on gingerbread houses

Feeling rusty. I was just going to post a picture on this two-days-before-Christmas-sort-of-day. The camera has gone missing again, though, and while I keep wracking my brain about where it could be and have looked everywhere- the usual places and little extras like under the bed and behind the guinea pig cage- it looks like a no go on the picture posting today, at least for now. The last I remember seeing it was when Samuel was switching out the batteries to put in the wii remote. No, it's not by the wii either. We made gingerbread houses with friends yesterday and I wanted to get a picture before the decorations begin disappearing from the roof and doorway. I have to say that this gingerbread house was by far the most successful and satisfying that we have tried. The company of friends helped immensely in keeping it fun and light and doable. It was definitely a fun project for celebrating both Solstice and Christmas.

Samuel mentioned on the way home that he doesn't think a gingerbread house with a group is a good project for him because he likes things to be perfect and you can't make things perfect with three people working on the same gingerbread house. He said he had a lot of fun today with friends and also looked forward to the day when he could work on his own gingerbread without any interruptions.

I had an urge to correct him somehow. A part of me wanted to respond in my typical way- it's not about the finished product, it's about the process, enjoying yourself, spending time with friends. It doesn't have to be perfect. It *is* perfect. Everything is perfect just the way it is. And then I thought-

-including my son. And how wonderful that he already knows he likes things to be perfect. That he can look forward to a time when he will have the focus and time to work on something in a way that makes him happy. That he can embrace this part of himself. And how amazing, I reminded myself, that he knew enough to realize he couldn't make the other people involved in the gingerbread house making (namely me and Eva) do things exactly as he wanted them. That part, making people adhere to your vision, is at least half of what gives perfectionism a bad rap in the first place. Not the vision.

Let's face it- there are mixed messages about perfectionism in our culture. On the one hand, it is often forced on us- we are taught to keep pushing at ourselves at all costs to be better, do better, on and on. There is a subtle and not so subtle message that if we aren't a certain way there is something wrong with us. On the other hand, people who *are* perfectionists are often ridiculed for not being able to relax, let things go, enjoy the process. What about those who have a vision for how they want things to be and are at peace with themselves, having integrated their perfectionism into their way of being?

It's something for me to ponder a while. Perfectionism has been something wrong to fix and mock in my own life for so long (and I don't even consider myself to be that much of a perfectionist- which is met with both laughter and derision depending on who I say that to). I wonder what it would be like to simply make peace with it and the many ways it presents itself in my life. How freeing to notice when it would feel good to honor perfectionism's eye for detail, adding just a bit more garlic to soup or reworking the top of a mitten, and when it would feel better to let it all go, setting Eva up to decorate cookies without a care for how the cookies turned out. There is a time and place for both, worth to be found both in fine details and broad strokes. I am glad Samuel reminded me of that and knew enough about himself to know that someday it would feel really good to sit down with a gingerbread house and make it just the way he wanted.