We had Miss Monkey's first preschool teacher conference yesterday. We learned that she needs to work more on puzzles (she hates them just like I did), that she looooves music class and that her only serious meltdowns so far have been costume-related. As in, she wants to wear what she wants to wear and who cares what anyone else thinks!

Last year, my daughter received an Elf on the Shelf for Christmas, so this year I pulled out the book to get her up to speed.  This elf means business: He won't talk to you (Santa's rules). He watches your every move and reports to the big guy each night. And if you touch him, well, you'll pretty much kill him (well, not really, but it's not good).

I had planned to share a whole sappy thing about how I'm still finding things to be thankful for despite the high crap factor in my life right now. (I know, woe is me!)

But right now, at 10:49 p.m., approximately 18 hours into a day that comprised waking up in a pee-soaked bed, at least 13 tantrums (one mine), incessant -- and I mean INCESSANT -- whining, and a fight with my mother, I'm thankful for simply breathing.

And for the very large glass of pinot noir that sits at my right.

xo,
Evie

I've never been big on strict schedules or routines, they stress me out. But when it came to bedtime, we always had a nice little thing going: stories, a few little songs, snuggles, goodnight kiss and see ya on the flipside. Child goes to sleep on her own; I go downstairs patting myself on the back. Oh, but now, now, I've dug myself in a hole so deep that I'm fairly certain I'll be commando rolling out of my kid's bed and slithering into the hallway to avoid the dreaded creaky floorboard  until she's at least 13.