*jumps down*

*drops sacked bananas onto display*

*sashays over to regular banana stand*

*holds a bunch aloft*

"This is freedom, ladies and gentlemen. Freedom."

Cutest Couple Photo Contest

So here's the deal. I have no shame. I entered a picture of Josh and I into The Eagle's Cutest Couple Contest and WE WANT TO WIN. To that end, here is the link where you can vote for us (you're allowed up to five votes per day until Valentine's Day)

Heather & Josh for World Domination


Here are 10 reasons you should vote for us with photographic evidence:


1. We just got married and it was really awesome.

2. When Josh asked me to marry him, he did it with a picture book, that he spent hours making, about us.

3. We sometimes dress like fiesta hoodlums.

4.These are our friends.

5. I once took Josh on a surprise date to Lake Bryan where we painted. These paintings now hang in our living room.

6.We look awesome in sunglasses.

7.Josh sent me a bouquet of my favorite mechanical pencils on my first day of work.

8. This is how we "touch noses" when given that command at a photo shoot.

9. We do great Raptor impressions.

10. We would be really grateful to win!

So vote Josh & Heather Lucas for Cutest Couple!

Thanks and gig'em.