Somedays everything that gets done is an accomplishment. The dishes. Brushing one's own hair. Leaving the house without having baby marks all over one's clothing. Anything seems laudable.
Perhaps this is the way we should think about things. Instead of getting hung up on perfection and milestones, perhaps we should celebrate the mediocrity, the mundane, the most of life spent. I know that we should take joy at least in these moments and simple things. How nice is it to have fresh clean sheets on the bed? A victory! How wonderful to have a filled up fridge from grocery shopping? Splendid! What do you mean you finished reading that book? I'm proud of you.
Today, I did the ironing. It hasn't been done in weeks. And I cooked food for parties/get togethers over the next few days, as well as lunch and dinner! And got groceries. And swept the floor. And did laundry (which is somewhat akin to breathing as of late, but still).
I'd like my gold star now, please.