Kids remember the donut, not the hole.

Kids have the remarkable ability to see the best in us, even when we don't see it in ourselves.

This is an excerpt of an old post from the Mom-101 archives, lightly edited. Hey, there’s some okay stuff in there, it turns out!

I first published this when Sage was 4.5. It’s a story I’ve told for years to comfort parents—working parents in particular— and even to comfort myself when I need it.

At a time I’m struggling to balance a whole lot of stuff, it felt like a good time to bring it back.

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Photo by NajlaCam on Unsplash

2011

I’ve been going through one of those frustrating working mom guilt phases again, where there just don’t seem to be enough hours in my life for…well, my life. Between work projects and family obligations, exciting things and less exciting things, it’s been busy. And I’m not even the kind of mom who bakes.

How the heck do full-time working moms find time to bake? It’s a mystery I will one day uncover and turn into a prime-time ABC special report.

Each weeknight, I feel like it’s all I can do to race out of work and through our front door, step over the piles of crap on the floor then fling my laptop and coat on the kitchen counter and rush to my kids, hoping to make the tail end of dinner. Or at best, squeak in as much cuddle time or reading time or back rub time as I can before lights out.

To compound the guilt–or feelings of parental unease and dissatisfaction at lack of balance, for those of you who wince any time you hear the phrase “mom guilt”—I’m heading out of town again for a work obligation.

Sage makes her sad Beaker muppet face every time I mention it. (We share that skill.)

She doesn’t want me to go away, of course. I know because she keeps asking me to count the days until I’ll be back—and I haven’t even left.

With this on my mind at preschool drop-off, I paused uneasily outside Sage’s classroom when I saw the latest teacher/student q+a about families had been posted to the hallway bulletin board.

Last year, when Sage has a similar project, her teacher asked what Mommy’s hobbies are. Sage answered: Be on the computer.

Ouch.

Seeing my pained expression, her teacher touched my shoulder gently and said, “oh…nearly every kid in the class had the same answer! Almost all of them!” Which was actually true.

But this year was different.

This year, the third question on the printout, tacked up in the school hallway for all to read, asked: What do your parents do?

Sage’s answer:  Mommy hugs and kisses me every time she comes home.

Damn, people.

Damn.

And so I jotted this down:

Kids remember the donut, not the hole.

Of course when further prompted as to what work their parents do, Sage answered:

Daddy is a chef. Mommy just works.

Sounds about right.

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