Some would argue the proof is in the very long baking pudding, but even that you can't count on. Some of the best serial killers had at home parents.
I still can't quite get my head round how I can be so busy, for so much of the day and yet have so little to show for it in the end. A good home-cooked meal which everyone ate is often the highlight of my productive satisfaction. Add a spot of de-cluttering and I'm in ecstasies of achievement.
So when I manage to do this in a weekend, this one small thing, I'm beside myself.
Before: this very, very old desk - which used to be my change-table (as in to change my bum all those many years ago) - and spent 8 or 9 years rotting in our garden shed at the previous house ...
After: a good clean and drawers all freshly painted.
It's not a thing of any great beauty, and for that reason I can't promise I'll get round to painting the rest anytime soon, but it suits my small deskular needs and I couldn't live with that green for a moment longer.
I even rubbed soap along the wooden drawer rails inside and can happily report that old trick works wonders. Added bonus that the desk now smells clean and fresh as well as looking a whole lot better.
The room in which it stands was the previous owners home office, complete with wood paneling and cork floor for that fetching headmaster's office look. For now it's my study, and our art room, and perfect for flinging paint and good ideas.
I had a happy realisation while painting those drawers too (for isn't that the real benefit of doing something vaguely creative/crafty or DIY-ish, the time it gives your mind to wander and think freely?), I've got two and a half years until I turn 40.
And I pledge to myself that by then I'll be doing something a whole lot more 'productive', whatever that may be.