I grew up believing in magic, from faerie blankets at dawn to wishing on stars before bed. One of the most profoundly exquisite aches of parenting has been the distillation of beauty. There is a literal sensation of lived-joy seeping from my memory and infusing moment’s with the best of what I had, faint wisps of my childhood lacing themselves into these new childhoods.

The other night I was retrieving snack bowls and sippy cups from the bench beneath an olive tree in our backyard. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a box, not just any box, one of my Birchbox boxes. My mom had gifted me with a subscription after I heard about them through Cool Mom Picks.

The boxes have brought such delight.

The girls gather.

They croon with rapture.

LoveBirchBoxinthesummer (tiny movie)

And then? Then they break my heart and prove my point.

The box.

Behind the box.

The explanation?

Me: Hey Bri, what’s with the Birchbox in the backyard?

Bri: Oh, that’s our faerie catcher. They love jewels.

Me: And tomatoes?

Bri: We want them to eat healthy too!