Last Friday morning, I spotted it, the empty "About Me" bag sitting untouched in our homework bin, due that very day for my second-grader's first big presentation. After watching a presentation go wrong last year lead to my child trying to get kicked out of school on the final day of first grade, I knew they would be crushed if they couldn't share. My heart sank.

In that moment, I wasn't just seeing a forgotten assignment. I was seeing the invisible thread that connects my child's emotional wellbeing to my ability to stretch and grow in my career, and the weight of being the one who notices, remembers, and carries the mental picture of our family's needs.

When we think about Labor Day, we celebrate work, but there's an entire category of labor that remains invisible, uncounted, and unpaid. It's the work of building routines that increase independence while knowing exactly when to step in, ensuring you have childcare lined up for every single school break months in advance, tracking the textures your child will and won't eat, or noticing the subtle signs they're getting dysregulated before the meltdown hits. Your partner might jump in to help once you point it out, but you're the one holding the mental map of what needs to happen when and constantly scanning for what's coming next.

This work has substantial economic value, though it remains largely invisible in how we measure and value labor, just like the helping professions dominated by women. The irony is that without this work, our entire economic system would collapse.