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.

What to Wear: The Married Woman's Guide to Fabulous

So you're married or about to be. You look through your closet, probably as you're either packing up your possessions from your soon to be former home or packing for your honeymoon (yes, you're over packing. no, you don't have enough underwear), and suddenly, you wonder, is this right? I mean, what do married women wear? Should my choices be different? Are some things I own no longer appropriate? AM I ONLY GOING TO WEAR APRONS AND T-SHIRTS FROM NOW ON??

*SMACK*

Calm yourself. There is a fool proof, four question method to determining if your married outfit is up to snuff. It goes something like this:

1. Would YOU wear it?

Your married wardrobe is not an immediate call to abandon your style and start buying something that is weirdly foreign on your body. Frankly, the only things that will get you is quizzical looks from your spouse, an inability to recognize yourself in the mirror, and the extreme and utter terror of whatever animal you share your space with, none of these being desirable outcomes. Instead, channel your inner Tina Fey. If you feel like strolling around town in a jacket and jeans, own it! If you feel like you need to let your wild side run in a showgirl outfit, why not? Going out to an awesome event? Wear an awesome dress, because YOU are AWESOME. (chances are this is one of the reasons your spouse married you.)

Because you're married and why not?

Because you're cool.

Because you're fab.

2. Is your wardrobe honoring to your husband?

True life, I definitely took some things to Plato's Closet when I got married, because lets be real, I'm not 18, a freshman in college, or trying to get some free enchiladas next Friday. This isn't to say that you aren't hot, mildly crazy, or that you won't be getting free enchiladas next Friday (date night!) but it is to say that you already caught him so your ahem, "assets" can be saved for a different medium*. An excellent example of honoring beauty can be found in Kate Middleton aka Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge. EVERYTHING SHE WEARS IS GORGEOUS. Period. However, she is also very classy and her husband, her family, and the nation she will eventually help lead, don't feel like she gives them a bad name.

General Awesomeness

3. Is your outfit doing it for your husband?

If you've made it to this step, you've established that your ensemble is emblematic of your personality, and that it honors your man, but real talk, is is doing anything for him? I mean, when you walked out to breakfast did his jaw drop? Did he check you out? Did he chivalrously** offer to meet up on your lunch break? For this effect we look to Amanda Abbington, Martin Freeman's wife. She does what she wants, she's hot, she's classy, and he digs it. Get. It. Girl.

Rawr.

Yeah, he's showing off.

"We're only here as long as we have to be!"

4. Am I able to confidently represent Jesus Christ while I'm wearing this outfit?

Really, this is the glue for the whole exercise. Let me break it down:

First, as a Christian, I find my identity in Christ. Not Josh, but Christ. In 1 Peter 2:9 we are told that:

 "But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light." 

If this is our identity in Christ, then shouldn't my clothes be reflective of an heir to Heaven? Shouldn't they display the personality of someone who is richly blessed and extremely grateful, someone who was called out from darkness and given gifts to use for His kingdom? This probably means that I don't need to wear T-shirts which brand me with my sins, like greed and sexual immorality, but that tasteful patterns or pictures of the Grumpy Cat are probably okay.

Totally fine.

Second, as a Christian wife, I am called to honor my husband. 1 Peter 3:5 states that,

"For this is how the holy women who hoped in God used to adorn themselves, by submitting to their own husbands"

According to this scripture, the best way to adorn myself is with respect to Josh and to that end, I seek to present myself in such a way that his honor is not called into question by my fashion choices. So no, I probably don't want to rock that sheer black bodysuit made only of lace and strategically placed ribbon trim out to a company party. My classic grey dress with a reasonable neckline is probably a better option.

Definitely honoring, but hot.

Finally, in being married to Josh, we are called together to enjoy each other. Proverbs 5:18-19 leaves little up for debate in stating,

"Let your fountain be blessed, And rejoice in the wife of your youth.  As a loving hind and a graceful doe, Let her breasts satisfy you at all times ; Be exhilarated always with her love."


I can certainly take that command! Good thing I saved that black bodysuit I mentioned before for our bedroom.

Obviously me.

Moral of the story, to dress effectively as a wife, you should definitely aim for a combination of Tina, Kate, and Amanda, but in order to do it well, you absolutely must be respecting the Lord, and yourself as his prized creation.

"Now therefore, if you will indeed obey my voice and keep my covenant, you shall be my treasured possession among all peoples, for all the earth is mine"
-Exodus  19:5










* Stars for Sex