I'm feeling pretty uninspired, friends. But I haven't done an Instagram photo dump in almost two weeks and I kinda like them. It's been a weird couple of days, but I did have an interview with a pretty awesome company yesterday that I think went well. I thought for a minute or two about taking a few days off from the blog, but that just seemed so weird to me. I'm not going anywhere, but for now you just get photos. Here's what's been going on with me, according to my phone:

1. Rocky is getting photogenic in his old age.

2. Starting Les Miserables. It's huge.

(I can't help but be pretentiously unintimidated by the length since I've read Clarissa.)

3. We've had several rainy mornings. They're my favorite.

4. Made Melissa's Paleo Heart of Palm Dip and it was awesome.

5. Berries, almond butter, and nuts in homemade pecan milk.

6. Wore a sock bun to CrossFit and it stayed in place! Also, I'm a ghost.

7. Eggs and buffalo chicken sausage with some avocado for breakfast.

(I uploaded 5 and 7 to Jenna's Instagram Party. Use #showusyourpaleo to check it out.)

8. Finished re-reading The Great Gatsby. How good is that book?

9. Spent a few afternoons at home. I get more done when I actually get dressed.

10. Went to Charlottesville to pack a few more things and had to stop for coffee at Para.

So that's that! What's been going on with you? Rob comes home in eight days!

[Follow along all week with me on Instagram @megan_flynn]

It has come to my attention that my dad makes too rare an appearance on this blog. So, even though it's a few days after Father's Day, I thought I'd go ahead and say something about my father, because I appreciate him all the days of the year.

[In the sunroom, taken October 2009.]

My dad is a hard-working, self-made man and I am so grateful for everything he has done for me and my family. He has believed in me from the start, and he has been a constant source of every kind of support to me, my brother, and my mom.

Dad, I love you. Thank you for everything you do. I love being your daughter.

In this house, there is always mate.

Most people drink it from a pretty little gourd, and we do, sometimes, but this little white cup with a rose on it is my favorite. It sits at the ready on our counter-top, sometimes still warm and full of tea from the morning, sometimes empty as it waits for tomorrow.

I can picture my mom as a child in Argentina, passing mate around with her Italian family; but now here we are--one olive skinned woman and one fair skinned--taking quick sips together in the morning before we leave the quiet house. 

I think about my father and the freckles and Irish names he passed down to my brother and me, and then I think more deeply about that white cup with a rosy exterior, filled with another culture. It makes sense to me.