Warning: does NOT contain cool photos or design inspiration

I've recently learned from a credible source that it's not cool to use blogs as a medium to write anymore.

Which, of course, is fine, because a total of two people (plus or minus Dad) actually read what I write (typically plus). I'm totes okay with it. And I love feeling inspired by the photos, posters, chambray shirts and scalloped skirts I'm seeing out there. I promise I'm not being sarcastic. I really do.

The problem is that at the moment (and for the next several thousand moments), I am living out of two well-stuffed suitcases in the upstairs of my Australian family's home and trying to figure out how to wear the least amount of clothing possible and still be deemed respectable. (Would we call that a problem?)

So basically, what I have at the moment is words. Maybe I'll follow my life trend of being one season behind and start a sweet eclectic hodge-podge blog of letterpressed goodness next year. Stay tuned.

For now:

I don't know how you people feel about homeopathy. Some people swear by it. Enter my DC family, the Deans. Some people believe that it's a crock of $%*&. Enter my Sydney family, the Camerons.

Under the Deans influence, I started taking gelsemium last year to help me sleep. Inexplicably, gelsemium is also a cure for stage fright, which is actually the primary symptom listed on the little blue tube. At some early stage in my life at 17 Tamboon, this fact was made public. Hamie (who is skyrocketing to the top of my list of favorite 13 year old boys) especially enjoyed including my stage fright pills in as many conversations as possible.

So you can imagine their wonder when I announced, after their return from New Year's in Scotland, that I'd tossed the stage fright pills. Hamish had a helpful suggestion for the next time I have a public speaking endeavor -- "just eat a teaspoon of sugar, that's all those little pills are anyway." He also said that feels certain I'm hiding another stash at the office and that I should probably spend some energy "facing my fears."

Did I mention that Hamie is the cutest kid ever? Oh yeah, I think I did.

After getting in trouble for forgetting sunscreen on a blistery (literally) day at Mona Vale beach, he responded as only he could: by composing new lyrics to Teenage Dream featuring helpful tips about sunscreen application and the fact that being pasty means his "skin cells are alright right right."

The term "wrapped around his little finger" is taking on a whole new meaning.

In other news, I have a new personal best in the field of burger-cooking. To Jac's delight, I've finally conquered my fear of the outdoor grill, and if tonight's any indication, I think I'm starting to figure out how to make it sing. It's amazing how far a bowl of crispy potato wedges (oh sweet carby goodness) and  a hunk of meat will get you. Sidebar: I checked in with Ree over at Pioneer Woman before seasoning my meat to see what she throws in hers, and I had to re-read the recipe a few times before I realized that -- holy freaking smokes, it wasn't a typo -- she actually uses 1 lb of meat for EACH BURGER. Mine were 1/3 lb and they were huge. It seems humanly impossible that Ree is not morbidly obese.


Update: Hamie just popped into my room to say goodnight. He left all the lights on upstairs last night because he just got his own room for the first time and my door was closed, so he was a little nervy. I left my door open tonight for breeze and solidarity.

Hear that? Oh yeah. That's the sound of my heart melting.