Progress, Not Perfection

It was late afternoon. That twilight period between school and dinner when everyone seems to lose their minds. I had just ended a maddening 45 minute phone call with a company that claimed I hadn't paid my bill when my bank account proved otherwise. The older two were picking at each other and Grace was screaming. (Grace loves to shriek. How do you correct that? We've tried saying, "NO!" in a stern voice, but then she just looks at you and shrieks a bit quieter.)

I headed to the kitchen to get the 400th cup of chocolate milk of the day, my mind swirling. Finances. Shrieking kids. Dirty floors. Dinner. Dishes. I was drowning.

As I turned to place the milk jug on the counter I spotted something out of the corner of my eye. The heavens opened up, angels began to sing, and I saw it. My lifesaver.

The zucchini bread I had made last night. There was still a little over quarter of the loaf left. Sweet and moist with plump little raisins. It wasn't a HUGE chunk. I could eat the rest, no big deal. I was so frustrated, stressed. I deserved to give myself a break.

Two weeks ago I absolutely would have eaten the whole thing and not thought about it - not even really realized it. This time a little voice stopped me saying, "You deserve better than this."

I would like to be able to say I resisted completely, but I did have a small slice. I wanted more. Oh Lord, did I want to run back into the kitchen and eat more. But I knew I wasn't hungry. I knew I was eating because I was stressed. And I knew this had to stop somewhere.

Progress.