I believe it's been well documented here that Bubby loves trucks. Garbage trucks, in particular. So when Nonnie Kelly (my mom, his great-grandma) came to visit him with a garbage truck gift — a garbage truck that makes noise and lights up, no less — Bubby was clearly in heaven.

He also was in heaven when he got to actually touch, not just see, the trucks PawDad had shown him during past Skype sessions.

Same goes for when he gave PawDad the monster truck he picked out himself for PawDad's birthday. The monster truck he just had to give PawDad early, before the party, because he was so excited for PawDad to play with it.

Glimpses of heaven also appeared while driving a Bubby-sized monster truck at Chuck E Cheese ...

... filling a dump truck in the back yard ...

... and building a "tower truck" all by himself for driving around Gramma's dining room.

Trucks, trucks, trucks. While Bubby was here, we played trucks, talked trucks, read about trucks, and named trucks every single time we saw one on the road, in a book, or on television. There were garbage trucks, of course, plus cement trucks, ice cream trucks, dump trucks, produce trucks, and more. Each time, we recited not only the type of truck, but what each one hauls, too.

Wednesday morning, Bubby had been gone not yet one full day when I had to take Mickey to the vet. All the truck talk was still on the brain, so I had to stop myself several times from saying to Mickey — who gives not one whit about trucks — "Look at that big one!" and "Hey, there's a yellow dump truck," and "Yay! There's a brown one!"

The brown ones were especially exciting for me to see, even without Bubby by my side, because although Bubby's favorite is garbage trucks, my favorite is the brown ones, the UPS trucks. For every single time I see one now, I will always and forever recall Bubby's enthusiasm when two UPS trucks passed by the window of a diner we ate at one evening during his visit.

"Brown ones! There's two brown ones!" he shouted as the UPS trucks slowed to a stop at the traffic light visible from our table.

"And what do the brown ones bring?" Megan asked him.

With no hesitation whatsoever, Bubby excitedly shouted, "Presents!"

Makes the shipping expenses of a long-distance grandma well worth it, I say.

Today's question:

Do you now or have you in the past owned a truck? What kind and how much did you love it?

Emergencies in the desert are far different than the ones I'm used to in the mountains. Monday morning, there were a few hours to kill before I had to return to the airport and hop a plane back to the mountains. Preston had left for work, and Megan, Bubby and I were relaxing, chit-chatting over this and that and some coffee.

Bubby had just commenced looking one more time at the "There's Going to be a Baby" book from my Grandma Bag when, all of a sudden, he let out a screech, pushed the book away, jumped up from his spot on the floor, and raced to the front door as if a fire alarm only he could hear had just gone off.

But Megan apparently heard it, too. She jumped up from her chair and followed Bubby, shouting, "We gotta hurry! Look out the window! Bubby ... here ... out the window." She pulled open the living room blinds as Bubby, far too short to see out the window, became visibly distressed.

Then Megan grabbed up Bubby -- who danced nervously, unsure of what to do and nearly pawing at the front door -- and quickly unlocked one deadbolt on the front door, then the other. She threw open the door and, with Bubby firmly in her arms, raced out onto the porch.

Where they stopped in their tracks.

And looked down the street.

"The garbage truck!" Megan shouted in glee, and Bubby heartily seconded her exclamation.

Then they both froze and patiently waited as the rumble and roar of the garbage truck became louder and louder and finally -- halleluiah! -- stopped right across the street.

The garbage man did his duty as Megan and Bubby stood transfixed.

Slowly, the banging and clanging truck scooted up to the next house. Then the next. Bubby's eyes never left the glorious garbage hauler -- the most wondrous thing in his world.

As it continued on its route, past Bubby's house, past the neighbor's, Bubby and Megan waved.

"Buh-bye, Garbage Truck!" they said as the rumbling and bumbling vehicle headed up the block and out of sight.

And me? All I could do -- after grabbing my camera to capture the emergency in action, of course -- was think Thank God. Yes, thank God such a thing didn't happen while I was the one and only adult in charge of Bubby. For I have never, ever experienced such an emergency. Not in the mountains ... especially not in a houseful of non-garbage-truck-loving little girls.

If I had been the sole adult when the seemingly silent alarm went off in Bubby's head, I surely would not have known what to do.

Hard as it is to admit, I must say that Megan and Preston returned home to relieve Gramma of her Bubby duty just in the nick of time. Clearly, a disaster averted.

Today's question:

If you were to look out your front door right this very minute, what would you see happening out there?