A pair of Jacks

Grandpa Jack paid a visit this month, bearing bad news about the woes of Jack's beloved Cubs. Although Jack at first wouldn't hear of it, he ultimately let down his guard, acknowledging he'd probably be better off climbing aboard the Red Sox bandwagon. But, he added, only on one condition: Grandpa Jack would first have to survive one his sassafras stare-downs.

He got next

Stepping out

Jack's been the picture of confidence of late, thanks largely to his new shirt attesting to his status as a "big deal."

His strides are bold and with purpose.

His ambitions: lofty and undaunted.

His attention to detail: surgical and precise.

His flirts with flight: awe inspiring.

His neighborhood gang signs: fresh and inventive.

His coping with the fact that tomorrow brings a different shirt: not so good.

A tale of two walks

Jack's afternoon walk began ominously, with fierce storm clouds brewing.

The view a few hours later.

Fortunately, the next day's balmy weather put the skip back in his step.

And bolstered his adventurous spirit.

Wood chips still held their allure.

As did neighborhood noises.

All was right with the world.

Even on the ground below.

But a nagging thought still lingered.

Maybe there was more to life than hurling wood chips.

Maybe the playground wasn't the greatest thing since the invention of the submarine.

Maybe something bigger and better was out there, just over the next hill.

Ahhhh....found it.

Tub teether

Jack's baths usually consist of him searching for things to gnaw on. When all else fails, Jack says, there ain't no shame in going for the tub itself.

Summer stroller

At the end of long day, Jack likes march around the neighborhood, inspecting the curbs and checking for litter. Then he turns his eye to the nearby schoolyard, combing the grounds and making sure everything's still nice and safe for the kids. Once he's sure everything checks out, it's across a field and back to the homestead. Still, it's a lot to worry about. And even during his evening bath, Jack sometimes lets it weigh on his thoughts.

Operation woodchips

It's been noted that Jack has an affinity for wood chips--or, more accurately, for hurling them in every direction. The curious are informed that it's not for them to understand.

Soccer ball.

Eh. It ain't no bed of dirty rocks.

Dad's prohibitions taken in stride.

Not a problem. Naptime's for sneaking.

Coast's clear.

Paydirt.

These wood chips go here.

These have other plans.

Traveling plans.

Shush. You hear something?

It's the fuzz.

Every man for himself.

No time for caution.

Got to shake them.

Now double back.

Seems it did the trick.

Until we tangle again, wood chips.