Missing the Crayola years

Yesterday, during my cat's visit to the vet, was one of the rare times I'd been assigned to the waiting room with a kid-sized table, chairs, and magazines.  At age 49, I know I'd rather be an adult than a kid.  However, after looking at the metal dalmatian Crayon case in that room, I started to miss the days when I had no bigger concern than pondering the difference between periwinkle and cornflower shades of blue.