Goof Ball Gallery

Many of you have enjoyed my tales of raising a crazy boy. A lot of you seem to think that these stories are meant to be funny. I guess my ongoing saga could be seen as funny if you're looking in from the outside. To me, it is a sad and mournful tale of personal struggle and pain, all of which will surely buy me a one way ticket to the nut house someday. My child is wild and crazy with little or no potential to be controlled. My dreams of having a well behaved child seem to be gone with the wind, and my future of dealing with my own little Johnny Dorset is inevitable.

(see The Ransom of Red Chief by O. Henry)

For those of you who enjoy my pain, you will certainly enjoy the gallery of photos below. Please notice my telling expression on the last shot.

Of course, I really do think he is the funniest person ever to grace us with his presence, so my bellyaching is all an act. But I do feel bad about his violently comedic behavior when it displays itself in front of other people who don't think that hitting, pinching, biting, stealing, throwing, and breaking things are all that funny. Especially when their own children are left crying while Jacks is laughing and pointing.

My dear friend Katie kept Jacks a couple of weeks ago. When asked about the day spent with Baby Jacks, her 2 year old son Alex replies, "Jacks hurt my face."

This is all just a stage, right? We'll all get through it. Right?

Love to all,

Katie