Jack Ryan: Meteorologist

I came home from work today a little earlier than normal.  Sadly, I usually don't arrive home until around 6:00pm on the average day.  When time is money, the tendency is to squeeze as much as you can out of a day.  The life-work balance is a constant struggle.

Today, when I arrived home, I learned that Ashley had not left the house with the boys all day.  Cabin fever had set in.  My first clue was Jack running in circles in our living room, wielding a miniature Louisville slugger that my grandfather gave us as a birth present.  We resolved to remedy the situation with a quick trip to that mecca of discretionary spending, high fashion and lives of excess: Scottsdale Fashion Square.  

While en route, Jack looked up at the sky.  Today was marked as the first day of Phoenix's "fall."  I put "fall" in quotes simply because I don't believe we have four seasons, but two: Heaven and Hell.  We're now entering heaven, when all the days are simply perfect.  Days where your lawn sprouts an emerald green color (after ample water and a couple hundred bucks of rye seed), and when the golf course actually looks like those ones you see in magazines, with the criss-cross mowing patterns. But I digress.

Jack looked up at the sky.  The day was hazy, with a layer of clouds thick enough to obscure the sun's shape, creating the effect of a bright "blob" in the sky.  Jack noticed, announcing: 

"Daddy... the sky is ruined."