When I eat I do this funny thing where I'll take a bite of, say, mashed-up sweet potatoes and projectile spray the bite all over the dining room, parents, cats, etc. So meals can be a messy endeavor, but my saving grace is that I love getting clean. There's something about a warm rag that makes me shake with joy and want to play peek-a-boo while subtly cleaning my hands and face. Proof, as always, follows.
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You know, in the right light, little Jack sometimes resembles his Grandpa Ken at a similar age. Does anyone else think that? Or am I a late convert to this point of view?
Ralph
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