I smell cookies

I remember watching a show on BBC about the differences between mothers and fathers. The scientists blindfolded fathers and had them line up. Workers brought their babies by them and let the smell them, to see if they could identify them. Most couldn't identify their their babies. The women, however, could. Something like 75% of the mother's could identify their babies by smell.
Can you? What do your children smell like? (When clean, not farting, or lighting up)
When Pete was a baby she smelled like cinnamon and lotion. One of my friend's babies smelled like cinnamon too. Re-Pete has always smelled like... cookies. Specifically, she smells like Oreo Filling. Which, by the way, we have probably eaten in the house twice. Re-Pete gets a very,um, sweet smile and giggles when I tell she she smells like cookies, but she does.
I guess it makes a certain sense, when you think about it. Everyone that knows her talks about how sweet she is. She can, as my mother was fond of saying about my sister, charm the birds from the trees. She has the littlest giggle. She's tiny, my little Pixie, for 5.
Didn't John Travolta smell like cookies to Andie MacDowell in Micheal?
One of my favorite parts of the movie is when Michael says "I'm not that kind of Angel". That line speaks to me. You don't have to be the sterotype for whatever you are to be good at what you do. I'm not the sugary sweet kind of teacher. I'm sarcastic and I crack jokes.

I have a lab apron I wear for demos and when the kids have labs, or for general cleaning. I've reuined enough clothes, thank you. Well, I don't take it until the end of the day and will usually forget and wear it to lunch. It never fails, someone will ask what I'm cooking. To which I reply "I'm not that kind of teacher" ala Michael. No one gets it.