Days of thunder

With summer almost over, Jack's dead set on wringing all the excitement he can out of his remaining days, whether he's hanging out in the backseat of the daycare bus, kicking it up at the park or standing late-night watch over his neighborhood corner.

Stubborn stroller

Jack's a man of routine. And his routine pretty much consists of waiting around begrudgingly until it's time for his evening walk. And although the neighborhood is vast, encompassing dozens of exotic streets and sidewalks, Jack's not one for deviating from his predetermined route--namely the same one he took months ago when he first learned to piddle down the sidewalk. It worked well then. It works well now. Those other options, Jack sniffs, are fool's gold.

Wild dunes

A few days in sunny Charleston, S.C., did wonders for Jack's appreciation of the finer things in life: such as sand. And wet sand.

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.