The Imperfect, Perfect Gingerbread House
Anyone who has ever purchased one of those gingerbread house kits and has successfully constructed and decorated their house to look exactly like the one on the box, I applaud you..like seriously applaud. Perhaps, even standing ovation in front of millions of people, applaud.
For two years now, I have purchased one of these kits, brought it home, started to ice it, and about half way through I push it aside and tell my daughter “decorate it how you want, I give up.”
Last year, she didn’t care. She happily begun grabbing candy and sticking them in a disorganized fashion that would pop a fuse in anyone’s OCD fuse box. I know because several of mine did. But, to her, all she cared about was having fun and occasionally, sneaking one of the candies.
This year; however, played a different story. After I realized that, yet again, the shingles, door, snowman, Christmas tree, gingerbread man, or anything else wouldn’t even remotely resemble the one on the box I pushed it aside and told her to have fun with it.
And, that’s when it happened.
Although, she began to decorate as she had always done, this time, after several minutes she frowned and stopped working on it. “But it doesn’t look like the one on the box,” she said with disappointment in her little voice.
At first, her reaction shocked me, and then the guilt pounded down and overwhelmed. In my quest for perfection, I had given her the notion that the house HAD to look like just like the one on the box. I had stifled any creativity and instilled a sense that if it wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t worth doing—neither which are things I ever wanted to do.
Epic mom fail.
It’s no secret that for a writer imagination and creativity are vital and I can’t help but wonder why I didn’t think about the damage I could have done. I’m a writer after all. I use my imagination on a daily basis. It’s important to me. It’s everything to me. It’s what keeps my little world spinning around.
The imagination of a child is the last innocence of life. When they don’t have a worry or care, but to just enjoy life. It should be treasured, allowed to flourish, and above all, it should be protected. Who cares what the gingerbread house looks like, who cares if it’s perfect, who cares if it doesn’t look like the one on the box. As long as you and your kids had fun making it and it turned out exactly how they envisioned it, that is all that should matter.
When you get down into the nitty-gritty of life, you realize that life is imperfection. A beautiful imperfection that makes everyday special and worthwhile.
Perfection is for a box. And, who wants to live in a box?
Angela’s latest release When the Black Roses Grow is now available
Twenty-five men and women were accused. Nineteen hung to their death on Gallow Hills. One suffocated under bone-crushing stones. All believed to possess the power of witchcraft.
In 1692 the fear of witchcraft is spreading around Salem village. While those who are accused and sentenced face death, everyone else faces the risk of accusations placed upon them.
As Emmalynn Hawthorne, the daughter of a woman hung for witchcraft, places a bouquet of flowers upon her mother’s grave, a circle of black roses sprouts out of thin air. Dark magic, the roses strike fear through her heart when Mary Pruett and the handsome new-comer, James DeKane, spy upon her as they pass along the traveling road. Emmalynn flees and her panic soon turns into terror as another vine of black roses sprouts and grows throughout the inside of her home. Is she a witch? Will she be the next accused?
James DeKane has secrets of his own—ones that could prove deadly for him and anyone he holds dear. At fault for the untimely death of his parents, he must protect his hidden brother and dying sister, all while fearing that the haunting prophecy bestowed upon him at birth will come to pass. Desperate and fighting the monster deep inside of him, he’s searching for the one love who can alter his destiny.
Angela lives on a ranch with her husband, two daughters, and many farm animals. She was born and raised in Nevada, and grew up riding and showing horses from hunter jumper, English equitation, western pleasure, trail, and halter. While she doesn’t show anymore, she still loves to trail ride her paint horse, Honky. In December of 2007, she and her husband moved to Oklahoma.
From a young age, she always wanted to write a novel. However, she never believed she could write anything well enough for a publisher to even consider her. Every time the desire flickered, she shoved the thought from my mind until one morning, in 2009, she awoke with the determination to follow her dream.
You can visit her website at www.angelachristinaarcher.com