I’m a big believer in letting my kids see me fail. I think it’s important to model making mistakes, especially should you happen to be raising a child (or two) with perfectionist tendencies. Ahem.

So I try new crafts that take several attempts to master. I paint grandiose pictures that will never look like what they’re supposed to. (“It was going to be a portrait of Martha Washington! And now it’s… an elephant! Under a blanket!”) I plant seeds that will never turn into beautifully-trimmed hedges, because my thumbs are not so much green. (And a few runner beans too, because an entirely barren garden would just be depressing.)

Today I took out the Jumping Pixies game (new! for Christmas!) to show that it could still be fun, even if I could never ever even once catapult a little pixie head into the appropriate circle. And I may have demonstrated that. I don’t really know.

But after a good dozen attempts that resulted in exactly zero points scored, Abigail pointed out in her most diplomatic, matter-of-fact voice that I was, as it turned out, the single worst Jumping Pixies player she had ever seen, possibly in the whole world, and that the game might be more fun for the rest of them if I went and did something else.

So clearly my parenting strategy is working.

Now if I could just come up with a method for teaching them not to point out my obvious shortcomings, we’d be set.