Hey, Jerks.

Hello blogosphere. I hate your guts. Collectively and individually. "Hmm, Matt, what'd we do?" Oh, I don't know, maybe told my son you hate his guts. "Wait, what're you talking about?" I'm talking about a post for the little guy which resulted in zero comments. A bagel. For my son. I'm here to right a wrong, but I doubt it'll work on you inveterate losers. My son is cute and awesome. Oh, he may not leap in the air with a weird face or drop quotable lines every five minutes like his sister, and he may not blog about issues and experiences that touch your heart like his mom, but he doesn't have to. He's cool on his own terms. Check him out:
"Say I'm not awesome and you say a lie."

"I'm cute when I'm out of focus."

"I'm cute when I got a flare on my face."

"Hell, I'm cute when I'm sneering."

"And you know I'm cute when I cuss."

Jack is so awesome. But you're not convinced. "What about all Jane's quotes?" Yeah, Jack is a little more laconic, but it's by choice. Why use a ton of words when few will do? Or better yet, one? When I cleared the bed out of our room so we could move our treadmill, Jack was insanely excited at the bare floorspace. He looked around, eyes wild, and said, "THIS!" Why say more than that? It would've been glib. I understood him completely.

Are you wondering if Jack's cute when a beetle won't cooperate with him? Don't wonder it anymore:

If the beetle warms up to him, do you think he's more cute or less cute? He's more cute:

Everything he does is cute and awesome. When he teases, it's cute and awesome. One time he took Jane's play ketchup bottle from her and ran with it. Jane came into the kitchen after him, yelling that he took it from her. Jack stopped when he reached a dead end. He turned around to face us, smiling calmly. As Jane pleaded her case, Jack took the bottle and squeezed the imaginary contents into his play cup. The smile never left his face. He was rocking his head back and forth gently, musically, like he had his own soundtrack playing. He handed the bottle to Jane, calmly, as he drank the imaginary contents from his cup. Did I put him on timeout? No. Was it fair? Certainly not. But if the cool kid at school wants to hang out with you, and maybe wants to give you a nickname that could be interpreted as mildly disparaging, you don't fight it. You smile and thank him for letting you hang out. We're guests in Jack's world.

Jack has a positive outlook on life, especially with his hand full of gravel and a puddle nearby:

He's cute when he gets a wand of cotton candy:

He's cute when he takes a bite:

And he's cute when he decides maybe he doesn't like cotton candy, and maybe Mom should have it:

Ella was all too happy to oblige:Check out the guy behind them, on his way home from a slumber party. "Today's the Fourth? Dude, we should've had the sleepover tonight."

Want to see Jack throw a golf ball with a serious look on his face? I do.

"How was that throw, Dad?"Hella tight, buddy, hella tight.

"Hey, Matt, it seems like Jack wears sunglasses a lot. Does he ever take it overboard?"
No.It's overboard if it's not cool.

When the sun gets in Jack's eyes, he yells, "Gasses!" He doesn't do it for any kind of a look or fashion statement. For him, it's completely utilitarian. But that doesn't mean he's not going to start any trends. It only adds to his legend.

"I mean, yeah, she's throwing grass in the air, mid leap, and she's selling it. She's totally owning the moment, but at the end of the day, it's just grass. And they give her five comments for this kind of schlock? What am I chopped liver?""Just wait. Just wait till you're in your early teens and you've got headgear. Probably have cystic zits like Dad did, too. We'll see if you get five comments then. We'll see if they even post about you. Hmm, who should we blog about? Volcano face, or Jack's first place in the Pinewood Derby? It's gonna be the Derby every time. Every time."

"For now, I'm just content to chill with my old man, and devastate the blogosphere with my cuteness. Even if they're too blind to see."