I love my son.  No one can question that.  Amelia gets frustrated with me and she turns to Chip for solidarity thinking I baby or favor him. Really? What kind of (Italian) mother  (of an only son) would that make me? Isn’t it funny how you could love your children to distraction yet it takes all your strength and 50 Hail Marys and 10 Our Fathers (on your knees) not to kill them.

I have written about Jack and the Jack Factor many times, four within this website to be exact.  He has done some unbelievable and very costly things because…..he’s Jack whereby creating the Jack Factor.  At almost 17 years old, today was no exception. We must be up to 197 different Jack Factor situations totaling a few thousand dollars.

So we have been having some issues with the gutters and flooding.  I called the gutter guy and thought maybe we need to suck it up and add the gutter screens to keep out debris.  Shortly after he began, the door bell rang and he presented me with a beat up, muddy lacrosse ball.  This was the source of our problem and $150 later the gutters are free and clear. JAAAAAAAAAAACK!….

The most frightening period of Jack’s “Jack Factor” story is about to begin, or has it?  He drives.  God Help us and he has a job exposing innocent members of the community to his Jack Factor ways.

I was in the garage last week and happened to walk in front of his Jeep. The right front bumper had a white dust and powder all over it.  I asked him what happened and did he hit anything.  Of course, I get a “Mom, I’d tell you if I did.”  Later that evening I walked around my car to get in and saw a gapping hole in the drywall, coincidentally the same size as Jack’s bumper.  Hmmm.

JAAAAAAAAAAACK!….

Me: “Jack, did you not feel the impact when you hit the wall?”

Jack: ” Hmm, I thought I felt something but I thought it was just the tires.”

Me. “The tires. Really, that’s your story?  What else have you hit? Parked cars, little dogs, small children thinking that you bumped the curb? I can see the foundation through this hole.”

Jack: “I love you Mom.”

Me: “OK, I’ll talk to dad.”

….and the rest is history.  Sorry Meals. Good thing you’re not here to witness this. But rest easy, I am sure this will not be the last.