a funny note about genetics...

I'm ashamed to admit that on occassion I use a clorox wipe to clean our shoes. We don't wear our shoes in the house for many good reasons, but sometimes they get to yucky to wear even outside our home. It's one of those quirks you don't notice until it's brought to your attention. This particular clean-shoe-fettish was brought to my attetion this morning. I asked Mae to get her shoes while I was getting Nate ready. (The three of us were getting ready to go to storytime at the library.) When I walked into the kitchen I saw Mae standing on the step stool, which she had managed to carry to the sink, with the dish scrub-brush in one hand and her shoe in the other. She was diligently working to make her pink crocs squeeky clean. She may not have gotten her blue eyes and blonde hair from me, but I did manage to pass along a little bit of my quirkiness. As I think about it now, I seem to remember my mom wiping down Mae's glossy white keds with a baby wipe while we were visiting for Christmas. Mae doesn't seem to favor her left hand like my mom and me (and my mom's mom for that matter), but she did recieve at least one third-generational trait: a need for cleanliness, even among muddy crocs!