Over the years, I’ve gotten rid of all the onsies, the high chair and the tricycles, most of the board books and lots & lots of toys.

My girls are 7 and nearly 10; plastic stacking cups and big-piece puzzles are in our rearview mirror.

Still, there were a few favorites I couldn’t bear to part with, and those are in big plastic bins waiting eagerly for babies and toddlers to come by for a visit.

Last week, one did.

So out came the Fisher Price barn, complete with hayloft and moo-ing doorway.
Our little visitor toyed with them all and then promptly fell asleep for the evening.

The barn was left to rest in its big plastic bin… for a bit.

Then, my 7-year-old — fledgling 2nd grader, reader of thick books and memorizer of big facts — pulled it out.
Every day for a week, in fact, she nonchalantly sauntered up to that barn and settled in next to it, talking quietly as she moved the farmer and friends from place to place. She was enchanted, and so was I.

It made me think about how long there is youthfulness inside each tall and competent body.
How long there is playfulness inside each student.
How long there is whimsy inside all these learning minds.

It made me think about how we rush things.
How we pack up the toys to make room for equipment and gear.
How we swap free time for lessons.
How  we stop reading aloud.

It made me think that we oughtn’t.
Really.
What’s the rush?