The Magic We Almost Miss

There’s a kind of magic in childhood that doesn’t cost money.

It costs attention.

And this week… I dropped the ball.

No green milk.

No leprechaun footprints.

No gold coins hidden in shoes.

St. Patrick’s Day came and went like any other Monday morning.

Then this morning hit harder.

Kelly’s last baby tooth sat under her pillow at 6:30 am.

Still there.

I scrambled. Slid a $5 under her pillow.

Thought I saved it.

I didn’t.

She woke up and asked one question.

“Where’s the fairy dust?”

And I had nothing.

That little detail. The silver glitter. The one thing we always do.

The proof the Tooth Fairy had been there.

Gone.

And just like that, I felt like I ruined something I can’t get back.

Her last baby tooth.

No redo. No second chance. No “I’ll do better next time.”

That was the last time.

I know I’m not the only one.

We carry a lot. Work. Schedules. Split homes. Real life.

Some days feel like survival, not magic.

But kids don’t measure effort the way we do.

They don’t remember the things we bought.

They remember the moments we created.

The tiny, almost ridiculous things.

• Glitter on a dollar bill

• Footprints made from flour on the floor

• A surprise stop for coffee after school

• A random break from routine that says, “today is different… and you matter”

  
  

That’s the magic.

Not big.

Not expensive.

Just intentional.

I think about what childhood felt like.

That anticipation.

Going to bed with butterflies in your stomach.

Waking up before the sun, heart racing, wondering if something happened while you slept.

Feeling seen by something bigger than your parents.

Even if it was pretend.

Especially because it was pretend.

And here’s the part that hits me.

That window is small.

Kelly still believes in Santa.

But I can feel the clock ticking.

Life has already asked her to grow up faster than she should.

Split homes. Hard moments. Real emotions.

I want her to hold onto magic a little longer.

Not because it’s real.

But because what it gives her is.

Hope.

Joy.

Wonder.

A break from reality.

We don’t need more stuff.

We need more moments.

More tiny disruptions to the ordinary.

More “just because” magic.

Even if it’s messy.

Even if we forget sometimes.

Even if we feel like we failed.

Because the truth is… one missed glitter morning doesn’t erase years of magic.

But it does remind me.

Slow down.

Pay attention.

Do the small things.

Because one day, they won’t ask about the fairy dust anymore.

And we’ll wish they still did.