On a regular week I spend a couple of mornings with two year olds. Four hours tops. But this week the woman across the hall, whose class has four year olds, was under the weather and I added several of her days to my schedule.

It astounds me how the imagination takes off in those brief years of development. There was scarcely a pause between a game where a boy and girl sat cutting out tickets, lots of them, and when they linked a chain around their necks as matched dogs. The scooted on all fours for ten minutes, their tongues lolling. 

One of the little boys in that class is special to me, as I was invited to his birth. He of course has no idea that I held him when he was minutes old, and breathed in the wonder of his dreamy skin. We played that game where you balance a fistful of colored sticks in a ring, roll the dice and gently pull out the matching stick until they all collapse on the floor. Twice he tugged mine out for me, just to oblige. 

Young children take great delight in small things. One boy brought a container for gum for his show and tell. It was empty. But he offered each child a chance to smell it.    

During lunch we played I Spy, while munching on raisins. It is not all that hard to guess what they are thinking of. Their eyes are always trained on the object, just to make sure it doesn't disappear.  

Being with little kids brings me back to the place where we are taken care of. There is enough paper in the stack to be generous, enough apple slices for seconds, enough boots in the hall for every foot, and mom always remembers to pick them up on time. 

It helps me believe that I am taken care of just as completely. Maybe more.