I recently invited my 6-year-old grandson and my 4-year-old granddaughter to spend the weekend with me. I do this every winter. We spend the weekend together doing holiday-related activities. I love seeing Christmas through the eyes of children. It puts things into perspective. It pulls me away from the adult, concern-filled life I usually live in and helps me relish the moment. So, this weekend was as much for my sake as it was for theirs.

I had it all laid out in my mind weeks in advance. Their cheerful little faces as we made surprise homemade Christmas tree ornaments for their parents; their giggles as we read book after book of colorfully illustrated Christmas stories; their delight in dunking made-from-scratch Christmas cookies into milk; and their warm snuggles as we watched beloved Christmas movies together.

I had diligently planned ahead and had all the necessary ingredients and materials on hand. Everything was perfect. Anticipation was in the air as lively Christmas music played in the background. I was the perfect Grandma and this was going to be a Hallmark-worthy weekend.

Then reality hit. As Granddaughter asked if we could go to the library (which I knew she would), Grandson announced he didn’t want to go. First time ever. Go figure. We went anyway.

Later when I pulled out the ingredients to make our go-to sugar cookies, Grandson asked if we could make gingerbread men instead. After a quick rundown in my mind for necessary ingredients, I agreed. Being so well prepared, I knew my pantry held freshly purchased bottles of molasses along with plenty of cinnamon and nutmeg. So, that was an easy switch.

Feeling nostalgic, I asked him, “So, you remember the gingerbread men we made last year?” “No,” he answered simply. “I don’t remember making them before. I just want them.” So much for creating memories that last a lifetime.

As we were decorating our gingerbread men with simple white icing, Grandson asked if we could put coloring into the icing. “No,” I answered. “White icing looks better next to gingerbread. “Can we put these sprinkles on them?” he asked hopefully as he lifted a bottle of bright purple sprinkles out of my decorating basket. “No, we’re not putting Easter sprinkles on Christmas cookies.” Clearly, my grandson lacked essential indoctrination in proper seasonal color combinations. “At Christmas,” I instructed him, “we use red and green sprinkles. At Easter, we use pink and purple and yellow.” “I just like the colors,” he replied sadly.

The next day, what was supposed to be a handful of Christmas tree ornaments, ended up being one sad, lop-sided, good attempt. Which I ended up finishing myself because they lost interest. And once that one was finished, my grandson looked at it and said, “It doesn’t look very good.” Great. What was that? Strike three? Grandma isn’t batting very well this season!

The turning point was when half-way through reading our Christmas stories, Granddaughter asked if she could play video games on the tablet instead. That’s when I gave up. Out with expectations and in with reality. Fortunately, this ‘ol gal has learned to flow with the punches. Raising five children taught me that. I just forget sometimes and get so wrapped up in the pursuit of perfection that the spontaneity and fun are sucked right out. That’s what was happening here. I was shooting down what was real in lieu of a perceived ideal.

So I switched gears. This was no longer going to be a weekend of carefully laid out plans. We were going to do what we wanted and if we got very little accomplished, then that was fine. After all, this weekend was supposed to be about sharing experiences and having fun together. Betty Crocker and Martha Stewart might have shaken their heads in disappointment, but I was ok with that. Trying to be perfect is exhausting. So, I gave up perfection and took a nap. Seriously. I did. While the grandkids played on the tablet.

I’m reminded of Shauna Niequist’s book, “Present Over Perfect: Leaving Behind Frantic For a Simpler, More Soulful Way of Living.” This has become my mantra since reading it a few years ago.

Looking back, I regret not letting my grandson put colored icing and Easter sprinkles on his gingerbread men. I knew better than to stunt creativity in lieu of what some unknown authority has deemed as proper. The next time I saw him, I apologized. He smiled and said, “That’s okay, Grandma.”

Hopefully, I’ve learned my lesson. Next winter when my precious grandchildren come over for the weekend, I fully intend for my decorating basket to be fair game for whatever their imaginations envision. And, this spring when I have them over to make Easter cookies, I might even suggest we put Christmas sprinkles on them. Or not. I no longer care. Because it’s not the perfection of the cookies I long to see, but the sparkle in their eyes and the smiles on their lips as they proudly sink their teeth into their creations.

Cookie crumbs, icing, and sprinkles smeared across little faces? Now that’s a true Hallmark moment.