The Jackson genes are strong...very strong. My sweet kiddos look like their daddy. They have his eyes, his smile, and his curly hair. They even act like him, right down to twirling their hair around their fingers when they are tired. The only way I know I had any part in their arrival into this world is the fact I carried them for nine months and labored for ten hours and seven hours respectively. Yes, they are their father's children. Like their father (and the rest of the Jackson men) they have metal in their blood...heavy metal. We're talking head banging, mosh-pit loving, scream-0, ear-numbing metal; and my kiddos love it. They make their father proud and my ears bleed. Their daddy was so proud he filmed his sweet little ones in action (Uncle K.K. this one's for you...and, you can add Quiet Riot to your next set...please and thank you):
Exhibit A: My Innocent little Miss.
Exhibit B: The little Mr. showing us how it's done.