Don’t say anything, don’t say anything, I repeated to myself as I looked at my son’s construction paper pumpkin.
The pumpkin was a “family project” from kindergarten, a totally optional assignment for fun.
It started out simply enough. Cut out the template and trace it onto the construction paper. But as soon as he lifted up the template, I noticed something. There were huge gaps in the lines. This could be better, I thought. But I don’t want to tell him it’s wrong!
Speaking slowly so I could control my tone, I said, “There are some places where the lines don’t connect. It will be easier to cut it out if they connect.” Against my better judgment, I took the pencil and added a few lines. My mind raced. Should I have done that? Should I have just let him do it? But it’s a family project, right?!
Next up was cutting out the pumpkin. He’s pretty good with scissors, so my blood pressure went down a little.
We picked the project back up the next evening. I noticed he had randomly drawn lines across half of it in pencil. The Pinterest mom voice kicked back in: The directions said we could use seeds or paint or other stuff. Shouldn’t it be fancier? It said ‘be creative!’ This isn’t creative enough!
Not wanting to panic over a kindergarten pumpkin, I took a breath. “Your teacher said you could decorate the pumpkin however you wanted to. Do you want to use paint or markers or stickers?” I have no idea where I thought I’d get Halloween stickers at that hour, as the assignment was due back the next day.
“Stickers!” he exclaimed. Of course. He scrambled to the drawer where I keep all of the address labels and stickers that come from conservation non-profits requesting donations. Those stickers? Uh, okay then.
He peeled off animal stickers that had zilch-all to do with fall or Halloween and stuck them on. Not going to say anything. Not going to say anything. He then grabbed a long landscape-style one and positioned it on the bottom.
Suddenly, I realized what he was doing.
“Oh, it’s a jack o’lantern!” I said. “That’s cool.” His vision was totally at odds with what mine would have been. But it was distinctly his.
I offered a little bit more advice, but tried to focus on helping him achieve his vision. My vision wasn’t at the table anymore.
In the end, his pumpkin was much more his project than the whole family’s. But that felt right to me. After all, he’s the one in kindergarten. While it was a learning experience for him, it was probably just as important for me. It gave me good, low-stakes practice to bite my tongue and trust him to make his own decisions.
Anyone else find it challenging to trust your kid as they do school projects? Any advice on making it easier on us perfectionists?
For more on struggling with perfectionism in our parenting, check out Learning to Accept the Uncertainty of Being a Mom.