Grinning Genetics

It can't be unseen.

It can't be untaught.

I am turning into my parents. Both of them. Gah!!

They raised me to be an individual; just like them. Hah!!

Back in the day my dad would slice a fun-size Mars bar into 4 pieces for a TREAT. 

Seriously.

Today my children received a "Blondie" (Home-Baked Vanilla Brownie) cut in 4 pieces to give the appearance of getting more; thus a Treat. They totally loved it. Yay!

Back in the day, dad would do the sandwiches for school lunches...well in advance.

My kids' school-lunches are buttered, sliced, wrapped and packaged. Stored in the fridge. Ready to go at 0600 Monday morning. 

Lunch-boxes are lined up on the kitchen bench in order of age. 

My siblings will remember Peanut Butter and Raisin Sangers (Blerghhhh. I'm afraid it's true), placed on top of graduating condiments jars: I had Self-Raising Flour; the tallest and largest (yet I am not the tallest....), Bro had Rice, (consistent, yet scattered) next in line, Middle Hobo had Plain Flour (poor middle child! Nawwwwww!) and the Baby Hobo got Brown Sugar; the smallest and sweetest (so they thought).

It gets worse. It really does.

Back in the day, my family home smelled of Fabulon on Sundays and the house was filled with the familiar "crick", "crick", "crick" of the ironing board.

I begrudgingly admit that I love the way my house smells today! Fabulon-fresh!!!

Ironing steam dribbles down my windows and every chair-back supports a crisp shirt.

To top it all off, the cleaner is coming tomorrow to jazzy up the humble abode.

I spent 3 wretched hours today; Sunday; the Day of Rest, tidying, vacuuming and wiping down said abode, "ready for the cleaner" (my mum's exact words).

I cleaned my house ready for the cleaner.

I really did.

Bah-humbug.

A life lived with teachers is a life to be reiterated. 

Over and over.

And again.

  

I got lucky, didn't I?