Yankee Drawl

It’s Beautiful Just As Well

Posted By jayna on December 23, 2010

It’s happened.

I’ve let go.

My inner perfectionist has up and left.

The entire holiday season has been one hurdle after another. First it was the tree and the trimmings and getting everything *just so* without letting on that I was actually going behind everyone’s back and rearranging what they had done. Then, it was the take-home projects from preschool and the cutting and the gluing and the glitter and the getting her name to be perfectly legible without letting her know that I didn’t trust her. After that came the ornaments and the painting and sprinkling and decorating and letting her *just be* without hovering and guiding her hand to do it *my way*.

I really, really struggled.

This beautiful girl of mine has so much endless energy and bounds from one task to the next, often lost in her own world. She spins and twirls and lives in the glorious dizziness that a three year old can only enjoy. She jumps and runs and fidgets and taps and switches from one subject to another before we can all even take a breath. There are days, so many days, where I want to stand so far back, far away from the edges of her tornado and just *stay still*. This month, with all the inner battles for perfection, I’ve found myself running to hide at every chance, seeking only quiet and my *perfect* surroundings.

The spinning and turning and whirling . . . it takes so much energy to fight being pulled in.

Along the way, after seeking out that quiet perfectness so many times, I gave in. I let the tornado sweep me away. Glitter decorated every surface, we colored outside the lines and hung ornaments on the ends of the branches, right next to one another. The perfect gingerbread men donned tie-dye suits and we ate picnics under the tree. I watched and learned; saw the joy she has in just *doing* something. There is no right or wrong way . . . only her way. And, to her, that way is beautiful, lovely, colorful and bright.

I learned.

And I let go.

Starting with the *perfectly wrapped* presents under the tree. I may see lumps and bumps and an awful job done . . . but her? She will see paper and bows and excitement and joy at what’s inside.