My children have taught me patience by rewarding it. Not the sort of patience that sits and chews its nails, willing itself not to say or do anything, expecting a sign any day now, controlling its frustration. The sort of patience that knows important things are going on, whether they're visible or not, and is able to hum a tune and weed the garden and enjoy a good book in the meantime.
I find that as time goes on my definition of 'progress' becomes broader and more multi-dimensional, my powers of observation become keener, and I am able to see progress all the time. Not that I never have moments of worry and frustration. But not over academic progress, not very often, anyway. It seems to have got easier as the passing years' sunshine and rain have rinsed and bleached the schoolishness out of my system.