It's 6:45 AM.
The coffee in my cup holder is getting cold, everyone's a little grumpy, and I'm mentally calculating whether we can make it to school without being technically late when my husband goes:
“Look at those gorgeous flowers! Aren't we lucky they just grow there for free?”
He's pointing at Frostweed, also called iceplant, white crownbeard, or Indian tobacco. It's tall, scraggly, and grows in wild, tangled patches along the roadside.
Now for context: My husband is British. His camera roll is basically a Texas wildlife documentary. He once spent ten minutes photographing an opossum like he was submitting it to National Geographic. So yes, he genuinely thought these were delicate, lovely wildflowers.
And I, a lifelong Texan, barefoot bouquet girl, knew immediately what they actually were:
Or weeds at least... that's what someone told eight-year-old me, standing barefoot with a fistful of “flowers” I'd picked with pride.
And here's the thing: I didn't correct him. Didn't say, “Actually, those are weeds.” Didn't offer a lecture, a name, or a fact.
I just looked out the window again. And for the first time in years, I saw them the way he did:
Beautiful. Abundant. Given freely.
I couldn't help but wonder, how many other things have I stopped seeing as beautiful just because someone once told me not to?
Who Decided Weeds Were Bad, Anyway?
Think about it. Who made the rules about what counts as a flower versus a weed? Who decided that the things growing wild in concrete cracks and sun-scorched ditches should be dismissed? Who labeled the survivors, the plants tough enough to thrive where nothing else will, as “undesirable?”
What if the real magic lives in the things that grow where they shouldn't?
The Frostweed my husband admired had pushed through hard-packed dirt beside a busy road, bloomed despite exhaust fumes, 95-degree heat, neglect, and created something beautiful in a forgotten space.
Maybe the real question isn't “Is it a weed or a flower?” but, “Why do I care what category it's in?”
Plot Twist: I'm the Weed
Here's where this gets uncomfortably personal.
Because if I'm being honest (and we're this far in, so why stop now), I've been pretty good at deciding which parts of myself count as “flowers” and which parts are “weeds.”
The parts that are organized and productive? Flowers.
The parts that are messy and emotional? Weeds.
The parts that fit expectations? Flowers.
The parts that grow wild and untamed? Definitely weeds.
But what if the “weedy” parts of me, the ones that refuse to stay in neat rows, that pop up where they're not supposed to, that survive in impossible conditions. What if those are actually the most beautiful? Where resilience is more valuable than perfection? And growing where you're not supposed to is actually a superpower?
The New Plan
So here's what I'm trying: I'm going to see wildflowers. Even in the places I used to see weeds. Even in myself. Because if my British husband can find beauty in Texas frostweed, I can find beauty in my own unruly edges.
Besides, he's not wrong. They are free. And they are everywhere. And maybe that's the most beautiful thing of all.
Info: Frostweed doesn’t flower until late summer into early fall, right when everything else is fading. It holds the season a little longer, giving pollinators like monarch butterflies one last stop on their migration. Think of it as nature’s version of a porch light left on for someone coming home late.
Olive Ateliers is a current fixation. I want one of everything.
Vince silk pants that feel like wearing butter
Homemade Horchata in Coffee. My brother’s girlfriend made us homemade horchata, and I poured it into my coffee. Now I can’t go back. Game. Changed.
La Petite Brosse Blanc Crème. Before you say, “Peyt, that’s insane for a hairbrush,” I should mention: it was a gift. From a design client. Who may have clocked my $8 drugstore brush and decided to stage a quiet intervention. Anyway, I’m fully obsessed now.
Side note: Design sessions are open on Intro. With sessions from 15 minutes to 3 hours, we’ll get to the bottom of your Design dilemmas.
🌶️ Jalapeño Cilantro Sauce (The One You’ll Want on Everything)
Perfect for tacos, bowls, eggs, roasted veggies, or just eating by the spoonful.
Ingredients:
2–3 fresh jalapeños (remove seeds for less heat)
1 big handful of cilantro (stems and all)
1 small garlic clove (optional but encouraged)
½ cup mayo
⅓ cup sour cream
Juice of 1 lime
Drizzle of olive oil
Salt & pepper to taste
How to:
Rough chop the jalapeños and cilantro.
Toss everything into a blender or food processor.
Blend until smooth and dreamy.
Taste and adjust the salt/lime/heat as needed.
Try not to put it on literally everything (or do).
For Paid Members 💌
Okay, I fell down a rabbit hole that started with my coffee maker dying and ended with me accidentally becoming a warranty researcher.
It began with the realization that every appliance I've bought in the past three years has broken exactly one year after purchase. Every. Single. One.
Strange, coincidence, or exactly as planned…? Hmm
So I made a dramatic vow to myself: Never again would I spend real money on something that couldn't back itself up with an actual promise (unless it was from a small business).
What followed was 2 am research sessions, spreadsheets I'm embarrassed to admit I enjoyed making, and phone calls to customer service reps who probably think I'm unhinged.
The result:
Products worth the money. Brands that actually mean it when they say “lifetime.” Plus the sneaky loophole language to watch out for (spoiler: “limited lifetime” is doing a lot of work).
It took way longer than I care to admit. But watching my neighbor's 30-year-old KitchenAid still mixing bread dough like it's brand new? Worth every minute.
