Does anyone remember living in this world?

From The I Hate to Cook Book, by Peg Bracken:

Afterthought Cookies

Should you ever need cookies for children and do not feel up to making any, you can spread confectioners' sugar moistened with cream and vanilla between graham crackers.

I retain an affection for this book, which happened to be on the shelves when I was growing up, and which is hilarious both as an artifact of a lost time and as a piece of comic writing in its own right. But that's not what I'm talking about. What I'm talking about is this: is it wrong to say that, after a day in which I

• wrestled with exporting a presentation into Quicktime which, inexplicably, has an low volume on the audio,
• chatted with a colleague about the status of the College climate, a conversation after which I found myself feeling rather low,
• went to College Senate, where I felt simultaneously a little vulnerable and also like the Paragon of Pomposity (but not a nattering nabob of negativity, so whew),

but then went a-visiting, first to the historian's son's house for birthday presents and greetings from a passel of granddaughters, and then to my middle daughter's for dinner, water games, cupcakes, chalk-drawing with one grandson and holding/squeezing the other, liberally sprinkled with passionate, uproarious conversation--is it wrong to say (reprising the subject and predicate of this syntactic machine) that I kind of long for the days when I might find myself surrounded by children, and, as a matter of course, making cookies for them, afterthought or no?